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creatorofuniverses · 1 year

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Gt July Day 20 – Intimidate

This is a very fun prompt, and I had trouble deciding what to use for it. I eventually wrote something from The Sacrifice- fair warning, this is a canon scene I’ve had in my head for a while, so it’s a bit longer than most drabbles (about 3k+ words). Hope you like it!

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It had been an accident, really.

Theophilos hadn’t even been overexerting himself, not like normal, at least. It took a certain amount of exertion just being the sacrifice to a god, but really, Evine treated him better than anybody ever had. Theophilos didn’t have to beg for scraps or work himself to the bone, not here. Here he got regular meals and as much sleep as he wanted in a real bed.

So when the coughing fit came on, spurred by nothing more than his own wretched lungs and a too-quick breath, Theophilos was shocked. Then, as a plethora of past misfortunes surged to the front of his memory again at the sound of his own coughing, he was panicked.

He doubled over, his hands over his mouth as if they could stifle the horrible, hacking coughs bursting forth from his spasming lungs. He knew they sounded terrible, were unpleasant, something that would offend his betters; but he couldn’t stop them. The more he tried, the more his quivering body rebelled, his chest heaving as if his lungs wanted to cough themselves right out of his body.

“Theophilos?” Evine said his name in concern, their enormous hands gentle as they reached around him, but the panic flooded through Theophilos regardless. His lungs grew even tighter as it overwhelmed him. No, no, this couldn’t happen again, not here, where he had finally felt safe… he had only been Evine’s sacrifice for barely a week, and already he was showing them that he was broken, worthless. What would they do?

This question ricocheted around Theophilos’s mind like a swarm of angry bees, drowning out everything but the panic.

Evine frowned, lifting him up to their face. Their perfect brow was creased. “What’s wrong, are you okay?” Theophilos couldn’t answer even if he had processed the question correctly, which he hadn’t; those horrible, hacking coughs still expelled any air he could manage to gasp, wheezing, into his lungs. Evine’s concern grew by the moment. “Hey, breathe, okay, you’re okay… it’s alright…”

This failed to do what it needed to. The god held their sacrifice cupped in both hands for a moment, themself feeling a shard of unfamiliar panic and uncertainty, before they turned and rushed to the other side of the room. Gently, they deposited Theophilos onto his bed, where he curled up, shaking and coughing. Reaching over to another section of the wall, they pulled a string – a very little one, compared to them – that generally summoned an attendant. Then, still anxious and impatient, they shouted, “Medic! Please, we need a medic in here!”

They rarely shouted. Their voice practically boomed, and a few of the doors leading to the human-sized hallways shuddered. Evine winced, but couldn’t find it in themself to regret it. One worried glance at Theophilos showed that he hadn’t gotten any better.

It took much too long for anybody to come. Evine waited impatiently for a few minutes that felt like hours, nervous to an extent they had rarely felt before. They were pacing, their long strides taking them across the width of the room all too quickly, when one of the doors opened.

Evine all but pounced on the human that stood there, ignoring the small squawk of alarm in favor of grabbing the newcomer quickly. “Please,” Evine blurted, too frazzled to realize they’d pinned the new human’s arms to their side. They set them down in Theophilos’s room, watching as the relatively little man – though, he seemed quite a bit bigger than Theophilos – staggered to keep his feet under him. He carried a leather bag, which he instinctively raised protectively up to his chest as Evine loomed close. “You have to help him,” Evine said. It was more of a plea than an order; but Evine was still the god of the temple, and this man wore the dark blue uniform of the temple staff, so it was no surprise to anybody when the man turned towards Theophilos to do so.

The medic knelt by Theophilos’s bedside and opened his bag. Evine watched closely, holding their breath in case that helped- at this proximity, they knew the humans would feel it. The medic was a middle-aged man, portly and solid in the way of one who had never missed a meal, and he brought out some tools with crisp motions. He threw a look over his shoulder, looking as if he wanted to tell Evine to move away, though he thought better of it.

He didn’t say a word to Theophilos either. Instead, he used his hands to push Theophilos up to a seat – though Theophilos tried to help, once he seemed to understand – and set a small cone against Theophilos’s chest. The medic put his ear to it, listening intently, before putting the cone back in the bag. He then put both his hands on Theophilos’s throat, feeling out the muscles beneath even as Theophilos was still racked with coughs. Evine longed to ask him to fix the coughing, as it seemed painful for poor Theophilos, but figured that must be what the medic was doing.

Evine lamented not knowing more about how humans worked, biologically speaking. It had never seemed all that important before, but now they were making a mental list of books to request from the speakers.

The medic stood, placing one hand on Theophilos’s chest and another on his back. He seemed to glean something from all of this investigation, because he closed his bag once more and turned to address the god. “Your Eminence,” the medic began.

Evine stood to attention at the title, making them a good fifteen feet taller than the medic where he stood in Theophilos’s room. “Can you fix him?” they asked, worry still plain in their perfect voice. Theophilos shuddered on the bed.

The medic pursed his lips. “No,” he replied. “The Diamandis family gave you damaged goods this time, I’m afraid. His lungs and throat are injured beyond repair.” Theophilos, still coughing weakly, his chest tight and on fire, pinched his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the expression on Evine’s face, not now that the god knew that he was forever broken. He couldn’t be fixed. “If I were you, I’d let that family know you don’t appreciate the deception, and demand they give you a better sacrifice. You won’t want this one long-term, this sort of thing will just keep happening with him.”

There was silence after the medic’s confident suggestion. Theophilos, unable to stand the suspense, opened his eyes again; and immediately wished he hadn’t. Evine’s expression was stony, as if the god were a marble statue rather than a living deity. Theophilos had never seen them so serious- so intimidating. It wasn’t as if he had ever forgotten they were huge, or inhuman, but now those qualities seemed tangible, pressing… dangerous. They stepped forward, casting a shadow over the two humans even as they both tensed. Theophilos’s body still heaved with desperate attempts to draw in breath, but the medic was frozen. Evine reached out with a hand and Theophilos curled up, closing his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. Of course they didn’t want him, they would get rid of him, and what would happen to him then?

Instead of a hand wrapping tightly around him, all Theophilos felt was a swift breeze. It was enough to scatter his panicked thoughts, and he looked up, blinking wide, terrified eyes.

Evine had the medic clutched in one hand, and they did not look happy.

“Y-your Grace?” the medic demanded, sounding more shocked and offended than afraid. Fear was definitely still somewhere in there, though.

Evine’s voice was smooth and might be mistaken for unbothered, if one ignored the sharp edge of ice along it. “You talk about him as if he is a thing,” they said in response. “If he’s a thing, what does that make you?”

The medic puffed up, at least as much as he could while being locked from the chest down in the god’s hand. “I am a trained medical professional-”

“You are a human,” Evine interrupted, speaking over him easily by sheer volume of their voice. Theophilos shivered where he lay curled-up, and it wasn’t just from the weak coughs still plaguing him. “Right now, I think of humans as more than just things.” Their hand tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to still the medic’s movements, quicken his heartrate, and intimidate the everlasting hell out of him. “Are you suggesting I change my mind?”

“No!” the medic blurted. He wet his lips before continuing frantically with, “No, of course not, Your Eminence. I was merely-”

“You are done,” Evine coldly decided. They reached over and pulled the rope to request an attendant once more.

As they waited, still exuding a rather terrifying calm, the medic tried once more. “Your, Your Eminence, if I offended in any way-”

“Quiet.” The medic fell silent.

Theophilos sat curled up on the bed, wheezing quietly, hoping to go unnoticed.

When somebody came, it was not another medic or one of the usual attendants, but Speaker Cassius himself. The speaker took in the situation with his usual pleasant, smiling mask before turning his face up to Evine and prompting, “Yes?”

The medic was unceremoniously dumped at the speaker’s feet, where he immediately tried to scramble away without looking like he was doing so. He failed, and wound up staggering to a stand behind a bemused Speaker Cassius. Evine explained, still all too icy, “This medic would rather give me his opinion than help the situation. I never want to see him again.”

“Your Eminence,” Speaker Cassius began, his own voice smooth, unafraid, like a parent soothing a child. “Is that really necessary? I’m sure this has been a mere misunderstanding…”

“I want him gone.” The god’s voice rose, filling the room with chill and ire. “Th- my sacrifice is hurt, and he doesn’t want to help, so I want him gone and I need a medic who will actually do something!”

Speaker Cassius, whose smile had dipped precariously towards a frown at the god’s initial stubbornness, regained his usual manner at the telltale sound of upset rather than anger in Evine’s voice. “Of course,” he agreed indulgently. “I’ll arrange it.” He gestured the current medic out into the hall, a suggestion that the man had no trouble following, and left; the doors closed firmly behind him.

The moment they did, Evine rushed back to Theophilos’s bedside- or rather, the side of his bedroom. All the ice melted. “Theophilos?” they gently inquired, looking at him with nothing but open, honest concern. “Are you okay? Hang in there, alright, they’re going to, Speaker Cassius is going to get somebody better…”

They reached out, one huge fingertip ever so gently brushing against his shoulder, and Theophilos shut his eyes against sudden tears. The god murmured something in dismay and consolation, but Theophilos couldn’t explain to them that these tears weren’t from the pain in his chest.

He had been afraid, certainly, and panicked, and all sorts of other things meriting tears; but Evine, a huge, powerful god who could do whatever they wanted, had stuck up for him. They had said that he wasn’t a thing to be discarded. They… they wanted him, even though he was broken, and it was this revelation that made Theophilos nearly miserable with gratitude.

A few minutes later, the doors opened once more. By the time Evine turned, a bit of their stoic expression from earlier returning, they had already shut again. On the balcony a young woman stood, alone, clutching a basket and looking all too much like a sacrifice on their first day. That comparison alone made Evine soften a bit towards her, though they still loomed close, watching her skitter backwards a few steps with their golden eyes, and asked firmly, “Are you here to help?”

“Y-yes, Sacred One,” the young lady stammered in reply. She had every manner of a rabbit about to bolt, not that Evine had ever seen one of those in person. “I, I’m here to serve.”

Evine sighed. She really seemed to mean it, and they still needed help, even if Theophilos’s coughing had mostly subsided by now. “Alright,” they said. They picked her up, quickly but not roughly, and to her credit she didn’t shriek. She still trembled slightly as they deposited her in Theophilos’s bedroom, but even that fell away as she took in the admittedly pitiful sight of their current sacrifice.

“Ooh, poor thing,” she tutted, mostly to herself. She set down her basket and pulled out a white cloth. It steamed faintly as she handed it to Theophilos with one hand, gently guiding him back up to a seat with another. “Here, sit up and put this near your mouth and nose- yes, just like that, don’t cover them but try to breathe through it as much as you can. The steam will loosen your lungs.” Once Theophilos was dutifully holding the hot, wet cloth close enough to breathe in the benefits, the young woman bustled about in her basket. She pulled out a clay jar, unstoppered the cork sealing it, and poured some of the liquid within into a cup. This she blew on gently, wafting away even more steam, before rising and offering it to Theophilos. “When you feel up to it, take some sips of this. It will soothe your throat, and get some liquid back in you.”

Her demeanor was no-nonsense, surprisingly so given that she only looked to be in her late twenties- she spoke with the certain authority of an old housewife. Similarly, however, there was genuine care beneath her words, a warmth that guided her hand. It comforted Theophilos in a way few things in his life ever had, and he followed her instructions almost automatically, taking some careful sips once he was breathing more evenly again. The hot tea within the cup tasted like honey, and lemon. It was syrupy enough to coat the back of his throat, and as promised, soothed some of the raw pain there. His lungs still ached, but the coughing fit had passed, and he was still here. That was a lot to be grateful for.

“Theophilos?” Evine tentatively queried. They rested their hands on the edge of his room, leaning in close, and Theophilos couldn’t help but notice the new medic stiffen as the god’s breath washed across her back from mere feet away. “Are you feeling better?”

Theophilos looked up at them, smiling and nodding reassuringly. His eyes were still a bit red and puffy, and he still looked all too frail and shaky, but he did seem to be better and the god was visibly assured. Evine sighed deeply, pushing quite a lot of the medic’s long, dark hair forward into her face, and said, “Oh, what a relief. Thank you, um…?” They leaned back a bit to look at the medic, since she had been close enough otherwise for them to go cross-eyed.

She turned and bobbed a curtsy, her white-edged chiton swished around her brown ankles. “Melina, Sacred One,” she respectfully supplied. Evine hadn’t seen many women in their room, aside from previous sacrifices. Melina looked altogether different from them; she was rounder, more solid, her face less symmetrical, her nose a bit bigger. Her hair was half-tied, but untidy, somewhere awkwardly in-between straight and wavy. Evine supposed she must not be “beautiful”, that concept that seemed so important to the speakers when they chose their sacrifices, but Evine liked her regardless. She was cute, and she hadn’t screamed. She added, “I am an assistant to the medical staff here in the temple.”

Evine hummed thoughtfully. “Well, now you’re my personal medic,” they decided. Melina froze, staring, and Evine’s determination melted into something more like reassurance. “Or, well, you could still be an assistant in the other part of the temple, I suppose, if you want to! I only meant, I think it would be prudent to have a medic just for Theophilos whenever he needs one, and I want it to be you.”

Melina sucked in a breath, before bowing her head and hiding any further surprise. “You honor me, Sacred One,” she said in reply. “It would be my pleasure to serve you.”

Evine fretted in a pattern that was becoming familiar to Theophilos in a rather endearing way. “And you don’t have to be so formal either?” they proposed, sounding and looking as if they weren’t, somehow, the one in charge of this entire situation. “You can just call me Evine.”

The medic’s head snapped back up. “I wouldn’t presume!” Melina blurted, before shrinking in on herself in a fit of self-admonition so automatic that Theophilos, instinctively, shrank along with her where he was seated on the bed. “S-sorry, Sacred One, I-I mean, just��” She floundered for a response that would be both honest and tactful. “I don’t think the speakers would approve.”

“Oh.” Evine looked a little crestfallen. “You’re probably right.” Melina looked, if anything, deeply relieved. Theophilos understood being more afraid of the speakers than of Evine (after all, he was); he didn’t expect Evine to understand that, however. As he expected, the god just said, “Maybe I can talk to them.” That at least took the burden of trying to explain off of Melina’s shoulders, and by the way they slumped in relief, she knew it.

Evine turned, pulling the rope, and Melina refilled Theophilos’s cup of tea with a small, nervous smile, before packing everything back into her basket. Just in time, too- when Speaker Cassius returned, Evine swept Melina off her feet and deposited her gently onto the balcony.

Speaker Cassius barely spared a glance at her. “Another failure of the staff?” he guessed. “I suppose you’ll want another one?” Melina ducked her head, her shoulders hunched, quiet beside him.

The god blinked. “What? No!” they blurted in surprise.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Speaker Cassius looked confused. “Apologies,” he said, his permanent smile a bit strained. “I simply thought, since you rang…”

“Oh! I just needed you to come so I could tell you something,” Evine explained. “It’s not bad. I want her to be my personal medic. Well, not for me, obviously, but on my personal staff.” Speaker Cassius simply stared, likely trying to process this new, unexpected development, but Evine took that as more confusion and continued, “She’s nice, and she knows what she’s doing. So I don’t want anybody else to come if I ask for a medic, okay?”

Speaker Cassius finally found his voice again. “Your Eminence,” he began slowly, “the girl is merely a medical assistant… if you had expressed a desire to have a medic on your personal staff earlier, I could have suggested professionals-”

“No,” Evine interrupted, firm if not angry. Speaker Cassius looked as if he had just been slapped, his smile frozen in place. “I want Melina. That’s my decision.”

The speaker’s eyes flicked up and over towards the sacrifice’s room, before returning to alight upon Evine. His smile grew slightly, and he bowed his head. “As you wish.”

He turned, gesturing curtly with a few fingers, and Melina bobbed in his wake as he strode out the door. “I didn’t do much, honest,” she quietly told him, her voice plaintive. “It’s not like I asked, I just, I made some tea, that’s all, really-”

“You needn’t explain to me,” Speaker Cassius told her. “The god has decided.” The doors closed behind them.

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #my writing #the sacrifice

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thespoonisvictory · 2 years

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I posted 5,874 times in 2022

1,359 posts created (23%)

4,515 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@firesnap

@thespoonisvictory

@surreal-static

@geoguessbur

@snailsnfriends

I tagged 3,314 of my posts in 2022

Only 44% of my posts had no tags

#asks - 426 posts

#d20 - 182 posts

#acofaf - 168 posts

#fav - 127 posts

#exu:c - 54 posts

#critical - 50 posts

#spoon rambles - 39 posts

#prev - 34 posts

#^^^ - 31 posts

#neverafter - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#like yes niki enjoys a good drawn out seagull eating bit and phil will do unhinged tts but who else would rp being stuck in a public library

My Top Posts in 2022:

ok fine I’ll say it. a good portion of dsmp streamers don’t care about the story and maybe arguably they never understood the enormity of what certain people on that server were trying to create, the integrity they were trying to maintain in it. they see clicks, engagement, and an endlessly appeased fanbase that will accept infinite promises and excuses, and as long as you still click on that stream they aren’t going to care. the farthest a good half of them got was “this seems cool” and then they streamed it and we took that and wrote fun analysis and did fanart. and as long as we all know that and accept that george and sapnap do not care or even understand why tommy’s house is so important, that’s fine. as long as we get that certain streamers only bring it up to promote merch and others only bring it up to pull attention back, and we agree to watch anyway because it’s fun, that’s fine.

but it breaks my heart seeing fans confused and heartbroken because they have to keep realizing that the vast majority of these guys don’t care about this server in that way anymore

1,528 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

the manburg arc being set during the transition from fall to winter like ok you hadestown over the garden wall bitch you really thought of everything didn’t you

1,850 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

I enjoy period accurate costuming but people who get mad at inaccurate but absolutely intentional choices in period pieces drive me up the wall

2,773 notes - Posted April 2, 2022

the new minecraft lore is like:

there are no mobs in the cities. something is stopping them; something is either killing them or maybe even they know not to venture down there, that it’s too dangerous.

but down there, there are candles. there are wool pathways. there are redstone lamps. whatever civilization lived down there was smart, much more advanced than villagers. they had thick walls, and figured out that wool kept Wardens away, and made enchantments to allow them to run quickly and quietly. they had nether blocks, basalt and soul fire, and their buildings nearly resemble nether fortresses, or bastions. there were whole communities that thrived in spite of the threat, until they didn’t, of course.

did they live in fear of the Warden? if so, why didn’t they leave? could they leave? did they try to make a portal to do just that? their cities are intricate and their floors are lined with wool that children could run across and stumble over without worry and did they whisper, constantly? did they teach children legends of the beasts that would come if they didn’t quiet down? did the children believe them? did they make candles on holidays and dare each other to set the skulk sensors off with small dripstone pieces? did they keep bees, or did they ration their wax carefully, trying to learn the secrets of redstone and soul fire to keep their lanterns burning before they ran out? how far did they get in their knowledge? why didn’t they leave? what were they staying for, what were they trying to find with that portal?

why didn’t they leave?

5,025 notes - Posted February 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I just. maybe I should be mad but I’m not. Wilbur Soot is a cunt and this was a story about suicide and blue sheep and sunrises and utah and I love that he took a deliberate move to make it campy and insane and like all of the most memorable bits from this stupid server it is full of heart! his mom is a fridge! he fucked a salmon! tragedy and grief render everything around them obscene and hilarious and the fact that this story ended in such a silly way is the ultimate fuck you to c!wilbur’s mindset that he is some ultimate dramatic evil. the world is ridiculous! you have to forgive yourself! suck it green boy!

7,567 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #enjoy

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dansnaturepictures · 1 year

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An amazing wild weekend in Norfolk 8th and 9th July 2023

In this year that we have been fortunate to see so much of wild Britain the idea was mooted of among everything else coming to Norfolk again this year for a short trip to look for Swallowtail butterflies, one we’d never seen and dreamed of. The idea went quiet and it looked like one for another year until we heard that the Bee-eaters (which we had so enjoyed seeing there last year on the - albeit via a diversion - way to the Global Bird Fair in Rutland) had returned to the quarry at Trimingham. So we decided to come away just for the weekend to try to see the Bee-eaters and then visit appropriate broads reserves in the hope of a late Swallowtail.

And it was amazing to see the Bee-eaters with some sensational views of the three birds at the quarry. It was wonderful to observe these brightly coloured birds, well painted by nature and charismatic. They really are stunning, seeing them on the wire, flying and on a bush had us in our element. A fantastic experience, and I have to say the RSPB and North East Norfolk Bird Club as well the landowners have been so kind and have done an amazing job again at allowing so many to safely see these birds. There were great vibes at the viewpoint. Elsewhere for birds in Marsh Harrier heartland we enjoyed some splendid views of these magnificent raptors at Hickling Broad where we went onto on Saturday and especially at RSPB Strumpshaw Fen where we went yesterday with epic views of this bird and their piercing eyes sat on wood which was unique for me and flying. Great White Egret starred at both of these reserves great birds to see, and alongside the likes of colourful Linnet, Kestrel showed how great to quarry is for wildlife with a fair bit seen there a Kestrel on a box sat just below the Bee-eaters at one point which was fun, and we saw a Kestrel at Strumpshaw too. Grey Heron, Egyptian Goose, Great Crested Grebe, Common Tern, Mallards and Mute Swan with young, Reed Bunting, Sedge Warbler, Whitethroat, Goldfinch, Swallow, Swift and Wren and Reed Warbler heard were other bird highlights of the weekend.

One of the Trimingham Bee-eaters

A Marsh Harrier at Strumpshaw Fen

Onto butterflies and our dreams came true in some moments where time stood still at Hickling Broad, when as the sun emerged through the clouds after looking at a Four-spotted Chaser dragonfly we saw an enormous, finely marked and resplendent Swallowtail fly by. Evocative of the Amazon, this gorgeous butterfly which we instantly recognised proceeded to fly through the clearing before rising high towards at oak tree. We had done it, been extremely lucky to see late in its flying season this iconic species. I have known them since before I really got into butterflies and longed to see one, I feel so euphoric that we managed it. For butterflies it’s what first seeing Lesser Spotted Woodpecker all those years ago was for birds for me, what seeing the Otters in April was for mammals. A monumental personal ambition realised which has brought me much joy. Red Admiral was a key species of the weekend with a fair few seen. I enjoyed Meadow Brown, Gatekeeper, Comma and Large Skipper too, as well as gorgeous black Peacock caterpillar the first butterfly caterpillar I recall seeing it was fascinating to see them for such a common species.

The lovely Peacock caterpillar at Hickling Broad

A Comma I enjoyed seeing at Strumpshaw Fen

The weekend in this fen habitat was a dragonfly and damselfly fest. Brown Hawkers dazzled us at Hickling Broad and Strumpshaw Fen a key one for my year, and then we learnt and saw one we never had before at Strumpshaw, magical Norfolk Hawker seeing a couple. This was a massive moment, they are lovely to watch and I am so pleased to have seen a new dragonfly. My first Ruddy Darters and Emerald Damselfly of the year at Hickling Broad were wetland gems to observe and key sightings this weekend to keep my year list for dragon and damselflies ticking over nicely. Alongside the Four-spotted Chaser, loads of Black-tailed Skimmer at the reserves, Common Darter and Banded Demoiselle were other highlights.

A Norfolk Hawker

The Emerald Damselfly

Silver Y was one of a few nice moths to see including one at the hotel alongside a Long-bodied Cellar spider there. There was also an amazing moment at Hickling Broad seeing a striking bushy Garden Tiger moth caterpillar another big new insect for us this weekend. A Black Clock beetle there was another, and in their high summer high time it was a joy to see so many Common Red Soldier beetles. As with February’s Norfolk trip the main mammal was Muntjac Deer, we enjoyed a thrilling view of one crossing the path right at the end of the trip at Strumpshaw Fen and saw one by the roadside on Saturday.

The Garden Tiger moth caterpillar

It was a fine time for flowers too with new ones for me seen including bush or tree lupin, marsh pea or vetchling and giant chickweed. My first melilot of the year was another highlight alongside hemp agrimony, purple loosestrife, self-heal, herb-Robert, red campion, yarrow, ones I am seeing a lot of late pineappleweed and white clover, heath spotted orchid, ragged robin, bird vetch, bindweed, St. John’s-wort, marsh bedstraw, valerian and evening primroses enjoyed both at the quarry as we did last year and adorning my view from the hotel room such pretty flowers. In these rich, watery and wild habitats there were so many pretty and stunning views to savour, I especially liked seeing big watery vistas of openings in reedbeds and the River Yare was very beautiful to see at Strumpshaw Fen.

Hedge wountwort at Strumpshaw Fen

Beautiful view at Strumpshaw Fen

View at Trimingham

Great White Egret at Strumpshaw Fen

Reed Bunting at Hickling Broad, a lovely moment seeing and hearing this one.

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makoodlesarchive · 4 years

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in bloom 🌼 || bnharem server collab

hellooo everyone!! this is my piece for the bnharem sfw collab. The theme this time was ‘flowers’! i had the absolute pleasure of writing for my baby kiri! this collab was actually super fun to write for, i had a blast 🌸🌸🌸

please go and check out all of the fantastic works on the masterlist here!

kirishima x reader

word count: 4.9k

｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆ ｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

Your apartment in Musutafu is small and cramped, with thin walls and very little natural light. The rent is extortionate for what it is, even considering the location in the city centre, and at least once a month there’s a complex wide electrical blackout. You can overlook all of the faults of the apartment though, because it’s in a safe neighbourhood close to a hero agency and, most importantly, it’s got a balcony.

Like the rest of the apartment, the balcony is small, but you’ve got enough room to cram a little outdoor bench into the corner. The rest of the space is filled with planters full of flowers and leafy pants, transforming the cramped little space into your own tiny garden. As the weeks begin to melt into summer, your little garden transforms into a wildy colourful and delightfully fragranced haven for butterflies and honeybees. You love to curl up on your little bench with a book, relishing the warmth of the sun on your face and the musical buzzing of the bees flitting about your Lantana flowers. Your apartment’s location on the ground floor means that you don’t get a whole load of privacy, but it doesn’t stop you from spending as much time as possible on the balcony beneath your hanging ivy planters.

Another bonus to the ground floor balcony is the cute redhead that wanders past every day at 2pm and then again at around 9pm. You’re not entirely sure when exactly you first noticed the man, but since you’ve moved in he’s become a permanent fixture in your daily routine. In the afternoons when you take a break from working from home and sprawl out amongst the leafy greenery of the balcony, you always catch a glimpse of him. You guess he must work in one of the offices nearby, and judging by the hastily buttoned jacket and wrinkled sweatpants he changes before going on his lunch break.

Every day he walks by, and every day you see him craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your balcony. It’s not uncommon for people to stare, considering your balcony is basically a green splash amongst the dull grey drabness of your apartment building, but unlike all the other curious passers-by, whenever this guy makes eye contact with you when you’re sitting out he’ll make sure to grin widely and wave at you. It’s sweet. You know next to nothing about the guy, other than that he always seems to be in a hurry and he has a smile so bright and toothy it could probably be seen from space, but those little interactions always put you in a good mood for hours afterwards.

After countless days of waves and smiles from a distance, you look up one day to find him grinning and waving yet again, but this time with a new addition. In his hand is a little potted cactus, which he holds up in the air so you can see.

“It’s for my office!” he yells to you. There’s a shrubbery area right outside your balcony that acts as both decoration and security to prevent anyone from just strolling up and hopping over the railing, but the guy is still standing as close as he can get on the sidewalk.

Your grin spreads slowly as you get up off your little bench and lean over the balcony railing to get a closer look at his little potted plant. “It’s cute!” you call back to him.

He beams, impossibly pleased with himself. “It’s not as impressive as yours!” he gestures at the foliage flowing over the railings and the hanging baskets.

“Everyone has to start somewhere!”

He laughs at that, his nose scrunching up just a little, and then waves at you again before setting off down the street. You watch him go until he disappears from sight, then return to your bench to continue reading. You’re so distracted by that whole little episode that it takes a few minutes for you to realise that your book is upside down.

It was such a short exchange, but after nothing but smiles and waves from afar for so long it leaves you a little dazed. You could kick yourself for not asking what his name was, but you just hadn’t had the time. Besides, you had been a little dazzled by his smile.

The man’s name is Kirishima Eijirou. Since the first day he spoke to you, you’ve bumped into him at the local supermarket several times. He’s friendly, sometimes overwhelmingly so, and really kind. He’s the perfect package wrapped up in the body of a professional cage fighter, so it’s probably inevitable that you develop a big fat crush on him. The two of you have only really exchanged basic pleasantries and small talk, but it’s enough to have your pulse skipping everytime he smiles at you.

The local flower shop is beautifully vibrant compared to the gunmetal grey skies outside, and the quiet warmth of the place makes it one of your favourite places to spend your days off. Hanging baskets full of seasonal flowers and trailing ivy are suspended from the ceiling and from high shelves, and leafy green plants create a jungle-like atmosphere within the shop. The effect is delightfully mismatched, with enormous bouquets of flowers brightening up the spaces along the walls. The high shelves and boundless foliage makes the whole place feel like a maze; you could happily lose yourself for hours upon hours within the humid little aisles.

You trace your fingers along the large waxy leaves of a monstera plant, enjoying the smooth texture. A bell tinkles overhead as the door to the shop opens and shuts, momentarily breaking the soothing blanket of quiet. You contemplate the price tag on the monstera plant; you already have one, and if you buy another you’ll be pretty hard pressed to find space for it. It is really cute though, and you’re pretty sure that if you move your ficus a little more into the left corner of your balcony you can make enough space for it.

Your thought process is broken by a noise from the top of the aisle, and you glance up to meet the gaze of a surprised yet familiar man.. “Oh! Kirishima-san.” you say at the same time as he blurts “Hi!”

Before you can say anything else, his face splits into a smile. “Aw man, I can’t believe you’re here! This is perfect!”

You laugh a little nervously. “Huh?”

“I was hoping to get a new plant for my office! Could you help me pick one out?”

“Oh.” you blink, a little overwhelmed by his exuberance and the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, “I don’t work here.”

He laughs like you’ve just told a really funny joke, and moves to meet you in the middle of the aisle. “Yeah, I know. I’m just guessing that you know your stuff about plants -- your balcony is so awesome.”

“Oh.” you say again, straightening a little despite yourself. You feel ridiculously pleased, probably more than such a simple comment warrants. “Thank you. I worked hard on it.”

“It really shows!” he enthuses. “It actually inspired me to spruce up my office a bit, actually!”

“Really?” you ask, leaning back against one of the shelves. A frond-like leaf tickles the back of your neck, but you don’t bother swatting it away. You think that the two of you might be the only two customers in the shop at this time, and your conversation seems so loud in the relative silence. Somewhere near the back an electric fan buzzes, the noise breaking up the monotonous quiet so it doesn’t seem quite so oppressive.

“Yeah! So, will you give me a hand?” he tilts his head as he asks, and you realise that his shoulders have dropped down, as if he’s trying to make himself appear smaller. “My friend thinks it’s stupid, but I’m determined to have the nicest desk in the whole building!”

You smile despite yourself, his good humour infectious. “Yeah, okay. Are you looking for something in particular?”

Kirishima steps back and regards the surrounding display cases thoughtfully. “Um. Honestly, I don’t know much about plants. I have my little cactus, but it’d be nice to get it a friend, right? I’m happy to go with whatever you think is best!”

You hum, considering your options. If it’s a small office desk he’s hoping to decorate, you suppose a couple of small succulents could do a nice job of adding a bit of life and colour. “I’m sure we can find something.”

“I’ll leave myself in your capable hands, then.” Kirishima says with a grin, inclining his head a little.

You step further into the shop, ducking under a trailing strand of ivy leaves. The dark hardwood floor creaks as you move, with Kirishima following close behind you. When you pause to gaze at a couple of potted plants on one the shelves you keep your gaze cast down, but glance up through your eyelashes to look at Kirishima. You’re surprised to find him already watching you, like he’s drinking in every move you make. The attention is a little overwhelming, but it’s also exciting. His gaze on you is like a physical weight, and you can’t quite help the coy smile that curves over your face. You know you’re not imagining the soft, heated interest behind his eyes; he’s not exactly being subtle.

You duck into a parallel aisle, just fast enough that Kirishima stumbles for half a step at the sudden change in direction. You hum quietly to yourself, and toss a playful smile over your shoulder as he follows behind you. He meets your smile with another grin, bright and handsome. He doesn’t look away from you for a second.

You come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the aisle and turn to face him. The sudden movement takes him by surprise, but he manages to catch himself before he barrels into you. It’s probably not entirely intentional, but he ends up standing so close that you can almost count the delicate little freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose from the summer sun. His head dips down towards you, leaning into your space in a way that is decidedly more than just casually friendly. His lips part, but before he can speak you ask, “What about this one?”

His gaze drops down to the space between you, where you’re holding up a small plant with waxy little leaves. He blinks at it, and then recovers gracefully. “Hey, that one is pretty cute.”

“‘Pretty cute’s not quite good enough, though, is it?” You pretend to ponder, tapping your chin. “If you want the nicest desk in the whole building, you need better than ‘pretty cute’, right?”

If anything, Kirishima’s smile grows even wider. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You up for the challenge of finding me the best plant in the store?” He steps closer as he speaks, until there’s nothing but a scant few inches and the potted plant between you.

You make a show of considering the challenge, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Hold this for me?” you ask suddenly, practically shoving the plant into his hands.

Kirishima takes it, startled, and in the moment of distraction you turn on your heel and dart down the aisle, disappearing down another row of shelves. You’ve barely turned the corner when you hear a deep, rumbling chuckle followed by quick footsteps against the hardwood floor as he follows after you.

It’s like a game. You wind your way through the aisles, skipping over vines and stray pots, and Kirishima tries to catch up. You know this shop like the back of your hand (you’re in here nearly every single weekend), but Kirishima is fast and agile despite his large stature. There are a few close calls, where you just manage to round the corner of a new aisle before Kirishima can reach you, and each one makes your breath catch in your chest when Kirishima’s delighted laughter rings out through the shop.

You can’t help the grin that stretches across your face as you turn into another half-hidden aisle, ducking under a large fan-like leaf that stretched out and drooped low. Only a moment later you hear a soft slap and an “Oof!” as Kirishima presumably runs straight into it, and you laugh quietly to yourself as you slip in between a row of glass display cases.

A clatter and a soft curse sounds from one aisle over, and you guess that Kirishima just accidentally knocked a pot over. You pad softly to the end of the aisle, taking a moment to try and catch your breath and stifle your wild grin. It’s so childish, playing a game of chase in a garden shop with a man you barely know, but you’re having so much fun.

You poke your head cautiously around the edge of one of the display shelves, biting your lip and listening carefully for any sign of Kirishima. The only noise you can hear is the strained mechanical whirring of the fan from somewhere near the back of the shop, so you edge forward. You’ve only managed to take two steps before you feel a presence behind you.

“Gotcha.” Kirishima rumbles, right by your ear.

The noise that’s punched out of your chest is embarrassing, a weird cross between a yelp and a laugh. You whirl on the ball of your feet to face him, only for him to keep stepping closer. You have no choice but to retreat, until you’re backed up into a little alcove between two large glass display cases overflowing with luscious green ferns. Kirishima advances until he’s as close as he can be without actually touching you, and maybe you should feel a little intimidated by this man that’s built like a brick wall of pure muscle but his smile is so delighted and soft that you don’t think you could be afraid of him if you tried.

“You got me.” You agree, a little breathlessly. You don’t know if it’s from the exertion of running through the shop like a child or from the thrill of Kirishima’s closeness to you, but your heart is thrumming like a wild thing in your chest.

From this close, you can see the way Kirishima’s hair is sweat-damp on his brow and curling just slightly; it must be from the humidity inside the shop, because he doesn’t seem even the slightest bit affected by the physical activity of chasing after you. “You’re fast.” he says, his voice quiet as if afraid to break the atmospheric stillness within the shop.

“Yeah?” you mimic his volume subconsciously, “You sure you don’t just like chasing me? I think you could have caught me earlier, if you wanted.”

Kirishima laughs, and the skin around his eyes crinkle up in the most adorable way you’ve ever seen. “Maybe.” he says, and it sounds like a secret. His teeth are white and sharp and his cheeks dimple when he smiles. You’re distracted by the dimples, so when he raises his hand you barely notice until suddenly there’s a flower right under your nose and your eyes nearly cross in your attempt to look at it.

“It’s pretty.” You say with a smile. It’s a simple white cosmo flower, though Kirishima is beaming as though he’d managed to find a particularly rare gem, and you don’t get a chance to take it from him before he tucks it neatly behind your ear.

“It’s like you.” He says. The words are flirtatious, but he delivers them so earnestly that you don’t quite know how to react.

“How about a potted ivy?” you blurt, at a loss for anything else to say. “It would be easy to take care of, and it looks good.”

Kirishima blinks, but takes the change of subject in stride. “Is that your professional recommendation?”

“Mhmm.” It’s hard to focus when he’s so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your skin every time he speaks. You’re sure he must be picking up on how flustered he’s making you -- you’re not convinced by the innocent expression on his face. “Maybe a few succulents, too.”

Kirishima nods thoughtfully, consideringly. “Hmmm. That sounds good to me. Will you go out to dinner with me?”

It’s such a non-sequitur that it takes your brain a long moment to register his words. “I- huh?”

His dimpled smile turns bashful and a little self-conscious. “Ah. Sorry, that might have been a little forward.” He scratches the back of his head, and your gaze is drawn to the way his bicep bulges at the movement. “I was wondering if you’d like to get some dinner with me? I know a place that does some really great burrito bowls.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Kirishima-san?” Your words come out soft and quiet and effortlessly flirtatious -- you hadn’t intended on sounding so seductive, but you can’t help but enjoy the way Kirishima leans in closer to you.

“Yeah. No pressure if you don’t wanna, of course!” He’s quick to reassure you, “It’s totally fine if you’re not interested. I just wanted to let you know that I am very interested.”

As refreshing as his straight-forwardness is, you can’t help but feel surprised. This man is very much out of your league, you’re not blind, and yet he had been the one to approach you, and had indulged in your silly game of chase around the shop, and had playfully cornered you in an alcove and asked you out. You’ve met him enough by now to know he’s kind, friendly, and eager to help with just about anything you ask. Plus, he’s practically built like a Greek god, with a handsome face and the most stacked muscles you’ve ever seen in person.

“I’m interested.” you breathe, heart hammering in your chest. God, you really hoped this wasn’t some kind of elaborate joke.

Kirishima seems to actually inflate at that, a bright smile blooming across his face as his shoulders straighten. “Really? Great! Awesome! Tonight?”

“Sure.” you agree, returning his smile. Your heart rate still hasn’t returned to normal from your chase around the shop; if anything, it feels like it’s pounding harder than ever. “I’m free tonight.”

“Great!” Kirishima says again. He seems more excited than you would have expected, which is honestly pretty flattering since you’re pretty sure you’re the one that should be feeling the most excited in this situation. “I have to go back to work since I’m technically on my lunch break right now, but I could pick you up at your apartment at around eight tonight?”

“Eight is perfect.” you straighten the flower behind your ear and smile up at him, letting your own excitement shine through on your face.

Kirishima steps back, finally giving you some space. You forcefully resist the urge to follow after him, watching instead as he backs away, still beaming. “Okay. Okay, cool. So, I’ll see you tonight?”

You let him go a few more steps before tilting your head and asking, “So, you changed your mind about the plants?”

He pauses, one foot raised mid-step like a cartoon character. “Plan-?” he starts, before his eyes go comically wide, “Oh! The plants! Right!”

You laugh, finding him stupidly endearing, before stepping out of the little alcove and setting off down one of the aisles to the left. There’s a whole section of the shop dedicated solely to the house plants, and it’s not difficult to find a suitable ivy plant with light green leaves and tumbling vines. Kirishima takes the potted plant when you hand it to him, and trails after you again as you go in search of the succulents. When you’ve found some suitable little plants, you help him carry them up to the counter with the cash register. There’s no one manning the register (and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief at that, because it means that no one saw the two of you running through the shop like idiots), and you ring the little bell to notify the employees that you’re at the counter.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you say, stepping away from the counter as an employee finally emerges from the back of the shop. “See you tonight?”

Kirishima fumbles with the plants in his hands as he tries to wave. “Tonight! Yeah!”

The bell tinkles as you duck out the shop door, biting your lip to try and stifle your excited grin.

You look in the mirror yet again, tugging nervously at your clothes. You look pretty good, you think, but the closer it gets to eight the more nervous you get. You realised too late that you never exchanged phone numbers, and Kirishima doesn’t know which number apartment to buzz from the front door. You focus on staying calm and not overthinking things; it’s just a date, with the most handsome man you’ve ever actually spoken to. No big deal. It’s fine.

You tug on your shirt again, even though it’s sitting pretty much perfectly. You just lean forward to check your teeth when a crash sounds from your balcony. You jerk towards the crash automatically, and race out to open the doors to the balcony. You’re greeted with the sight of Kirishima with one leg over the balcony railing, staring dismally down at the shattered pot that he apparently just knocked over.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurts as soon as he sees you, “It was an accident! I didn’t know your apartment number to buzz the door and so I thought I’d just knock on the door to your balcony but I didn’t see the pot and- wow, you look really good!”

You wave away his frantic apologies with a laugh as you step over the spilled dirt. “Don’t worry about it. You look pretty good, too.” Your eyes drop to where he’s hiding his hands behind his back. “What have you got there?”

Kirishima hikes his other leg over the railing and drops to his feet, before pulling his arms out from behind him and revealing a large bouquet of beautiful white and pink lilies. “I got these for you.” he says, a pink blush dusted over his cheekbones. “I know you, uh, like flowers and plants and things. I don’t know much about them, but I thought they were pretty!”

Your whole face softens, and you reach out to take the bouquet. They are pretty, with delicate pink-streaked white petals and long, dainty stems. Pollen drops from them at every movement, sprinkling into the air in delicate yellow puffs. “They’re beautiful! Thank you.”

When you glance up at him you find that his attention is caught by the side of your head, his own smile softening. “You kept it?”

You touch the cosmo flower still tucked behind your ear, a little embarrassed. It had seemed like a cute idea to keep it and wear it for the date, but now you wonder if it’s a little weird. “Yeah. Like you said, it’s pretty, right?”

“Yeah.” he agrees. His gentle pink blush has intensified into a deep red. “Very pretty.”

You look back down at your lilies, still smiling. You feel so pleased, like all your nerves are being melted away only to be replaced by excited anticipation. “Your office must be really close by if you had the time to grab these before getting here.”

“It’s right around the corner,” he points towards the end of the street, “But, uh. My boss actually let me go early today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I, uh-” His blush, impossibly, seems to intensify further. “I’ve been talking about you for a while, I guess. Telling people about your awesome balcony and stuff, and how nice you are whenever I meet you. I didn’t actually realise how much I mentioned you, but, uh, when I told Fat that I had asked you out, he pretty much told me to get outta there and come straight to get you.”

You laugh, pleasantly embarrassed yourself. “Wow. That’s… that’s really sweet.” A thought intrudes on the back of your mind, suddenly, and you frown a little. He said his boss's name was Fat? Office around the corner? “Wait. You work at Fat Gum’s Hero Agency?”

“Yep!” He flexes one of his biceps playfully; you’re pretty sure it’s bigger than your head. “I’m a sidekick there! ”

“Wow.” you say, gaze stuck on his muscled arm. “That- well. That explains- I mean, you have a very nice body.” Oh god, you think, cursing yourself. Why had you said that?

Kirishima flushes from the roots of his hair to his chest. You can’t help but grin, his bashfulness impossibly charming. “Oh! Thanks! I work out a lot.” he chuckles, shrugging as if it’s nothing.

You’re still grinning as you look at his rosy face, your eyes dropping to his red-flushed chest. His very red-flushed chest. “Uh.” you glance to his neck, where the skin is an angry crimson colour. “Kirishima-san?”

“Yeah?” The sun is dropping low in the sky, and the golden sunset throws buttery yellow-toned light all over your balcony. It lights up Kirishima’s profile in warm relief, and makes you wonder if you’re maybe imagining the colour you’re seeing.

“Are you okay? You have- I think you have a rash?”

“Huh?” He drops his chin to his sternum, trying to get a look at what you’re seeing. When he tugs his shirt down, it reveals angry red lines streaking down his chest. “Oh. Yikes.”

Your mouth drops open. “That.. looks painful.”

“It’s more itchy, really.” He admits, poking at the patch of ruddy skin. His head snaps up, eyes wide, and he quickly adds, “This doesn’t usually happen! I don’t usually have, uh, whatever this is!”

That definitely isn’t as comforting as he’s clearly hoping it will be. “Um. Kirishima, do you feel weird right now?”

“A little? I think I’m just nervous for our date, though.” He shifts on his feet and reaches up to scratch at his throat. “Just a little itchy. My throat feels a bit weird. I think it’s nerves.”

The angry red rash climbing up his chest and throat suggests that it’s not just nerves. “Does your throat feel… swollen?”

“Kinda?”

Your gaze drops to the flowers in your arms. The breeze shakes loose another little cloud of pollen from them, which floats into the air in a little puff of yellow dust. “Did this start after you got the flowers?”

“I guess!” Kirishima says, clearly not following.

“Oh.” You stare at each other. Kirishima still hasn’t quite caught on to the logical conclusion of these questions. Now that you’re looking at him closely, you’re pretty sure his face looks a little puffier than usual. “I think you’re having an allergic reaction.”

Kirishima blinks, then looks to the flowers in your arms. His hand scratches idly at the base of his throat, which is now a raw and angry red. “Oh. Oh, I see. Huh.” You might be imagining it, but his voice sounds a little thicker now.

“I think we should go to the hospital.” You set down the lilies on your garden bench and usher him into your apartment. You haven’t had time to tidy up, but you’re past the point of caring about cleanliness. Kirishima doesn’t seem to notice anyway, as his face has fallen.

“What about dinner?” He asks, obviously disappointed, and yep, his voice has definitely gotten thicker. It sounds like his throat is swelling.

You try not to panic. “We can get food after the hospital!”

Kirishima actually has the nerve to pause and think about it. “Are you sure? I don’t feel that bad, and I really want to take you somewhere nice.”

It’s hard not to feel flattered at that. “I really appreciate that, Kirishima. I would feel a lot better if we got you checked out before dinner, though. I think the date would go better if you weren’t on the brink of anaphylactic shock.”

Kirishima concedes at that, and lets you call a taxi. As you stand on the sidewalk waiting for the taxi to arrive, he sighs and tilts his head. “This is embarrassing. I can’t believe I finally ask you out only for it to be ruined by some stupid flowers.”

“Hey,” you bump him with your hip, but it’s like hip-checking a boulder. You wince and rub at your hip bone as you say, “The flowers were beautiful, and a really lovely thought. Plus, I’ve kind of had a crush on you for a while now. One little bump in the road isn’t gonna chase me away, okay?”

“Really?”

You tug him over so you can press a chaste, tentative kiss to his cheek. “Really.”

“I’m gonna make sure when this is over that I bring you on the most unforgettable date ever!” In the light of the setting sun, Kirishima is lit up golden. He grins, gilded and bright, and even with his puffy face and swollen throat, you think he might just be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“I think that you’ve already accomplished that.” you say delicately as you spot your taxi rounding the corner of the street, “Maybe our next date should be a little more uneventful.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima laughs, sounding like his throat is full of cotton balls, “Maybe uneventful is best. But you basically just agreed to go on another date with me, right?”

You suppose you have to be impressed by his determination, if nothing else. You’re not used to being the focus of someone’s attention like this, especially not someone on the brink of a medical emergency. It’s… flattering. “Yeah, I guess I did. Maybe next time we should leave the flowers, though.”

“No flowers.” Kirishima agrees, then chuckles.

You think his swollen, puffy smile might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnharem server collab #bnharem collab #bnha kirishima #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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angelicichor · 5 years

Note

We really really really need a pt 2 nsfw slasher hc’s , maybe this time include Jason aswell ? Only if you want to of course 💋

more N//SF//W it is.

Don’t worry the yearning is strong today so I’m more than willing to continue.

Starting soft:

Bubba Sawyer:

• Fight me on this, but Bubba is ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE IN EVERYTHING HE DOES.

• He’s an obedient boy, always looking out for you, be it during the day or at night when finally, FINALLY his brother/s leave you alone.

• And then you’re sitting on the bed, he’s below you, doing his best eating you tf out, that sloppy tongue making you a wet, slippery mess. And be sure that Bubba goes DEEP.

• He’s a strong man, so his hair is your driving stick, pull him in when you want him deeper, tug it when he’s going too fast, growl at him if his teeth touches your sex, you’ll soon find out that he’s very, VERY responsive.

• He’ll worship your body, from your magnificent hair, through your beautiful face, your waist, your fingers, even your feet if you want him to, he’ll make you feel like a divine being with his shaky touch, his unsure hands that have touched you so many times but still feel like you’re going to disappear if he touches you wrong. Gosh, he’s adorable.

• Ride him, for god’s sake! He’s a mess underneath you, squirming, whining, moaning something that sounds like your name and when you smile at him, replying to his call, he literally melts.

• Through all this adorable stuff it’s often difficult to remember that this man is an absolute beast if you let him off the leash.

• The last time you told him it’s okay to take the lead he was groping you in a heart beat, trembling hands squeezing your curves through your clothing, making you bend under his weight, the room just filling with his arousal as he ripped your poor shirt from your chest and you squeaked in surprise. Well, there goes that.

• He grabbed your hands above your head, keeping both in his one, as the other palmed your face, exploring it’s features closely and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was thinking of making a mask out of you.

• He wasn’t, but he thought it would be absolutely stunning if he did and he’d never make another because you’re just too perfect for him.

• Soon enough his tongue’s over your nipples, licking, sucking and biting, taking in your smell and taste, his hand squeezing onto your thighs, awestruck at how soft they felt in his calloused hands.

• He’s a messy lover, that’s for sure, but his hot breath makes everything just so much better.

• You felt more of his weight moving onto you as his hips grinding against your leg, the tent in his pants way too obvious to be ignored and you couldn’t help but whimper, wondering what he was going to do to you.

• He’s quick to answer your mute question, as he rips your pants off you and janks his own belt and clothes down, pushing your legs apart before him, a nervous yet aroused giggle leaving him just before he slips into you, taking your breath away.

• Excuse him, he isn’t that well versed in preparing a lover for his adoration. Good thing you were already horny as all hell.

• His thrusts are fast, uneven and heavy, with every move you can feel yourself sink into the mattress, his weight crushing your frailer body and it’s just too fucking good. He’s so big, so damn warm and smells so goddamn sweet and the way he squeezes your breast is so hungry you’re afraid he’s going to bite it off.

• He doesn’t but his teeth find their way onto you anyhow as he moans and grunts with your neck in his mouth, leaving a big, fat mark and drawing just a tiny bit of blood. It’s adorable that he’s afraid to hurt you even when he’s allowed to.

• When he’s about to cum he cups your face and whimpers nervously, asking for your allowance. Nod and he’ll have you dripping with his head, shake your head and he’ll pull out with a cry, heartbroken that he has to abandon your warm insides and leaving a hot, thick trail of cum on your belly.

• He quickly perks up watching you breath heavy underneath him, covered in his come. Bubba will never get over how beautiful you are, NEVER.

Jason Voorhees:

• Fight me on this, but I believe Jason is actually less reserved about sex than what people often think. I believe he understands what’s the main focus of the activity and what is means for the people involved, his mommy was a smart woman, she most likely explained to him all the stuff about birds and bees.

• But tell me you wouldn’t feel like murder if a group of unattended teenagers/young adults invaded your place of death and started fucking? It’s the worst thing and after that is somebody screwing on your front yard. In Jason’s cause, it’s both.

• Still, he’s definitely a virgin, so starting off everything is pure instinct.

• That’s a good thing though, because instinct is how he learned to kill, to hunt and to survive, that and probably some books.

• Starting off he’s gonna fuck like he hunts - Holding you in his iron grip, squeezing your body tight, his gaze focused on you and you only, it’s as terrifying as it is arousing, and his relentless thrusting ain’t helping nobody.

• Good thing he actually cares about your consent and instructions before, preparing you with his long tongue and thick fingers, following your every demand, not breaking eye contact, so he can see that he’s doing it right, that man rarely blinks, get used to it.

• By the way his tongue is AMAZING?? If you gave him a cherry he’d definitely be able to tie a knot, it’s just that goddamn good and once it leaves you it’ll leave and empty, needy void that he’s more than happy to fill with his enormous cock.

• And here’s the bad thing - no matter what, you’re gonna be so sore after your first time. Jason’s a tight fit, probably not even coming in fully, because as the slasher community is well aware of - Momma’s boy is one of the biggest guys around.

• So you’ll be definitely moaning and screaming his name into the woods, overcome with joy, pleasure and sweet pain.

• Don’t worry, he WILL carry you to bed. It’s his fault that you’re outside anyways, he just couldn’t handle you being so close and so adorable anymore, so he hopes his jacket is thick enough to counteract the harsh wood behind you.

• Once he learns that you can enjoy a slower pace too, he’ll make sure to take his time with you, teasing you lovingly with a bright smile on his face, it’s really unfair, but don’t complain, you love it.

• While he’s a good boy™ don’t expect him to be as submissive as Bubba. He’s well aware of how strong he is and isn’t afraid to use this strength to overpower you and make you shiver under his touch.

• Jason isn’t a sadist, at least he swears he isn’t, but there is a certain glint in his eyes when you tremble as he closes his huge hand around your neck, aware that he could snap it in a second, but trusting him not to do that.

• Don’t worry, he’d never hurt you without your consent.

• Still, Jason’s a playful boy. Rough house with him and if you win (aka. he takes mercy on you and let’s you win) he’ll give you a bit of control. You lose it as soon as his dick slips into you though, but enjoy the moments of glory he’s happy to provide you with.

• His biggest kink though, which he’s a bit ashamed and disappointed with himself to admit, is hunting. He’s been literally resurrected to hunt and damn it if it doesn’t make his cold heart beat faster when he sees you put on some more comfortable shoes and look at him to start counting 5 minutes, giving you a head start. You’ll need it.

• You can’t see his amused head tilt as he cheats a bit and watches you run into the thick of the forest, but not following you yet, it’s always more fun when you think he doesn’t know where you are.

• It’s during those hunts that you remember that he IS the Crystal Lake Killer. Everything about him scream terror as he scans the surrounding for you, his heavy steps completely silent, how, you have no idea. He’s tall, muscular and dressed to kill, if he took of his jacket you can see how his muscles shift under each breath he takes. You realize how powerful his arms are when with one swift motion he hurls a bunch of boats down to see if you’re not hiding under one of them, his senses sharp enough to catch a small crunch of leaves under your foot as you shift towards a building and he follows.

• The wooden boards creak in complaint under his weight and you hide in a closet in alarm, your breathing quick and uneven, you can feel your whole body tensing as he passes the old piece of furniture and moves onto the beds. There’s a quiet squeak as you can hear him lifting one of them, letting it fall down with a loud thud when he realized nobody’s there.

• But the sound was just loud enough for you to let out a silenced squeak. Don’t worry, he heard that.

• You can see his shadow in front of the wardrobe and you’re trembling, fear mixing with excitement, part of you screaming that you’re going to die and the other adding “in the best possible way”.

• And that thought makes you whimper almost silently, but his quiet laughter let’s you know he heard, knocking onto the slightly open door politely, mocking you for losing. In a fit of rebellious spirit you stand up and pull the wardrobe closed, there’s a moment of silence.

• There’s a huff and before you know it he has pulled both doors open, leaning inside with a small head tilt, eyes smiling devilishly.

•“Not fair…” you whimper and his body shakes under his voiceless chuckle. He knows, you little cutie, you!

• He takes you right there and then, making your clothes nothing more than garbage with the precise cut of his machete, the cold metal making you shiver, arousal building even more as the realization that you’re at his mercy hits you, hard. “Be nice… okay?” you ask and he lifts his mask up just enough for you to see him mouthing the word “no” and smashing his lips into a heated kiss with you, squeezing your ass in his huge hands, lifting you up onto his cock.

• You tear up at the sheer size of this thing spreading you open and you know you’re in trouble. He knows it too, but in his attempt to humor your wish just a little bit he lets you adjust, pushing you back into the wardrobe and pressing his hand onto the old wood to stabilize himself as he still held you, warming you with his length, pressing his masked forehead against yours, watching as your eyes flutter closed and then open, gaze filled with lust, but don’t worry, his is exactly the same.

• Once he can feel you getting wet around him there’s no more mercy, he thrusts into you, relishing in your offended gasp, his eyes sparking with amusement, before he starts fucking you senseless.

• You ain’t leaving until cum’s spiling out of you, darling.

• When he’s done with you, however, you can expect a load of kisses, hugs, nuzzles and gentle caresses in the cabin. He’ll make you tea too and once he’s sure you’ve calmed down he’ll go around the camp looking for books for you to read. You ain’t gonna be walking tomorrow.

• Once you can walk you can go to his momma to tell her that her son is a BULLY.

• How rude.

Trigger warning for the next boy: blood play, bdsm, abuse??, some might call it that, cutting, hitting, Mikey is a nasty fuck ok?

Michael Myers (OG)

• When I think about the original Shape of Haddonfield all I can think of is one word - Beg.

• Mikey is the definition of a dom, rough, cold, decisive, unshaken. Some may argue you’d be better of if he just killed you, but one way or another you ended up as his fuck toy obsession.

• Call him Daddy, Master, Sir, any of those will get you on his good side during sex, but even his good side is BAD.

• This man has barely any limits when it comes to using you, sure, sometimes he’ll just push you onto the bed and lazily take you, his hips hitting you like an iron pump, but that’s rare. Most of the time he comes to you is to ruin you and you’re lucky if you live alone.

• He loves fucking your face, tilling your face back and making you choke on his dick repeatedly, only giving you seconds to breathe or to swallow back puke if it comes to that. If you see him grabbing a knife in the morning or just notice on of your missing, don’t eat that day. Just a precaution.

• No matter how he takes you choking is a must and not just lightly gripping your throat, no, he will make a mark, you’re his and the world needs to know. Nobody else is allowed to touch you, he’s even showing mercy by letting people talk to you when he’s around. You threw a fit about it at one point and while he made sure to leave you bruised and used as punishment, he understood.

• There’s just no back talking him, ever.

• While he’s well capable of destroying you with his bare hands a knife is Michael’s best friend and some friends are worth taking to bed.

• There’s many scars on your body and only one or two are from before meeting him, you can’t count the sheets he ruined when something in his head sang for you to bleed, his hands painting you in red, pushing your blood deep down your throat, a raging bliss in his eyes as you cried underneath him, getting dizzy, weak, cold. That man doesn’t know how much blood you can lose and honestly he just doesn’t care. If you faint he will patch you up, but most likely not because of concern, he’d just hate to lose a grateful toy like you.

• Speaking of which, he LOVES it when you thank him for fucking you, when you beg for him to fill you up or to let you finish, if you don’t beg, you ain’t getting anything.

• He’ll make you sit on all fours before him, gripping your hair tightly, forcing you to look him in the eye and slapping your face if you dare turn your eyes away, but don’t worry, the slap is almost loving, your face is the only thing he won’t scar or bruise, he actually likes it, well, he likes all of you, won’t admit it though, but you can’t make those adorable expressions if your face is all swollen, right?

• His biggest kink is fucking on corpses and YES, he has forced you to do that, you should know what you’re singing up for when asking MICHAEL-fucking-MYERS to be your mate. Yeah, mate, that man ain’t boyfriend material, I’m sorry.

• Surprisingly he isn’t that much into tying you up - why waste tame on that when he can keep you still with his hands and a simple knife?

• DON’T EVER ASK HIM TO BE SUBMISSIVE. This is a threat.

• Bitting, hitting, pushing and pulling his hair are forbidden. He can accepts scratches though, they feel pleasant. Also if he ever get’s high or drunk you might get to cut him. He’s a daredevil when intoxicated and seeing how much pain his body can handle sets something off in him. Still won’t submit to you though.

• To be honest the most docile you’ll ever see him is from the morning in the kitchen. He’ll laze up to you, enveloping you in his arms, pressing you firm against his powerful chest so you can feel his body rumble in a sleepy purr.

• While he never takes time to do aftercare with you (unless you get a panic attack, then he’ll just pin you down until you calm down), at those times you can sometimes hear small, caring phrases like “mine”, “you okay?” and “darling”. I know, shocking, but there’s SOME human in there still.

•“You okay?” he asks, voice deep and hoarse form the lack of use, but so damn handsome. You stop breathing, unsure if you didn’t accidentally die and go to heaven, but no, the way he grips you makes your bruises from yesterday hurt, this ain’t heaven, darling. “Y…yes, I’m fine…” you murmur back and all too suddenly you can feel his nails digging into your skin. “I’m fine…what?” he growls and you search your head for an answer, panicking lightly. Finally something clicks. “Yes, I-I’m fine… Sir.” you say and he hums in approval, letting you go for a second to turn you towards him, his mask lifting for a millisecond so he can kiss your forehead. “Adorable.” you hear him say, before he shifts away, grabbing one of your knives and leaving.

• And all you can think is - ‘but… my hips are still dying…’ Because you know damn well what will happen when he comes back tonight.

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

“Everything Goes Wrong” || YEAR 3 – Ch.39 (HP au)

Chapter List

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Day posted: 2/2/2021

Word count: 3,346

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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The tunnel was much larger than Heather remembered it being. Under her wand’s soft light, it seemed more open and less constricting. On her way through the first time, it felt like the walls could cave in at any moment, crushing them before the Grim or Sirius Black could get a chance. Now it felt like the tunnel was experiencing one long, full breath as wind came in through the Whomping Willow’s opening far ahead.

Heather breathed in just as deeply, opening up her lungs and filling them as much as possible like she was taking in her very first breath. It smelled damp and the dusty mud the others kicked up pricked at her lungs but the knowledge that everything was now under control was enough to soothe the stings.

Heather looked on ahead at the strange, tall man in front of her, still holding Snape up like a doll on strings by Snape’s own wand. By the way Snape’s head bumped on the rough ceiling of the cave, Sirius seemed more focused on the path ahead, eyes trained on glimmer of light just beyond. Sirius’ long curls caught on branching roots but he paid the constant tugging no mind. Did this feel like a second prison break for him? With Peter Pettigrew, he would become a freer man than when he broke out of Azkaban.

Heather winced at the fifth bump to Snape’s head. “I don’t think he’ll forget I blasted him against the wall with so many scrapes and bruises to his head,” she whispered.

Sirius turned to her. “He’ll have more to worry about when he wakes up than you and Harry’s attack on him.” He flicked his wrist down and the toes of Snape’s shoes began dragging along the floor, kicking up more dust but saving his forehead from future scrapes. “He won’t very pleased to see only Peter taken away in chains… and less so to see me freed and reunited with my old pal.”

There was more color to Sirius’ face now, making him look only a bit less grim and skeletal than minutes before.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Do you two know what all this means?”

“Yes. You’re free,” Harry declared from the back. “They won’t be sending you back to Azkaban ever again.”

“Yes…” Sirius kept looking onward but his free hand fidgeted at his side, pulling on the tattered holes of his grey-striped shirt. “Yes, but… Well… You know I’m – Your parents made me your Godfather… to the both of you – I don’t know if anyone ever mentioned it.”

“We overheard it,” Heather admitted. She looked back at Harry who was looking up at Sirius intently. The light of their wands reflected of his scratched glasses and although she couldn’t see his eyes, she could guess she’d find a spark of excitement in them.

“That would make me your appointed guardian,” Sirius continued more stiffly. “That was, if anything happened to them…”

Heather gripped her sweater, feeling her hands begin to shake.

“Of course you both have full say in where your home is – I wouldn’t wish to take you from your aunt and uncle… And… Well… See, once my name is cleared – should you ever want a different home – if you wanted…”

“Are you suggesting we live with you?” Harry stepped on Heather’s heal – she hadn’t realized she had slowed down her pace. “Leave the Dursleys?”

Sirius shook his head and coughed. “No – No, of course I thought you wouldn’t want to – ” he said quickly. “I understand, I just thought you two would want to know you have a choice should you – ”

“Are you insane?” Harry’s smile could be heard through his croaky voice. “Of course we want to leave the Dursleys! Right, Heather?”

“Oh,” Heather nodded. “Yeah.”

“Have you got a house? When can we move in? How many room’s it got? Oh – !”

Heather elbowed Harry in the ribs to push him off her. In his excitement he’d almost begun to climb over her to get to Sirius, as if his proximity would get him answers faster.

Sirius whirled around – Snape’s body instantly began drifting up again – and smiled ear to ear at them. Heather could see why his animagus was a dog. If he’d had a tail he’d be wagging it faster than bee’s wings.

“You really want to? The both of you?” Sirius beamed down at them. “Mean it? Really?

“Yeah, we mean it!” Harry shook Heather’s shoulder. “Heather?”

She nodded and smiled up at Sirius. “We mean it.” Harry beamed at her confirmation as brightly as Sirius and she felt wholly engulfed in their collective eagerness.

Heather pushed Harry’s hand off her shoulder. She looked up at Sirius’ gaunt face and tried to envision that she might one day find it familiar and friendly. He turned back around and at her reminder and lowered Snape’s body back down. Their conversation had only left his forehead a little scratched.

The grunting up ahead had brought the three of them back down to earth. They were only just getting Peter up out of the hole. It took Hermione a few minutes to direct Professor Lupin and Ron on how to maneuver themselves and a few longer to help Sirius get Snape out of the hole in one piece. Heather crawled out, heaving her body onto the grass, and extended her hand down for Harry to take. His hand squeezed hers and she pulled him up fast.

“Can you believe it?” he whispered to her as they stood and shook off dust.

Heather brushed off her shoulders and watched Sirius take in the grand castle up the sloping grounds. They were so far away it almost looked like it was on an entirely different mountain, resting on the edge of a small cliff above the glittering lake.

“Everything will be different now,” she whispered.

Harry squeezed her arm. “Different good.”

She nodded and looked down at the lake. There were lights dancing on its surface. She could almost count all the Hogwarts windows reflecting off the water. ‘Different good.’ …At least Hogwarts seemed to always remain the same.

“Let’s get going.” Professor Lupin called down to them, already moving up the hill. “And one wrong move Peter…”

“I’ll drop the snake and aim for your head,” Sirius threatened.

Hermione, Harry, and Heather brightened their wands and illuminated the path for the others as they walked on silently. The castle lights slowly grew larger and very curiously, less bright. Heather looked down at the lake, almost obscured by the growing forest, and caught sight of a large white moon reflecting clearer and clearer as they walked.

Through the light wind she heard a grunt and stopped, shining her light on the abrupt jam of their party. Sirius had bumped into Snape’s body, which had knocked into Ron who had bumped into Peter who was pressed up and quaking against a very still Professor Lupin.

Sirius looked down at the ground, at their growing shadows, as the moon bathed them in light. He froze and stuck out an arm, signaling them back to him.

Heather kept her eyes on Professor Lupin’s rigid body as his limbs began to tremble one by one. “It’s a full moon…”

Hermione gasped. “He didn’t take his potion! He’s not safe!”

“Run,” Sirius hissed. “Run! Now!”

Heather turned and stopped, whipping back around to Ron. “Ron…”

He was bent down awkwardly, desperately pulling at the chain around his ankle. Harry dashed forward to help him but Sirius pulled him back, dropping Snape.

“Go! Leave it to me! RUN!”

Heather hesitated with Harry and Hermione, still unsure if it was safe to leave Ron and run away. A sickening snarling noise broke the air. Heather’s eyes flickered over Professor Lupin, or what was left of him not yet morphed into a monstrous figure. His head lengthened out into a long snout with jagged teeth and a slobbering tongue. His shoulders hunched and jutted out inhumanly. Rough hair sprouted out along his face, hands, and neck. His shoes shredded in two and rolled down the hill, as if running from the enormous claws that had split them apart. With a single snap of his long jaws, the werewolf wrenched itself free of the shackles that held on to his wrist and ankle.

A large black streak dashed across Heather’s vision. The blur lunged for the werewolf’s neck and pulled it backwards, away from Peter and Ron. The giant bear-dog held its ground as the werewolf broke free and turned, growling deep. In an instant they were locked, jaw to jaw, claws tearing into shoulders and pulling fur by the clump.

Heather snapped her gaze away from the violent battle and looked around at Harry and Hermione. Both as transfixed as she had been. Ron had stopped pulling on his chains, instead pressing himself to the ground in an attempt to melt away among the grass, and Peter –

“NO!” Heather screamed.

Peter pulled Professor Lupin’s wand up from where it had dropped and aimed its tip at his head.

Harry rushed forward. “Expelliarmus!”

The wand in Peter’s hands flew out into the shrubbery behind. Heather’s breath caught and the scenery almost melted away. The sudden snaps of powerful jaws quieted, the grass seized to sway, and the moonlight brightened around Peter. For a second it felt like Harry had done it. Harry had prevented a horrible disaster.

But Peter grinned at them and Heather’s heart sank. In a blink of an eye, the little man shrunk and transfigured into a large rat with patchy fur and bent whiskers.

Crookshanks – who had taken refuge behind a rock at first sign or Professor Lupin’s condition – now jumped out from the shadows and chased after the bald tail poking out from the shifting grass as Scabbers scurried downhill and away.

Heather clutched her throat and tried to breath in. ‘The Servant Will Break Free And Set Out To Rejoin His Master. The Dark Lord Will Rise Again With His Servant’s Aid, Greater And More Terrible Than Ever Before,’ Trelawney’s raspy voice echoed in her mind over and over in overlapping waves. The prophecy will come true! “No, no, no.”

“He’s gotten away! Sirius needs him!” Harry turned back to the beastly fight happening feet away.

A shrieking wolf howl ripped through the air and before they could dive for the ground next to Ron, the werewolf leapt over them and ran into the forest at full force. The giant dog limped after the wolf, staggering off his intended path more and more with each pained step, padding out of sight.

Hermione dashed for Ron who was still on the ground, arms covering his head protectively.

“Is it gone? Please tell me it’s all miraculously over.” He looked up at Hermione who could only look on to Heather and Harry to answer the question.

Snape was still crumpled on the ground, Sirius was gone, Professor Lupin was gone, and Peter Pettigrew was gone.

“We – We need to get to the castle. We take Ron to Madam Pomfrey and tell Professor Dumbledore Snape’s out here and – ”

“And that Sirius is innocent?” Harry interrupted her. “We have no proof. None at all. And if those dementors find him…” he trailed off.

Heather gulped. He was only a few steps away from her. She took a step towards him and he backed away, already pulling his hand farther out of her reach.

“Harry…” Heather warned.

A wounded whine carried softly through the wind and Harry was off, running down the moonlit grounds into the shadowed forest near the lake’s edge.

She took a step, intending to speed off after to him when she saw Hermione point out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Snape reaching for the back of his head with a weak hand, but that wasn’t what Hermione was pointing at.

“Dementors!” Hermione took out her wand but did not know which shadowy figure to aim for.

It looked like dozens of unnatural clouds of blackness were blowing in against the wind. The whispy shadows floated in groups across the sky in the same direction as Professor Lupin, Sirius, and Harry, cutting the moonlight beams like nightmare-ish blades as they went.

Heather shivered and fell to her knees, wincing as a cold wave washed over her. Guilt prickled her chest and traveled through her arms, numbing her. She’d let Peter get away. If she had told Harry they could have taken higher precautions. She should have used Expelliarmus on Snape. He could have been restrained and listened to it all. So many things could have prevented Harry from leaving her, running off and facing a werewolf and dementors alone… Heather shook her head, refusing to let her brain dig into her fears. “Think happy… Happy thoughts…” There wasn’t anything happy she could grasp onto. Not a single cheerful event, joyous occasion, or delightful day came to mind. It was all so horrible, painful, and lonely… and cold.

Slowly the image of a large castle pushed through fog, with torches glowing in every window and flames undisturbed by the sweeping wind. A vast lake that reflected every window only disturbed by the ripples from the giant tentacles greeting dozens of small boats. The rush of excitement upon first seeing Hogwarts filled her blood and she sucked in a fresh breath of chilly air.

She looked up and saw the last of the cloaked figures duck below the tree lines. Hermione lay next to Ron and they both looked deeply asleep. Snape got to his feet quickly and looked her way, giving her a cold glare, and turned his attentions to Hermione and Ron.

Heather breathed in again and stood, wiping her grassy hands on her skirt and looked towards the edge of the forest. Harry was in trouble. She hugged and arm around herself and held in a sob, pulling her wand out.

“Don’t even think about it.” Snape growled.

“But Harry – ”

“Take them back to the castle!” Snape pushed her back and ran down the hill. His cloak billowed in the wind making him look like a dementor flying low across the grounds.

“But how am I to – ” Heather cut herself off and gaped at the two stretchers floating at chest-height.

Hermione and Ron each lay on one and when she pushed Hermione’s, Ron’s moved in parallel. She turned back in search of Snape but the wind was already stitching the clouds back together to cover the moon. She had to trust Snape would save him… Professor Snape. If she was trusting him with Harry’s life… and he was risking his own life to save him… he at least deserved that bit of respect from her again.

She turned to her friends and pushed the stretchers up the darkening lawn until she reached the entrance steps. She hesitated with the first step, not sure if she kept pushing it would only ram the stretchers straight into the fifth step, but after a hesitant push she realized the stretchers knew what to do and raised themselves accordingly.

She pushed on the doors and found they opened with easy, left unlocked by Professor Snape from when he rushed out after Professor Lupin.

“Out of bed! Students out of bed!” Mr. Filch screeched from down the entrance hall, waving a finger as he jogged down.

Heather sprinted to the entrance hall stairs yelling back, “Don’t lock the door! There’s more coming!” Shocking Mr. Filch to a halt.

She took the stretchers up to the hospital wing and pounded on the door, wishing Madam Pomfrey would hurry up and take Hermione and Ron so she could run back down to help Professor Snape with Harry… If he’d saved him… She shook her head. “Of course he did.”

“Five more minutes…” Hermione muttered.

“Hermione!” Heather stopped her pounding and shook her awake.

“Miss Potter!”

Heather jumped as Madam Pomfrey flung the door open and scolded her.

“It’s nearly midnight and – Oh my! Bring them in – bring them in.”

Hermione rolled off her stretcher and looked around as Heather took Ron’s stretcher to the farthest bed.

“What happened?” Hermione still looked weary-eyed.

“My question precisely.” Madam Pomfrey’s accusing eyes bore into her, having more than enough reasons to believe it was one of their faults.

“I remember dementors.” Hermione lifted her hand to her mouth. “Oh and I suppose Ron’s leg is also broken from a bite wound.” She rubbed her eyes and stumbled as they followed Ron’s stretcher to a bed.

Madam Pomfrey only rolled her eyes and got to work on Ron. “There’s chocolate in the cupboard if you need it,” she said over her shoulder.

Heather motioned Hermione to sit and opened the cupboard. She scanned shelf after shelf until she spotted brown little chips filled to brim in a lidded jar. She took a handful and walked back to Hermione, pouring them into her hand. She jerked her head and motioned for the chairs against the opposite wall under the large windows. Hermione followed.

“Where’s Harry? He left and… and I don’t remember much after that.”

Heather nodded grimly. “Professor Snape went after him… Hermione I need to tell you – I don’t know why I didn’t before – I should have told you guys but so much happened suddenly and I wasn’t sure how seriously to take it and – ”

Hermione gripped Heather’s shoulder, calming her. “What is it? Just tell me.”

Heather calmed herself with a slow breath out. “I thought it was Sirius Black going back to Voldemort tonight. But it’s really Peter Pettigrew that’s going back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Professor Trelawney – when we were getting the cloak – I bumped into her and she – ” Heather shook her head as Hermione’s eyebrow shot up. “No, I know. Professor Lupin also thought – ”

“Harry finished him, twice if you count his journal. He’s dead three times over. You heard Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black and Professor Lupin in the shack. Peter Pettigrew is a coward. He probably ran off to hid in the forbidden forest and Professor Dumbledore will do something about him if he needs to when we explain it all to him.”

“I suppose… I mean there isn’t anything to do now other than tell Professor Dumbledore everything so he can free Sirius and hopefully forgive Professor Lupin.” Heather knelt on the chair and stared out at the darkness below. The moon was well hidden now and nothing could be seen.

Heather and Hermione both jumped when the doors to the hospital wing flew open and Professor Snape sauntered in with an unconscious Harry floating on a stretcher. Heather ducked quickly behind a bed, not wanting to remind him of her existence. If there was a chance he’d forgotten she’d attacked him only a couple hours ago, then she’d gladly hide from him for the rest of the year until the start of next term. Hopefully summer holidays for adults and school events did the same as for students and learned topics.

“Take Mr. Potter here. He’ll need all the chocolate you have.” Professor Snape pushed the stretcher into Madam Pomfrey’s hands and turned on his heel, ready to leave.

“The dementors – why have they attacked the students? They’re not in the castle are they? Surely the Headmaster – ”

“I’m sure Miss Granger can explain to you enough so that you may imagine what has happened tonight. I, however, must speak to the Headmaster and the Minister before he departs.” Professor Snape’s eyes flashed with eager excitement as he walked out the doors, closing them shut with an echoing thump.

Heather wondered if it was only Harry that he found. She hoped it was, and that Sirius had somehow escaped to his hiding place once more. ‘We won’t need to go that far… All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be so pleased.’ Professor Snape’s words rang in her head turning his silky tone into a cruel grain.

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: the last plump dumpling on the plate that you and your friend fight over, the betrayal you feel when you drink a milkshake that’s too cold and get a brain freeze but it’s too good to stop, and the buzzing of a bumble bee flitting from flower to flower. With a slight resemblance to LEE JOOHEON (JOOHONEY) of/the MONSTA X.

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FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Kkul Beol (actually his full name. He doesn’t have a surname) ALIAS: Yellowjacket Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Divine Realm Age: Unknown, but has lived 26 years in Earth realm Date of Birth: May 20th (aka World Bee Day) Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: he/him or they/them Species: Spiritual Fairy Occupation: The Howlers, Dealer Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Milky, pale Eye color: Varies Scars: None Piercings: Ears, Dimple piercings Tattoos:When he doesn’t have his wings out, they manifest as bold linework that follows along his shoulder blades and down his back. He has a colorful fairy pinup girl on his right inner forearm. A bumble bee design on his left upper arm that blends into a fairy circle tattoo on that inner forearm. Various weeds and flowers on his legs. Hair color: Varies Abnormalities: Since Beol can reinvent his physical form to his liking, his features may change on a whim. However, he does tend to stick to the same form, with only his hair and eye color varying. Transformed form:As a spiritual fairy, Beol’s physical form is only a formality that allows him to better experience the world. His spiritual presence is formless and genderless. It is almost like looking at dust when it catches the light.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: N/A SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, English, Gaelic SECRETS: Beol manages to get out of being prosecuted for his crimes by charming the officers who try to arrest him with his fairy dust or using illusions to escape. SAVVIES: drawing, getting tattooed, playing pranks. Powers & Abilities: fairy dust manipulation, healing, wish granting (but it usually has a hidden caveat), semi-immortality, empathy, energy manipulation and absorption, energy barriers, energy blasts, malleable anatomy/shapeshifting, spirit physiology, illusions, intangibility, possession, telekinesis (via fairy dust manipulation), teleportation. Traits: (positive) chipper, animated, fun-loving and playful. (negative) fickle, impatient, gets petulant when things don’t go his way, doesn’t realize his pranks can be harmful or perhaps he feigns ignorance. Aesthetics: the last plump dumpling on the plate that you and your friend fight over, the betrayal you feel when you drink a milkshake that’s too cold and get a brain freeze but it’s too good to stop, and the buzzing of a bumble bee flitting from flower to flower.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: May 20th, year unknown Date of Death: N/A Crime Record: Beol knows that he should avoid getting entangled with the authorities at all costs, but his innately mischievous nature contradicts rationality. He rather enjoys skating on thin ice when it comes to getting caught. When he was a “teen,” he often got in trouble for truancy, vandalism, and theft. Now, as an “adult,” he has to be far more conscious about getting caught. He has been charged with possession and possession with the intent to distribute, but - miraculously - has not served any jail time.

Background/Biography:

In a time long ago, Celts used to believe that when a person slept or entered a hypnotic state that their soul left the body in the form of a bee. Sometimes those souls got lost on the way back (or perhaps were detained) and found their way to the divine realm of the fae, where they would become what is known as spiritual fairies. Or at least that was the story Beol’s mother told them, but the reality was that there was no living fae who remembered exactly where they originated. Their mother would affectionately call them their ‘wandering little bee’ because Beol was an adventurous child who could never be tied down in one place. It came as no surprise to them when Beol decided to leave the realm they’d always known and venture out into the human world.

When Beol crossed over to the mortal plane, they embraced the incredibly different way of life with childish wonder and enthusiasm. At first they explored in their spiritual form and enjoyed playing all sorts of pranks on unsuspecting humans, but - as is typical of the fickle nature of fairies - that grew boring quickly. Beol eventually constructed a physical form so they could better interact with others around them. Being a young and playful soul, Beol chose the façade of a school-aged child since their fun-loving antics were very similar to his own. What he didn’t take into account, though, was that a parentless, vagrant child stood out and it wasn’t long before his friend’s parents became concerned for his well-being.

In his naivety, Beol didn’t think much of it when they’d asked where he lived and who looked after him, telling them that he took care of himself and stayed wherever he wanted. That naturally led to the police being contacted and Beol was placed in an orphanage until they could find a family for him. Truthfully, he could have simply flitted off and ventured someplace new, but the idea of living with other kids sounded like an eternal sleepover to him and how could that be bad? Of course, it wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies in the system. Many of the orphans came from broken homes and were passed around to fosters that were no better. They’d come back with new scars and bereft of their smiles, their innocence gobbled up by the darkness within others.

Beol couldn’t stand seeing them hurt. He could vividly imagine how they’d gotten each bruise like he’d experienced it himself and felt their anguish like a bottomless pit in the center of his chest. Yet he wasn’t powerless to fight against it like they were and Beol quickly went from using his abilities for harmless fun to avenging his friends. He would go out of his way to be assigned to their previous foster parents and would make sure to traumatize them so much with his illusion magicks that they never dared to take in another child again. While it did make him feel better, his habit of terrorizing parents tarnished his record and made him increasingly difficult to adopt out. Not that that bothered Beol. Sure, it was hard watching his friends eventually leave to go with loving parents, but protecting those that remained had become his responsibility and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that if he left. Besides, he had parents and didn’t need new ones, even if his counselors never believed him when he told them.

As he “aged” into teenage years, Beol’s outer image evolved to suit his interests and style. He became close with the more rebellious crowd, other lost boys and girls like himself who couldn’t care less about authority or conforming to what society wanted. They spent more time in seedy pc bangs and back alleys sharing a pack of smokes than they did in school or hoping for families that would never accept them. It was around this time that he actually came out about what he really was and where he’d come from, though that identity seemed like a far off memory now. He was no longer a shade wearing the suit of a man and could freely embrace his quirkier side without worrying about anyone disapproving.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

This charade always amused Beol. Every time he found himself in this position, with an officer staring him down on the other side of the table in the cramped interrogation room, he wondered why their initial play was to put on this veil of ignorance. As if they didn’t already know what he did or have evidence against him. Did it actually work on suspects? He assumed that most people dug themselves into a hole trying to weave a pitiful fallacy with the same gusto as a scared child blaming the broken vase on the cat in the hopes that it would exonerate them. Beol, on the other hand, was a sophisticated liar and not burdened with the pressing need to evade something. He could phase out of the room right before their very eyes, after all. So the only reason he had to deceive them was simply because it was fun.

“Well, I can’t just start with last night, officer. That’s not how good storytelling works.” He countered coyly and rocked the chair back onto the two rear legs so he could kick his clunky boots up onto the table. Dirt and grime broke loose from the deep grooves in the sole and fell onto the open file set out before the policeman who was trying his best to see unperturbed, but Beol relished in the neigh imperceptible way his jawline tensed in annoyance. “It all began when my parents died in a tragic car accident and I was adopted by my rotten aunt and uncle. You know, they always told me my father was a drunk and that the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree. So at least I’m exceeding someone’s expectations. Anyway, this one day, we went to the zoo for my cousin’s birthday and there was this enormous python-”

#vcaccepted #vchowlers

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flowerflamestars · 4 years

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Would you write a HC of Nessian being that childhood enemies to lovers in high school? I can only trust you with it

Trust accepted and golden.

-Okay, okay, so on the very first day of first grade, Cassian met the prettiest girl in the world. Little Nesta was absolutely one of those tiny polite children who has a vast hidden well of rage and imagination only displayed when playing witches with Elain in their mother’s garden. She’s quiet at school, utterly shy.

Cassian, meanwhile, is a gremlin. He’s energetic! and sweet! Dimples and curls, an enormous smile. He runs right up to the new girl on that rainy late summer day to introduce himself.

And trips. The Prettiest Girl in the World- as he tells Az, later, while they hide in Rhysand’s treefort- gets mud all over her perfect first day of school dress.

- Baby Nesta is not okay, okay? She has no idea what to do with this friendly boy. She wants him to stop talking to her. She’s sure her mom is going to be disappointed when she comes home with her white dress ruined, and it’s her first day at a new school without Elain.

Cassian keeps apologizing, but it is Not Okay.

-Nesta decides she hates him.

- Three years later, Nesta destroys Cassian in the spelling bee. Cassian begins to tip from the Prettiest Smartest Girl in the World is incredible to, the Prettiest Smartest Girl in the World keeps beating me at everything and I want to win JUST ONCE

Once, because he’s pissed. Once because then she’d be looking. Cassian just wants Nesta to look at him, and by sixth grade this feeling goes from earnest to furiously incandescent.

HEAVY ON THE FURY

- Jump ahead, to the very end of middle school, the Archeron’s mom dies.

Cassian is a happily adopted foster kid, former orphan who just barely remembers his parents. He finds out, and carries around this horrible heavy feeling in his chest all day like he can’t swallow.

He wants- he doesn’t know- he wants to say something. But Nesta isn’t at school, and they aren’t actually friends, but he just wants to say: someday. He wants to tell her what his foster moms told him: that it’s okay to cry. (He cannot imagine perfect, smart, Nesta Archeron crying). Whatever you feel is okay.

Entirely by accident Cassian runs into her at the local library. Outside, crying on the sidewalk, arriving just in time to watch her hurl her water bottle at the cement.

Cassian, being Cassian, brings it back to her.

It turns out pretty girl tears are terrifying.

So he very quietly hooks it back onto the pretty lavender backpack Nesta has carried around for the last three years- his is purple too, not at all to be weird, just because- and sits down on the sidewalk too, a couple feet away.

And Nesta is Not Okay. Her mom is dead, and she doesn’t know what she feels because it’s huge and terrifying. Everything hurts and she’s so, so angry and that stupid water bottle lid doesn’t really fit anyway, because it’s actually Feyre’s lid on Nesta’s bottle, because their Aunt doesn’t know anything and doesn’t know them, and Nesta only has that stupid baby backpack because their Dad spends all his time at work so he doesn’t know that before Mom got sick Nesta and Elain got new backpacks every year, whichever they wanted, and they always matched, but Elain’s ripped last summer and their dad had his assistant get a new one but it’s pink and Elain hates pink and it clashes with Nesta’s-

Cassian watches the Pretty Perfect Girl curl in on herself and scream.

This, in the end, is when Perfect Girl becomes Nesta.

Cassian is is panicking, okay? PANICKING. His ability to comfort other people is 85% knowing when Azriel is overwhelmed and 15% hugging his dog during thunderstorms. He doesn’t know what he can possibly do for Nesta- so he just grabs her hand.

Holds on, like Az did without laughing at him when Cassian cried that his adoption had gone through.

And Nesta hangs on, so hard it really actually hurts. He doesn’t ask her what’s wrong, or why, and Nesta is so grateful that hurts too. He’s always so loud and laughing, and Nesta has always hated it a little, thinking he was laughing at her.

(he was not)

The complete simplicity of that sweaty grip is just enough that Nesta can think. And poor baby Nesta thinks.

She has to go inside and return all the sisters books so they don’t have a fine. She needs to figure out how to cut Feyre’s bangs because she’s running around like a sheepdog because Dad didn’t remember to schedule her a haircut. Elain will help. And Nesta will help Elain water the houseplants because Mom loved them and Dad told the maids they’re fake but they’re not, only the ones in the living room are.

And Nesta- Nesta has a plan.

-They go in the library. If the volunteer behind the desk is making faces at Nesta’s tearstained face or grubby, iron grip on the boy beside her, Nesta isn’t going to acknowledge it, because Mom always said rude people didn’t deserve attention.

Nesta picks out her books, Cassian silently follows. And then he walks her home. They live in the same neighborhood, so it’s fine- but whats not fine is Nesta still hasn’t said anything, and Cassian just wants to say something-

But what happens it this- Nesta carries half the books in a grip so hard it looks painful. Cassian knows its probably painful, because she’s really hurting his hand now.

Cassian will look later at the imprint her tiny fingertips had made and feel like his whole body is fluttering- but now, now, she’ll steal his half of the books like it’s nothing and stomp up the porch steps of her house, right past a wilting delivery of lilies slowly dying before her front door.

She won’t say thank you. Cassian won’t say goodbye.

But Cassian will think it’s okay, it’s okay- because Nesta wasn’t alone like he’d been alone.

The blue door slams shut, and they don’t speak again until junior year of high school.

- Nesta Archeron is seventeen and ready to eat the world raw. She’s top of her class. She has goals, she has terrifyingly perfect hair, and she is not going to let anything stand in her way- especially not the fact that she ran for junior class president and tied, with Cassian.

-Cassian has become very, very Cassian in the intervening years. He’s popular but kind, a loud laugh that echoes down halls. Smart, but not a stratospheric over-achiever like Nesta. College is a year away, but everyone know’s he’s going to get an athletic scholarship.

They run in very, very different circles.

-Listen, it’s not even on purpose- it’s just that something about Nesta’s horrified expression and color-coded organization and perfect fucking red lips makes Cassian his most insane golden retriever self. He can’t help himself.

They have to work together. They fight constantly.

But Cassian’s fighting, at seventeen, is like 80% teasing and 20% very real, very earnest flirting.

And maybe- maybe Nesta knows that and it makes her even grouchier. She has a plan, okay? She’s on track to graduation top of her class. She’s going to Standford, then Harvard. She’s going to be a surgeon.

It’s not so far away she can’t still be there for her sisters. Elain wants to go to Berkley and obviously will because she’s brilliant- Feyre will only be alone for one year, but she’s already all set for that to be her study abroad year, so she won’t be trapped at home in their empty house. She’ll be in Spain, and then she’ll go to art school.

All three Archeron sisters will be of age to pull from their enormous inheritance left from their mother- they will never need to ask anything of their absent, silent, bastard father ever again. It’s just a matter of waiting.

Nesta is on track, and she can’t get distracted.

But Cassian- Cassian really seems to think Nesta doesn’t remember him. As though she could forget, as much as she wants to, that absolute disaster of a boy who was the only person in the world who made Nesta feel like she wasn’t responsible for everything.

Of course, that little boy grew up to be beautiful.

Of course, now he’s a goddamn menace who’s a clear foot taller than her with broad shoulders to match. Of course, that enormous kind smile sits even more tantalizing on an older face. Of course his dimples are so deep they flash when he grimaces at her student council timeline, broken down for the next two years.

- Azriel, Nesta’s AP chem lab partner, bound forever in respect by mutual silent competence and scorn for the assholes who sit behind them who keep lighting things on fire, says nothing about any of this until Nesta comes into class holding an enormous rainbow concoction like it’s going to explode.

Together- perennially left to their own devices by a teacher who really does not know what to do with them, and maybe fears they both know the coursework better than she does- they stare at the rainbow sprinkled whip cream mountain, slowly melting into the equally bright froth of the drink.

Some of them are heart-shaped.

Azriel breaks first, and asks, “Cassian?”

And Nesta, sweet baby ice princess Nesta, numb from being swooped upon by a giddy, grinning, blushing 6′4 quarterback who darted out of the culinary building to force this into her hand and run back away says: Does he think I’m a lesbian?

This is the moment Azriel’s soul actually leaves his body.

The visceral cringe is so apparent Nesta keeps talking: I mean, the rainbows? why?

It’s just close enough to a wail that Azriel decides to take pity on this whole new level of romantic idiocy. He proceeds to explain it’s a unicorn frappuccino? maybe? probably? not that he could advise actually consuming anything Cassian makes.

Nesta’s big What the Fuck face does not fade, so Az finally goes: he’s trying to get your attention.

Nesta: He has my attention. I see him every day.

Azriel, thinking about how much fun telling Lucien about this will be, imagining his very beautiful boyfriend howling with laughter: Right, and why would he want more?

Nesta: Because he’s a menace?

Az:

Nesta:

Az:

Nesta, glaring with heartfelt intensity at the melting hearts and stars, food coloring weeping: Because he wants my attention. That- that bastard.

Az, opening his mouth, only to be cut off by Nesta furiously unzipping her bag:

Nesta: that stupid fucking- are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? He- HE- he made me go to a soccer game last week and called it OUTREACH.

Azriel, watching Nesta tap her phone at top speed: Are you...texting Cassian?

Nesta: that motherfucking, stupid, college admission essays- I’m going to-

Az: Nesta??

Nesta: Do you know how much of a disaster he is? Do you know how much of my time he has wasted? He wants my attention, he has my fucking attention. Why didn’t he say so?

(In the background, the boys behind them have, indeed, started another fire)

Three buildings away, Cassian, vibrating with a frequency that can be seen from space: Mooooor, you don’t understand. She’s so smart, she’s going to be trauma surgeon.

Morrigan, trying in vain to get a full rainbows worth of food coloring off her pearlescent manicure: Cas, you literally want to be a nurse.

Cassian: Exactly

Morrigan gives up on her nails, distracted from Cassian’s lovelorn expression by his silenced phone flashing repeatedly: Who’s sparkle heart sparkle heart bomb peach firework sparkle heart?

Cassian, flailing:

Nesta, here expressed as sparkle heart sparkle heart bomb peach firework sparkle heart: Coffee. 3pm, Sunday. Yes?

Cassian, chewing on the inside of his cheek: Yes! Did the senior class shunt all their work down again?

Nesta: Not to work.

Cassian, life flashing before his eyes, thinking it was the sprinkles?!!

Nesta: A date.

Nesta: Is this supposed to taste like sour candy?

- They go on the date. Cassian overcomes his transcendent nervousness by getting into a pretty squabble with Nesta over the book they’re currently reading in AP English.

(The entire argument is a false premise, he loves Jane Austen. Nesta knows this.)

- Nesta takes him to this beautiful coffee shop that is like 70% just a lush tropic garden.

(Elain sees them coming and has to literally duck behind the counter to laugh. Lucien, her shift partner and dearest friend, watches the whole song and dance of ordering, sitting under a flowering tree and staring at each like lunatics with utter glee, ready to rely every detail to Az)

The Thing is, they keep fighting. They keep fighting, but Cassian’s smile gets softer and softer, his laugh brighter and brighter. The arguing is turning into banter and Nesta is actually? having? So much fun?

- The thing is, Nesta needed a plan to survive.

But maybe- maybe Cassian was there all along. Maybe, if she can’t be distracted, the obvious answer is to stop letting him make her crazy and- and let him in.

Maybe, she can hold onto responsibility for everything and still let someone else have a little responsibility for her.

Maybe, Cassian is exactly what she needed.

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dansnaturepictures · 3 years

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08/06/21-Garden birds at home and more and Lakeside

I was thinking last night that it didn’t feel like I’d taken many photos of the garden birds lately. I had less than a week prior but with me taking so many pictures daily currently including lots of the young birds at Lakeside in the week things that were quite recent can very easily seem a long time ago which shows I am having fun with time flying I believe. So it was fitting and maybe always obvious that today became a very memorable one for seeing and photographing birds in the garden or beyond the garden out the back whilst working. I took the first picture in this photoset of a Collared Dove on the roof opposite visible from my room. I also saw and photographed Woodpigeon and the possible young Feral Pigeon in the garden again as the day went on. And alongside House Sparrows picking at vegetation again and Starlings in great numbers, as well as Jackdaw out the back on the roof I very much enjoyed seeing my favourite garden bird the Goldfinch. And with the window opened as I worked at one point I loved hearing a Goldfinch belt out its strong, fluent and attractive call which was great to hear. When I was younger and I still have them at my Dad’s house where I grew up I had small RSPB cuddly toy figure of birds I did like my cuddly toys as a youngster that if you squeeze it, it makes the bird’s call. I had three, two of my favourite birds the Puffin and Osprey and famously within our family before my voice dropped the bird I screamed when I first saw along the road in 2007 the Goldfinch. So at a time I was still very much learning bird song it took us a while to learn it after getting into birdwatching to be honest I knew this one. But I don’t think I’ve often really took notice of a Goldfinch calling in real life so it felt great to hear this so purely. As I have done this year before it was interesting to see Woodpigeons menacingly approaching another on the roofs and making it fly off and Collared Doves would do it tonight too.

I took the second and third pictures in this photoset of a lovely dog rose on the bush in the front garden which was lovely to see I saw my first one of the year on Thursday at Lakeside and saw roses on the bush yesterday I took a photo and tweeted it on Dans_Pictures of one this lunch time too so it was great to have the dog rose come on in the property now and the third photo is of daisies that had been around in the front garden as well which I’ve found quite notable in this little patch of quite well built garden and then I was thrilled tonight to notice some speedwell with it. A flower I’m used to seeing in the wild this family one of the big revelations of my year or so of really learning flowers now so this felt like a great and key garden moment this year. I walked through the estate a bit more before approaching Lakeside from the tarmac path north of it today. And right next to the roofs of the garages where I see them a lot I noticed a lovely group of House Sparrows. With angelic sunshine hitting their bright brown backs it made a great unique angle for photos and I took the fourth picture in this photoset as well as one I tweeted on Dans_Pictures of them. Photos I quite liked taking. There were so many sparrows around today bolstered by the youngsters probably and I saw a couple that appeared to be fighting sort of flying at each other and battling in the air going down near to a drain pipe. Interesting behaviour to witness.

Walking down towards Lakeisde I loved coming across another patch of flowers in the urban area to the usual one I go to which I found with a few great species on Saturday night finding this lovely patch that evening too. Seeing cornflower and vetch there looking very colourful and bright I did love on Friday, but today I was thrilled to spot poppies of three colours traditional red, pink and red and white with the other flowers around nicely too and the poppies all looked enormous which was lovely to see. Here I loved spotting an electric looking Blue-tailed Damselfly which I enjoyed for a great few minutes on another very sunny and warm day I am having a great spring for them and I got the fifth picture in this photoset of one. I tweeted pictures of the poppies on Dans_Pictures tonight.

Then it was into Lakeside to walk along the northern path, with a meeting at 2 not the most time spent at Lakeside on lunch as I lounged a bit before walking in my lunch hour. I took the sixth picture in this photoset going into Lakeisde a beautiful view with greenery and the sky. Then I tested myself to see if I could find the quite hidden bee orchid which I marveled at and did so much for me yesterday one of my most anticipated moments of the spring and greatest moments this year. And as I studied the long grassed fringes of this rich northern path I did after seeing the white flowers possible snowball flowers spot the glorious bee orchid. With my macro lens on in a two lens operation with the big lens this lunch time the sun went in just a little as I spotted this bee orchid again. I had anticipated I may hopefully see more bee orchids this year based on my experiences with them last year but I hadn’t really decided if I would take another picture of this one if I got the chance I was happy with the one of it yesterday. But with the sun slightly in it then created different light conditions to yesterday. So I went for it going for a different angle taking from the side rather than kneeling down on one knee to take it from the front as I did yesterday as well to yesterday and it meant after I had 10 exclusive pictures to Twitter in my Tumblr post and tweeted the bee orchid picture yesterday but today taking 31 photos so not having any exclusive ones it gave me a chance to put a bee orchid photo in a Tumblr photoset the seventh in this photoset. I enjoyed taking the eighth picture in this photoset going along the northern path of a really nice view and I liked hearing young birds chirping along the way which was nice.

I took the final two pictures in this photoset at home tonight of a beautiful view out the back in a balmy evening with the grass and vegetation looking really nice. I did notice this and took a photo earlier but I felt it looked even more beautiful in the slightly more shadowy landscape of the early evening. The last photo is of a lovely sky scene out the back tonight. Out the front Blue Tit, Goldfinch and House Sparrow all kept me interested in the balcony feeders. whilst watching now BAFTA award winning Springwatch which I had been looking forward to congratulations to them on that award as I tweeted on Sunday its been so well deserved for so long for their consistent high quality broadcasts in all the watches from remote locations and hugely brilliant and inspiring content filmed, narrated and researched so well and at other parts of the evening. Also a very beautiful, big, bold and bright brown moth the Waved Umber flew in which looked stunning to watch and is camped at the top of our living room wall as I write this. I had just wondered in this warm weather when my moth season would kick start other than day flying ones which I’d seen this year already and it certainly has now. I hope you all had a nice day.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Tufted Duck, Lesser Black-backed Gull out the front nicely flying and on the green, Black-headed Gull well today, Blackbird well, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Feral Pigeon, Jackdaw, Starling, House Sparrow, Goldfinch, Blue Tit, Blue-tailed Damselfly, Waved Umber moth, spider and other insects in the house.

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sslasherss · 5 years

Note

Can I request a scenario where the reader gets drunk with bo/Vincent and it gets all sweet and lovely and they reveal their feelings for each other ? Or something along those lines like pls give me drunk Sinclair twins admitting their feelings or being soft

In hindsight, allowing Bo and Lester to get you drunk was… a bad idea. That last shot of vodka definitely was, and now the world spun around you with every wobbling step. At some point Lester had abandoned you, and here you were; barely upright, head buzzing like a swarm of bees, and the back of your eyes were pounding so hard you swore you could see it.

Across the table, still grinning despite the wooziness in his gaze, Bo wasn’t in much better shape. That, at least, gave you a little comfort.

“Fuck, how much have we had to drink?” you study the empty vodka bottle in your hands. The harder you stare the more it spins, and you let it clink back onto the table with a huff. “The last time I drank this much was… I dunno. College? Yeah, that time in second year when my friend threw up on my shoes.”

“At least you didn’t throw up on their shoes,” Bo shot back. He was trying not to laugh, you could tell by the way his nose scrunched and his lips pursed.

Even when totally trashed, Bo managed to keep his composure. Impressive. Cute. No, scratch that, his weird little not-laugh was downright adorable, although you reckoned if he heard you say that, he’d have your head. Didn’t make it any less true, though.

Your eyes flickered up, and the whole room swam. You wanted to laugh, the urge rising in the back of your throat and you fought to shove it back down. Then you saw Bo’s expression - furrowed brows, head tilted in thought. Studious - and the laughter died on your lips. “What?”

“You think I’m cute?”

Oh. Had you said that out loud? A smile curled at your lips, a snort of laughter escaping your lips before you could stop it. How silly, admitting that out loud when you thought it had all been inside your mind. You reached out across the table, hand splayed across the wood, and gave Bo what you hoped was an unimpressed look. “I didn’t say that.”

“No,” he huffed, “you did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” you slurred, “and even if I did, so what? I’m not allowed to think an incredibly tall, broad man is attractive? I mean damn, look at that jawbone.” You waved a hand in his general direction. The urge to laugh bubbled up once more, but only a pitched giggle slipped through your lips.

“So I’m attractive now too? Slow down, or I’m going to start thinking you’re into me.”

This time you did laugh, the shrieking sound bursting from between parted lips of its own accord. Then words tumbled from your mouth too, and it was you saying them but as if from afar, like it wasn’t really you. “How could I not be into you? Have you like, looked in a mirror?”

“Starting to sound like you’re in love with me here,” Bo teased, “not that I can blame you.”

“Yeah yeah, everyone already knows that’s true,” you shot back with a grin - only for it to melt from your features as the impact of your words smacks you in the face. Oh. Oops.

Bo’s smile slipped. His eyes widened, just a fraction, but enough for you to see the shock hiding beneath the surface. Oh, he really didn’t know already? Going by the way his mouth hung open, all signs of flirting vanished, you guessed not.

Fuck.

Stumbling to your feet, the chair tumbled backward and you scrabbled to catch it before it could fall. “I should go,” you said as you lurched away. Reality snapped into perfect, terrible focus, and your vision tunnelled in on Bo’s wide eyed expression. “Just- just forget I said anything, all right? Forget it." You spun, and your senses weren’t quite back because your hand swiped the empty bottle and sent it skittering across the table. It rolled, tumbled to the ground, and disappeared somewhere beyond your line of sight.

You were almost to the door before you felt a warm hand grab your own. "Wait.”

You didn’t seem to have a choice. Your legs refused to move, Bo’s soft touch rooting to the ground, mind whirring. What did he want? Would either of you even remember this in the morning?

His hand didn’t leave yours, nor did his eyes leave your face. He bit down on his lip, oh so serious despite the way he wobbled on his feet. For a moment he didn’t seem to want to speak at all. Then, “you love me?”

“I said forget it,” you snapped. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and not just from the alcohol running havoc through your system.

You could have pulled away, could have disappeared into the dark depths of the house, darted upstairs to try and sleep of this drunken stupor. You never had the chance.

In the time it took you to blink, Bo’s lips were on yours. He tasted of vodka and whiskey and every other alcohol under the sun, but to you it was perfect. Soft lips moved against your own, so gentle yet needy as he tugged you closer. Your eyes slipped closed as a breathy sigh left you, entire body sinking into his touch. A thick arm snaked around your waist as Bo smiled against you, his kisses trailing lower. Down your jaw, neck, collar bone - before dancing back up for one final, lingering kiss to your lips.

For a second, you truly thought you were dreaming. Then Bo laughed, ticklish against the shell of your ear, and everything came rushing back to you. “Bo, I-”

“I love you too, idiot,” he murmured, and both arms gripped you, gripped you so tight the breath was pushed from your lungs. “I’ve always loved you, ever since you turned up in Ambrose.

You let out a choked laugh. Your mind was buzzing, but the sting of the alcohol had faded to the back of your thoughts. "Don’t tease,” you huffed.

“I’m not.”

And then he kissed you again, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, and you knew he meant it.

Vincent

You had seen Vincent drunk perhaps once before in your life - when Bo was away and you sneaked into his stash, staying up long into the night laughing about nothing. It had been fun, and weird, and all kinds of silly.

This time, it was different. Even through the haze of your own drunkenness you knew it. He drank like he wanted to forget, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. You weren't sure when the change had shifted over him - when the easy smiles and hushed laughter had turned sour.

"Vincent," you murmured, "maybe we should call it a night." You had one leg slung over the arm of the chair, the rest of you nestled amongst cushions and an enormous blanket.

Across the living room, perched on the very edge of his own armchair, Vincent's single eye flickered. "Why?"

"Because it's-" you checked your watch, "nearly two-am and I have to be up early tomorrow. Today?" You shrugged, eyes darting to his. He didn't look at you. "Besides, we're both lightweights and you're gonna feel like death tomorrow."

"One more," Vincent answered simply. His hands shook as he reached for the bottle - some nasty whiskey, since the good stuff was long gone - but his hands knocked the bottle and sent it tumbling. Whiskey splattered across the coffee table and he cursed, slender arms scrambling to catch the bottle. Whiskey was already dripping onto the carpet.

That was when you knew he had hit the limit. This wasn't fun for him any more, and wasn't that the entire point of drinking? "Vincent, sweetie, let me-"

He swatted your hand away as you reached out to help - and you snatched it back with a yelp.

Your ow buzz was vanishing at the speed of light, leaving you with only a dull throb in the back of your eyes. "Vincent, quit it," you snapped, eyes narrowing.

He was still trying to mop up the whiskey, movements slow and sluggish, with the sleeve of his sweater.

"Something's on your mind," you muttered with a sigh. You were too tired and to achy to be mad. "People don't drink this much, in their own house, for fun."

"Why not?" Avoiding the question. A famous tactic of his. You watched him for a moment, the whiskey quickly becoming a dark stain spreading from the edge of his sleeve, right to his elbow. It wasn't good drink anyway.

Lips pursed, you fought down the burst of irritation in your chest. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you asked, "what's bothering you? And don't say nothing, I know it's bullshit."

He continued cleaning - if it could even be called that - and didn't meet your eyes. You waited, but it became clear he was studiously ignoring you. He didn't pause until you snatched his wrist, the other hand cupping his chin until he had no choice but to look. Behind the mask, his one bright blue eye widened.

"Vincent Sinclair, if you don't tell me what's wrong right now, I'll tell Lester and he'll annoy the answers out of you." You accentuated the threat with a quirked brow, trying very hard to look stern and not like a drunk idiot. Then you realised you were still holding his face, the wax pliable under your fingers, and your cheeks flushed. Like you were a schoolkid with their first crush, eyes wide, you snapped your hand back and tried to cover it with a cough.

Smooth.

Still you crouched beside him, waiting on his reply.

Vincent shifted, tugging at his now soaking wet sleeve, eyes cast to the floor. It hurt him to speak, what with the extensive scarring you were rarely allowed to see, but his silence was driving you mad. Then, "I love you."

Huh? That's what had been on his mind? You blinked, your mind somehow skipping over his words and jumping straight to his shy, nervous look as he finally met your eyes. Oh. he was handsome - so what if you could only see one eye and a sliver of his cheekbone? You knew what was underneath, knew he was probably pursing his lips beneath the mask, his cheeks a beautiful shade of rosy pink-

"I shouldn't have said that."

What? Oh. Oh. A gasp fled your lips as your hands reached for him, and you mustn't have been a sober as you thought because of all things, you laughed. Only to slap a hand across your face a moment later. Yet the other hand remained firmly in his. "Vincent," you murmured, "I had no idea. I... holy shit."

He simply shrugged, his momentary confidence gone as he once again stared at the floor. Thick, dark hair hung in his eyes, shielded him.

Your hand trailed along his palm, danced across his wrist. He shivered at the touch, bringing a smile to your lips. "You know," you muttered, "I've always admired the quiet, artistic type. It's no wonder I fell for you too."

His gasp, muffled by the mask, made you grin. His eye, so wide, locked with yours. Hands clenched around yours until it bruised, but when you saw the timid hope flicker across his face you didn't care how much it hurt.

"I mean it," you urged. When had you leaned so close? Did Vincent always smell of lavender underneath that ever present wax? Was it his heart thundering so loud, or yours?

You weren't sure when Vincent tossed away his mask, but all of a sudden you were in his arms, his bare face pressed against your shoulder as he bundled you into his arms. "I love you," he whispered, like a mantra, "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

"I love you too," you murmured, pressing a feather-light kiss to his uninjured cheek. "I have since the day we met."

#Anonymous #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader

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cartoonsaint · 4 years

Text

Luka Gets a Tattoo

[Ao3]

thanks to the AFiT server for enabling me! zero thanks to those who were trying to get me to give him a tramp stamp -- you get nothing, good day sirs

Summary: the prince can have little a bodily autonomy. as a treat Characters: the Prince (pre-Snatcher) Rating: T for college parties, altered states, poor coping mechanisms, and reference to an unhealthy relationship.

Just one night, then you’ll have the whole weekend to study for the final exam, they said.

Please, Your Majesty? Indulge your classmates just this once? they said.

It’ll be fun, they said.

And goodness gracious, Luka thinks as his hooting classmates tilt the tapped barrel of red wine so the last drops of it spill onto his tongue, were they right.

He pumps his fists straight up in the air and the room, already packed with raucous, sweaty, excitable (and very, very drunk) young adults, goes wild. Two — rather, four — no, six? Oh goodness he’s had a lot to drink — an at-present uncountable number of hands reach down and haul him off the floor to toss him, unexpectedly, into the air. Luka can’t help the yelp that escapes out of his mouth as his sloshing stomach flips, nor the laughter that comes after it when many hands catch him and set him back on solid ground, patting his back companionably all the while.

“ALL HAIL THE PARTY KING,” someone shouts, and the crowd takes up the chant. Luka’s used to having a lot of eyes on him, has been literally trained since he was a toddler to be in the public spotlight, but the energy of the crowd and the alcohol in his own system has him pressing his hands to his burning face to muffle his embarrassed laughter.

A madly grinning and particularly beefy young woman parts her fellow students like a ship cutting through the sea. Luka’s gaze is drawn to the item she holds reverently in her enormous hands — and he bursts into laughter again, shaking his head and attempting to back away. The circle of cheering party-goers around him clumsily link arms to prevent his escape. “I didn’t even drink the whole thing!” Luka protests, flapping his hands. “It was practically empty before I started!”

But the huge woman easily spans his slim shoulders (with one hand — goodness gracious) and hauls Luka in. She clears her throat with impressive projection — Luka’s background in performing arts nods in approval — and the clamor of the room dulls to near-bearable levels.

“Esteemed guests and revelers,” she pronounces with minimal slurring and maximal gravity, “I present to you: this evening’s Party King.”

The room cheers as she places the cut-and-taped paper crown atop Luka’s head. His first, honest impulse is to pull it off and take a closer look as it seems to be made out of first-year sample contracts and, well, it’s been some time since he last reviewed those and who knows what will turn up on the final exam? But the exuberantly drunk woman seizes his hand and yanks it into the air like he’s just won a prize fight and someone thrusts a tiny glass of something that smells vile in his hand and he loses track of time for a bit.

When his head, the room, and the kaleidoscope of gleeful faces stop spinning, Luka finds himself squashed between the arm of a lumpy couch and the arm of the enormous muscled woman from earlier. She notices his gaze and offers him a shark-like grin that jogs his memory.

“You’re Natasha,” he blurts out, and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth because of course she is, you fool, she knows that and you ought to have known that, what kind of a person forgets the name of someone they’ve spent years sharing classes with —

But if anything, her grin widens. She turns to the duo sat across from them and says, “Ha! You see?”

“I’m so sorry,” Luka says, pressing a hand to his burning face. He doesn’t usually drink at all, and not just because it makes him extra stupid. He’d normally have spent the night studying or writing letters, but his classmates had been very convincing and tonight is his last chance to spend time with them before the final exam and graduation (and his tutor had threatened him if he didn’t go). “I promise I know who you are, I just didn’t recognize you at first without, ah,” he looks again at her rather… distracting arms, “sleeves.”

“Relax,” says one of her friends. She’s a dark-skinned woman with a ton of dark curls framing her face — Belle, Luka remembers — and she smiles kindly as she passes him a glass of water. He thanks her profusely and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, leaning back and crossing her arms. She raises an eyebrow at her hulking blonde friend. “Tash does it on purpose — thinks it will make her more effective in the courtroom when she takes her jacket off. Besides, she forgot you were already royalty.”

Natasha grins unrepentantly. “Party King trumps any small-town monarch, Belle. Besides, you really expect me to remember details like that about someone I only ever see in class?”

Luka sinks into the couch, stammering apologies, but the woman laughs and claps a lung-clearing hand to his back — he wheezes, attempting to regain his breath. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You can make it up to me by telling us what you’re like! We’ve been in the same course for years and we hardly know you. What mysterious responsibilities keep you so busy you can’t come out for a night, Mr. top-of-the-class?”

“W-well,” he says, immediately falling into his practiced lines, “of course, my studies here are very important to me as a future leader of—”

“We already know you’re a nerd,” the last figure of the group says matter-of-factly. Their name eludes him, but they’re button-nosed, with hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks much sleeker than Luka’s ever managed his own. “What else?”

“Haz,” Belle scolds, but when her friend raises a single, archly amused eyebrow at her she sends Luka an apologetic grin. “Sorry about them, they were raised by extremely rude wolves.”

Luka snorts, then covers his mouth in embarrassment, but no one seems to mind. “I… have a fiancée?” he shyly offers.

“What!!” Natasha swaps his water out for her scarily large flagon of beer. “Drink and dish!”

Luka sips obediently, aware his face is already red and only getting redder. “Her name is Vanessa.”

Natasha sighs dreamily, which makes Belle giggle. Luka grins, feeling a little dreamy himself — thinking about Vanessa always makes the rest of the world feel dull. She stands out to him like fine embroidery on plain linen. “I hate to be away from her — she misses me when I’m gone, and my life certainly isn’t as bright without her in it. I write her letters everyday,” he says, alcohol freeing him to talk about himself a little more than he could otherwise stand. “She gets upset if I don’t. I love her, of course, and there’s nothing more important to me than her happiness, but… well, between all the letter-writing, my studies, and princely duties, I suppose there’s not been much time for, ah. Much else.”

He trails off and takes a gulp of lukewarm beer. Belle and Natasha glance at each other, communicating something past Luka’s current ability to parse. Haz leans forward, their eyebrows drawn down.

“So you don’t get to do anything just because you like it? Just for yourself?”

“I like being a prince,” Luka protests immediately. “It’s my duty, and an honor to serve my people. And I love Vanessa.” Luka thinks, briefly, of how hurt she would be if she knew someone had suggested he didn’t, how her magic might react beyond her control. He shivers, even in the stuffiness of the crowded room. “Compared to those things, I’m just… well, not very important.”

The group exchanges looks that Luka hardly notices. Who would he even be, without his work and without her? “Not important” seems about right.

“Well, if you say it’s what you want, then I’m happy for you!” Natasha announces, sounding a little strained. Belle hums noncommittally and swaps his drink out again for another glass of water.

“So,” says Haz, and offers him a small, genuine smile that Luka finds himself quite touched by — must be the alcohol in his system making him even more emotional than usual. “Besides your duties and your fiancée… what else do you like?”

“Ah,” he says, and presses a hand again to his warm face. This evening, right now, is probably the first time in years that Luka’s had a chance to do anything for himself, and he had to be bullied into it. Surely there’s something he likes to do besides, er, read law reviews for fun? His mind is blank. He seizes, only a little frantically, on the view of the night sky out the window. “A-astronomy! You know, the stars?” He chuckles nervously and takes another huge sip of his drink. “You can, ah, actually see them much better at home than here in the city. I used to know all the constellations.”

“That’s great,” Belle says firmly and kindly. “I don’t know anything about the stars, but I always wanted to.”

“My ancestors used to navigate by them,” Natasha adds. “That’s very cool knowledge.”

“What else?” Haz prompts quietly.

“Um,” Luka says into his cup. “Well, ah. I suppose I always liked animals? Like, snakes, and things…”

“That’s great!” Natasha exclaims.

“Great,” Bella says again.

“Hm,” says Haz.

“JIM!!” someone hollers, breaking the tense air of the group. “And Jim’s friend!! SOMEONE GET THIS MAN A FLAGON!”

“Hoho, Jim and friend!!” Natasha exclaims, mood immediately forgotten. “I’ve been meaning to get some work done, bee-arr-bee.” She rises from the couch, claps Luka’s shoulder once again (though considerably more softly this time, thank goodness), and sails through the crowd, on towards the new arrivals.

“Wait, no—!” Belle shoves herself to her feet, then glances at Luka and hesitates. Then, brief and tight, she hugs him — he blinks, startled — but separates herself before he can process it and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gotta go stop her. Tash, wait!!” And off she goes after her tall friend.

Luka watches her go. Haz clears their throat. “Jim’s friend is magic. Does tattoos,” they say.

“Ah,” says Luka. He should probably head home — he’d planned to leave early in the morning so he could spend as much of the weekend with Vanessa as possible. She needs him, especially after the accident with her mother. He can spend the rest of his evening studying, like he should have done in the first place — it’s the responsible, prudent thing to do.

Haz nudges his knee with their own. He looks up to find them offering a mug of something that smells strongly of alcohol. “You’re allowed to do things just for yourself, you know,” they say, eyes soft.

In a spontaneous move that shocks even himself, Luka takes the mug and downs it in one go. The world gets a little blurrier, a little easier to deal with.

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” he says determinedly and pours himself another.

***

Luka wakes up just after sunrise with a pounding headache, a stinging thigh, and the deep dread of knowing he’s done something he shouldn’t have.

The first thing he does is stumble into the bathroom. His reflection has mussed hair, tired eyes, and is still wearing a crumpled paper crown on his head. He snatches it off, balling it up and tossing it on his desk before running the water and pressing his forehead to the cool mirror.

This isn’t exactly why he doesn’t drink, but it’s an excellent point against it. What he remembers of last night makes him wish he’d had enough to totally block out what he’d done to himself. Though he supposes that would be worse, to wake up and only then find out he’d drunkenly gotten a…

Luka dutifully goes through his morning routine. He doesn’t look at his stinging thigh, doesn’t even think about it until he’s toweled off and staring down at the clothes a cheerfully drunk version of himself had prepared the night before. That Luka had even packed him a travel bag so he could set off for Subcon and Vanessa more quickly.

That well-meaning fool had really thought he was doing a favor for sober Luka of the future. Ooo, hungover Luka of the present hates him.

He stands there for a moment longer, feeling frayed and stupid and sorry for himself. Finally, he sighs — there’s no use to just waiting here hoping — and drops the towel enough to check the damage.

On the side of his thigh, perfectly placed for his non-dominant hand to cover when hanging loosely by his side, is a tattoo of a snake so black the ink looks nearly purple. It wraps around a stylized crown decorated with a crescent moon and a few stars. It’s a kingsnake, he remembers — he’d been adamant about getting that one because they were constrictors, not venomous. “They just want to hug!” drunk Luka had explained, tearing up.

Luka now allows himself one long groan, burying his face in his hands. He’s blown it. He’s totally screwed himself. His parents and his people won’t care, but Vanessa is going to kill him.

He can just imagine her distress that he would do something like this without her knowledge or say-so. Maybe he could fix it if he proposed they get matching tattoos, but she has no fondness for snakes and he’s rather certain you’re supposed to get matching tattoos together. She’s going to find out, she’s going to be hurt, and it’s going to be all Luka’s fault.

Fool, he thinks miserably.

Fifteen minutes he spends experiencing every possible variation on denial, anger, and depression before he can no longer justify wasting time like this. Vanessa is waiting for him and if he wants the time to properly apologize to her then he had better leave sooner rather than later.

Luka gets dressed and scowlingly seizes up his travel bag. He makes his bed and shuts the door to his bathroom. He reorganizes the papers on his desk and is about to toss out the crumpled paper crown before he stops, shoulders tight.

He made a monumentally foolish mistake last night. But despite that… he thinks about the delighted support offered by Tash, Belle, and Haz when he had decided to stay longer at the party; about how freeing it’d been to not worry for a little while about how terribly Vanessa might be feeling without him; about how light and filled with possibility the world seemed without the weight of his kingdom on his mind.

It had been, truly, quite a nice night.

Luka sighs and flattens out the crumpled crown. He folds it neatly and files it away with the rest of his papers.

He’ll buy flowers for Vanessa on the way home. Maybe it will help.

#a hat in time #the prince (ahit)#ahit #saint writes #otm fic #feat. 3 chars who #probably aren't mu bow n hat #but were good practice for them!#tattoos

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beyond-the-mirror · 5 years

Text

Drunk uncle Dante explains: How babies are made

The sequel nobody asked for! Drunk uncle Dante is back with another disastrous story for poor innocent baby Nero.

Written purely for laughs and giggles, so it’s not meant to be taken seriously at all. Also, this is merely a parody of a series of videos called ‘Drunk uncle explains’, you can check the original video right here if you want to (It’s in spanish however, but subtitles are available).

Warning: Slight NSFW? I mean this is Dante we are talking about, do you seriously expect him to behave properly and watch his mouth? Obviously not!

……….

Dante was currently sitting on his old worn out leather couch, a warm cup of tea resting between his hands. He gently blew on it to help cool it down before taking a sip, the bitter taste overwhelming his tastebuds and making him contort his face in disgust. He didn’t understand why his brother Vergil insisted so much on him to start drinking more tea instead of beer and whiskey, still he didn’t have the heart to reject the warm cup Vergil had prepared for him previously.

Of course, one shouldn’t expect Dante to behave for once. Eyeing the whiskey bottle on the table next to him, he reached for the bottle and poured a generous amount of alcohol into his tea.

Taking another sip, he smiled in content. ‘Much better’ he muttered to himself, leaning back to enjoy some relaxing time.

That is until a light set of footsteps hurriedly approached him. “Uncle Dante! Uncle Dante!” Little Nero skipped excitedly before sitting on the floor right in front of his uncle.

“What do you want now kid?” Dante asked before taking a sip from his beverage.

“How are babies made?”

Spitting out tea out of sheer shock and surprise, Dante looked at his baby nephew with a bewildered look on his face. Whelp, he definitely wasn’t expecting that one at all.

“Ewww! That was gross uncle Dante!” Nero giggled while looking at the disaster his uncle made on the carpet.

“Whoa kid wait a minute now, why did you come up with that question?”

“Please uncle Dante, I’m curious to know!” Oh no, not the puppy eyes again...

“Alright, alright then kid. Let’s see.” He cleared his throat “How babies are made.”

“Yayyy! Thank you uncle Dante!”

“No need to thank me buddy, after all, I know for sure that you have a reeeally irresponsible father. But luckily you have me, a smart and educated uncle, a man of the world-”

“Silence you sovereign buffoon!” Vergil’s angry voice interrupted from inside a nearby room. “Or should I remind you about the time you failed preschool?”

“C’mon Verge! I’m saying that I’m a guy who reads a lot, books and all that stuff-”

“Porn magazines don’t count as books you scum!”

“I already explained a thousand times, those are artistic nudes goddammit!”

Letting out a frustrated growl at his brother, Dante calmed down before turning once again to Nero who was looking at him expectantly.

“Now, let’s see how babies are made. Once upon a time, there was a little bee. A very handsome and well-endowed bee who had the biggest stinger in the entire world.” Dante smirked to himself, the man obviously picturing himself.

“Oh really?” Vergil called out once again. “When you were born, our father mistook you for a baby girl!”

“Well if you saw me now, the joke would totally be on you...” Dante muttered under his breath before clearing his throat and continuing with the story. “Anyways. This bee was seeking a pretty flower to hang out with, but because he didn’t have enough cash to get into a strip club, the bee ended up getting into a bar.”

“Wait uncle Dante, what is a strip club?”

“Well let’s say it’s kinda liiike... a luxury flower shop.”

“Really? Can you take me there to get a flower? Pretty please?”

“Ehhh no because emm...” Dante now struggled to find a good excuse to stop Nero from wanting to go to a ‘strip club’, that is until the light bulb in his head finally went on. “The flowers are actually fake! They may look pretty but really they’re made of plastic. But if you insist, once you turn 18 I promise to take you to one. You’re paying tho.”

“Yayy! Thank you uncle Dante!” Little Nero beamed, blissfully ignorant to the truth.

“So! The little bee walked into the bar where he found his flower, and man what a flower she was! Beautiful, gorgeous, with enormous bouncy petals and-” he described as both his hands made grabby gestures above his chest.

“COULD YOU STOP TALKING TO MY SON AS IF HE WERE ONE OF YOUR ACQUAINTANCES?!”

“Whatever, sheesh...” Dante rolled his eyes. Seriously, his brother was no fun at all.

“And then did the little bee give the pretty flower his pollen?”

“Oh not yet, little buddy! First he invited her a few drinks to get to know each other a little better, like a nice glass of honey on... the rocks. And then, the little bee took her to the bathroom.”

Nero’s eyes filled with confusion “The bathroom? Why?”

“Because the flower ehhh...” this story was getting harder to explain for a drunken Dante, the last time his brain had to work like this was Christmas last year. “She needed some water! Yeah, that... except the flower may have misunderstood the intentions of the little bee.” With his head down, he quietly muttered his next words “Damn, I can still feel the slap she gave me.”

“I once dressed as a flower for a school play.” Nero added proudly and Dante couldn’t help but chuckle at the adorable image in his mind. How fondly he remembered that day, to this day he still kept the pictures he took.

“The little bee tried his best to flirt with the other flowers but with no success, that is until a special flower walked into the bar. She was quite the pretty thing, with bright eyes and a personality like no other... truly a beautiful lady.”

“Wait, Lady? The woman who you now owe lots of money and because of that she took your car?”

“No that ain’t true! She only borrowed the car temporarily!”

“And now here you are!” Vergil’s voice rang throughout the room, ready to complain about Dante again with no doubt. “Living in my house like a pathetic parasite!”

“You are still making me pay rent, though?!”

“You owe FOUR months already!”

Dante sighed in defeat. What a rotten luck he had in life.

“Okay, let’s continue with our story. The little bee had no luck finding a flower, but surprisingly, his uglier and way smaller twin brother-” he voiced rather loudly so Vergil could perfectly hear “-actually did get one. He took the flower to his hive where he gave her some pollen; however, the ugly bee couldn’t pull out his teeny tiny stinger on time. And nine months later, a new baby bee was born from the flower: a beautiful white-haired bumblebee named Nero.”

The devil hunter smiled warmly at the boy sitting in front of him, whose arrival to their lives was truly a blessing to the rather odd family they had going on.

The boy giggled cutely, a faint blush on his round cheeks. “Thank you for the story uncle Dante.” The man smiled in return before taking a sip from his spiked tea. For a moment he believed that the little one would now get up and leave as he would normally do after one of his stories. Oh how wrong he was.

“But there’s something I still don’t understand.” Nero questioned “In which part of the story do the sperm, the penis and the vagina come in?”

Dante did another spit take, the carpet once again completely soaked in tea and alcohol. “Wait WHAT?!”

“Contrary to you, my dear brother,” Vergil entered the scene, picking up little Nero and carrying him in his arms. “I do actually make sure to always give my son the best and most complete education possible. Now if you excuse us, it’s time for Nero to go visit his friend Kyrie like I promised him the other day. Say goodbye to your uncle, Nero.” At the mention of his friend’s name, the boy beamed and tightly hugged his dad, thanking him over and over.

“See you later, uncle Dante!” And with those words, the stoic devil hunter turned around and made his way to the door with his son in arms, leaving Dante with a rather flabbergasted expression on his face.

#devil may cry #slight NSFW?#Dante Sparda #Vergil Sparda #Nero Sparda #drunk uncle dante #little nero #dadgil #papa vergil #crackfic #fanfiction

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