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sister-lucifer · 1 year ago

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READ PART ONE HERE

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Comfort, fluff, slight angst but nothing heavy, not explicitly romantic

Summary: The thunder rouses you from a nightmare-filled sleep, and in your distress you run to Tim for comfort

Content/Warnings: None really, reader has nightmares due to unspecified trauma but nothing is explicitly written, Tim is a little emotionally constipated but does his best, no explicit romance.

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Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You nearly jump out of your skin when the screaming thunder rips you from your fitful sleep. You sit up so fast you almost fall out of bed, your jaw hanging open like you’re trying to cry out despite no sound leaving your throat. Your chest is heaving so fast you start to choke on your breath. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus, and even longer still for you to remember where you are.

Do you recognize this place?

Home?

This isn’t home.

No. Not quite.

A home, yes, but not your home.

The TV is still on.

The wallpaper is still peeling.

The shag rug is still discolored.

You know where you are.

You look around for a second, taking in your surroundings and making sure your assessment was correct. It’s like a flood of memories coming back to you in an instant, and for a second it’s almost calming. That is, until you get to the part that made you so afraid in the first place.

The nightmares have been pervasive for weeks now. You’re not sure why. It’s some sort of episode you think, one of these days it’ll stop, but it’s been wearing on you. You’ve hidden it from Tim as best you can. You don’t want him to worry, that’ll only make you feel worse, and usually it’s easy enough to shake the thoughts from your mind.

Usually.

But this time it’s lingering, an unwanted guest meandering in the doorway for an uncomfortable amount of time, like dirty smoke permeating everything around it and yellowing the walls with its horrible malodor.

God, it’s everywhere.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face in them. It’s a feeble attempt to calm yourself, to stop the images of your nightmare from flashing in your mind over and over again, but it does little to help.

The thunder cries out again and you yelp in surprise, the harsh noise cutting through the static buzzing taking over your mind. It irritates the pounding headache you can feel coming on. You’re exhausted, only being kept awake by the obscene amounts of adrenaline being pumped through your veins.

God, it won’t go away.

There are just some thoughts that can’t be forced out no matter how hard you try. They can’t be pushed away or covered up or cut out of you. You can only wait until they dissolve on their own, but right now they feel like a cement block weighing you down from the inside.

The headache is coming on faster than you thought, and you wince under the pressure of pins and needles in the back of your head.

God, it hurts.

You can’t stay here.

You can’t stay in this room.

It’s like the walls are closing in on you, the darkness barely shrouding their approach.

It’s not safe here.

You need Tim.

He’ll know what to do.

You jump from your bed and tumble to the floor, not even taking a moment to acknowledge the pain as you thrash your way out of the covers tangled around your ankles. You barely manage to stumble to your feet, slamming into the doorway as you flee the room. It stings, but you don’t care.

You’ve forgotten all pleasantries or manners as you burst into Tim’s room, slamming the door open so fast the knob rattles from the impact. Tim jolts awake with a grunt of surprise, and for a moment his hand jumps to grab the revolver he keeps in the dresser drawer. He only fumbles with the handle for a moment before he blinks a few times and pauses. He squints at you, tilts his head, then sighs in both relief and annoyance.

He collapses back onto the bed, rubbing his eyes.

“God…dammit, kid!” He groans, and you feel a pang of guilt that’s quickly washed away by the flood of tears stinging your eyes and burning your throat.

You rush to his bedside, collapsing against the mattress and gasping for air as you try to collect yourself. You try to breath in, but the air is forced back out of your lung before you can take a meaningful breath. You choke out a pitiful cry of Tim’s name, but with the old TV being the only light in the room and his vision still blurry with sleep he can’t see the distress that’s evident on your face.

He turns over onto his side, brows furrowed in annoyance and a hint of a scowl on his lips.

“What do you need, kid?”

You don’t get to answer before the thunder comes down again, making you flinch and forcing a surprised noise from your mouth. Tim turns and looks out the window, sighing and rolling his eyes.

“Is it the thunder, huh? You scared, kid?”

“Yes,” You finally choke out.

He pauses, his expression instantly shifting to one of concern. He scrambles to sit up, making room for you on the bed.

“Okay, okay,” He says softly, “Come on, get up here, I got you.”

You claw at the sheets as you climb up into bed with him, your hands immediately finding his body and grabbing onto his shirt. You pull yourself into him so desperately he almost falls over, barely managing to catch himself just in time to keep you both from going down.

He’s almost as frantic as you are, large hands fumbling with you as he clumsily pulls you onto his lap and into his chest. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt so hard your knuckles are getting sore. It hurts, but you can’t let go. You hiccup and your breath stutters as you fight for air.

“Hey, hey,” He whispers, trying to keep you still against him without crushing you, “Are you hurt or anything?”

“No,” You answer, not relaxing your grip for a second. You feel Tim nod.

“Okay, okay. What’s wrong, kid, what’s got you all worked up?” He asks. Hopefully you can’t hear that little shake in his voice.

“N-Nightmare,” is the only reply you can stutter out, but it says enough. It strikes a nerve somewhere deep inside of Tim’s being, and it hurts like hell. He knows what it’s like to wake up screaming, terrified and alone.

You’re not alone, though. Not this time. He won’t let you suffer like that.

…But god, he is so bad at this.

He loves you with everything he’s got, but he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s come right out and said it. It’s embarrassing for him, that’s all, the words taste contrived and sticky in his mouth and it’s just unbearable. It’s not something he can make himself do.

What else can he possibly say?

He ponders that question as he keeps you against him, almost afraid to let you go. He can feel your hot tears soaking through his thin night shirt now. He doesn’t know how to stop them. He’s always suffered alone, he doesn’t even have a frame of reference here.

Think, dammit, think, Tim.

He won’t tell you everything is okay. It’s not, it never will be, and he’s not going to lie to you.

He won’t tell you to stop crying. It’d be a horrible thing to ask of you, full stop. Christ, at this point, you deserve a good cry.

He won’t stay quiet. It’s completely out of the question, he has to say something, and it has to be the truth.

He has to tell you the truth.

“…You’re safe with me, kid,” He sputters, trying to get the words out as fast as possible, “You’re safe, I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you. Not ever.”

You go quiet for just a moment, like you’re surprised to hear that. Then you hiccup and suck in a harsh breath, and the sobs roll in once more. He sighs and starts to rub your back in smooth circles.

“Whatever’s scarin’ you, kid,” He mutters in your ear, “I won’t let it get you. Nothing‘s gonna get to you while I’m here. You can sit here in my lap all night if you want, I ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere ‘til you feel safe.”

As he talks, you slowly start to calm down. It’s gradual, but when he stops talking your hiccups and sobs have gotten just a bit quieter. Your grip on his shirt has loosened a little, too.

You believe him.

God, you really do believe him.

And for some reason, that’s the most amazing thought that’s ever crossed his mind. You really do trust him to keep you safe.

He plans to keep it that way.

He adjusts you in his hold just a bit, moving to lean back against his pillows. He tightens his grip a bit just to keep you from moving. He doesn’t want you to think he’s trying to get away from you, he just wants you both to be comfortable.

Both of his hands rest on your back, slowly sliding up and down as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Your body shivers against him, the heaving in your chest starting to level out bit by bit as you catch your breath. He can feel your lungs expand and contract with each breath.

He reaches up to scratch the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around you. He listens intently as your voice quiets until you’re silent, and then the only thing he can hear is your steady breathing.

He just sits there for a minute when he realizes he’s actually managed to calm you. He’s almost impressed with himself. In any other universe, that was probably a disaster.

His hands still and move to rest on your back once more. He doesn’t feel the need to keep you held so tight now. You’re not going anywhere.

Are you even awake?

He turns his head to look at you, and you stir a bit in response. He quickly turns his head back so as not to wake you if you are asleep. He’s not going to get up until you are.

He sighs softly to himself, his eyes turning back to the TV and whatever trashy sitcom he fell asleep too a few hours ago. He doesn’t really care. He won’t be up for much longer. Now that the adrenaline has worn off the exhaustion is quickly taking over, not to mention the warmth and comfortable pressure of you laying on top of him is more relaxing than he’d like to admit.

He’s only just allowed his eyes to flutter shut when he feels you stir, and suddenly they fly open again. He stays still, but alert. You’re not having another nightmare, are you? Shit…

He tenses as he listens to you, watching your movements carefully. You don’t seem upset, at least not yet, but that can change in an instant.

He’s ready to hold onto you if you freak out. He’s thinking about where he last left the first aid kit, just in case. He’s wondering what he’ll have to say this time if he can’t bring you down again.

But then you go still.

And you’re quiet.

And you’re breathing steadily.

And everything’s okay again.

Then Tim flinches as an unexpected mumble of his name falls from your lips, and he turns to look at you in surprise and slight concern.

“Yeah, kid? What is it?”

He gets no response.

Your eyes are closed. You’re asleep.

Thank God.

He huffs at his own anxiousness before laying his head back again. He pats your back softly, and his eyelids are starting to feel heavy again.

“You know what?” He whispers as he reaches to pull a blanket over both of you, “I’ll ask you in the morning. Sweet dreams, kid.”

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thebe4ulog · 6 months ago

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A Little Introduction

helloo :D i don’t really know how this works, i’ve been saying for 2025 i wanna start documenting my life a bit more and my friend kind of led me here

i’ve been STRUGGLING like HARD with my sexuality for a while now, i’ll probably go more into my experience in a later post but im tired of pretending im immortal and resistant to shame and internalised homophobia and even abuse like i thought

hobbies

that’s kind of been the talking point of a lot of conversations i’ve had about myself because it’s just constantly on my mind, which is why i’m trying to navigate myself to some more healthy habits this year, for example writing! i’ve always really loved writing and fiction and i’ve wanted to get into it for a while and i’m hoping this year will be the year i do. i’m also a musician, i’ve written a few personal albums and i’d like to release some songs to streaming services one day, but for now i’m okay with my little chord sheets and silly little lyrics. i play ukulele, guitar, banjo, piano and im picking up the saxophone! so that’ll be fun. i also really want to start getting into art and drawing and what have you too.

interests

most of my favourite artists are dead but i love jazz anyway. from frank sinatra to duke ellington, i love it all. some artists that might be more relevant to you though - i mostly listen to will wood and laufey (despite being aroace probably idk i just like the jazz and her music makes me feel pretty) i also on occasion listen to tally hall and lemon demon, so yes that confirms i am autistic. i also really love the muppets, im going to go back there some day makes me cry, gonzo my beloved. <3 games i like tend to be cosy games like stardew valley and minecraft and the like, but im a fan of pokemon too. the following are likely to die out in the next month or so but im currently hyperfixating on wicked and the universal theme parks, so if those tickle your fancy then tumble me or whatever

i mostly speak english but i’m really interested in foreign languages and cultures; i can carry most conversations in spanish. i’m from the UK but i like to pretend im not and rather that im from space or something, mostly because it makes more sense for my stupid little AuDHD self but also because i have absolutely 0 patriotism. and also because why not, space is pretty cool no?

buh bye

that’s a little bit about me and where i’m at at the moment! :) i’m hoping to make friends and share experiences and interests and maybe experiment a little with certain things. i have some general little notices and what have you in my bio, im 17 and really if you’re 20+ i’d probably avoid this blog. but mbti and star signs and all the other bollocks people seem to find relevant is there

i’m honestly not sure what i’m gonna do with this thing or how i should really end it, the latter seems too dry to end it on. do i say over? like it’s a radio communication? that seems humorous i’ll go with that.

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jotun-philosopher · 8 months ago

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Crowley: Dungeons & Dragons AU

I've been on a bit of a D&D jag recently -- a couple of 50th anniversary adventure books caught my imagination -- so I went back to this little post and decided to expand on it with in-universe character bios and statblocks for the Ineffable Husbands!

I can't safely assume that everyone who reads this post will be familiar with D&D terms, so I'll be including a lot of inline links -- let me know in the notes if there's anything I've missed on that front. For the links to 5e.tools, there are tabs for Traits/Stat Block, Info and so on at the top of each information pane on the right-hand side of the screen. The tables on the left-hand side of the screen can be hidden by clicking on the 'Hide' tab.

Aziraphale bio/statblock here -- the bios are intended to be read more-or-less side-by-side. The whole thing is also on my AO3 here

cw: child abuse, physical and psychological (mostly implied, some effects shown or discussed), cults, violence, trauma

*********

With their lightly curled and fiercely red hair tumbling past their shoulders, stylish leather attire, five-foot-long prehensile tail, glowing yellow-gold eyes without sclerae or pupils, and six feet of willowy height enhanced by long, wavy horns, Crowley might not initially strike an uninformed observer as being a kindly, artistic soul who enjoys gardening and snuggling with their true love on rainy days. They are devoted to their aasimar husband, Aziraphale, and fiercely protective of their peaceful domestic existence.

This peace was hard-won after a long journey. For Crowley, that journey started in the village in which they were born. Their infernal heritage as a tiefling was obvious from the start, so much so that from their earliest years they were reviled as a bad omen and an agent of the Nine Hells -- the latter most especially, because of their constant questioning of everything they didn't understand.

Not long after their seventh birthday (not that anyone really bothered to mark the occasion), Crowley was targeted by a greedy, power-hungry cabal in the village who wished to treat with Asmodeus, ruler of Nessus and Overlord of the Nine Hells, for power and prestige; their tiefling bloodline had been determined in the interim to ultimately stem from Asmodeus, so Crowley was deemed a suitable sacrifice. Unfortunately -- for the cabal -- some blunder or lack of power in the summoning ritual meant that instead of the greatest of archdevils, the entity called up was a pit fiend who declared that it didn't care for 'mewling brats' (Crowley was having a very understandable seven-year-old reaction to the whole business) and proceeded to violently slaughter all of the adults in the room. Being small and nimble, Crowley was able to escape unnoticed in the confusion.

With the last of their innocence crumbling into ruins within them, Crowley gathered some food and fled into the wilderness. They drifted from place to place, trying to avoid undue notice. When Crowley did show themself, in an attempt to purchase supplies or secure accommodation, a widespread prejudice against tieflings made things complicated at best, forcing them to learn to talk their way out of trouble or be so stealthy as to attract no attention at all (no small challenge, given their horns and tail!). On some mercifully rare occasions where these skills failed, Crowley found themself mistaken for a cambion and treated with commensurate hostility.

And so things went on, with Crowley wandering in aimless solitude across the continent, scraping a meagre living from infiltration, investigation and petty thievery, and using a shell of biting sarcasm to protect the soft heart they insisted they didn't have. They found themself in a town in the easternmost part of the continent shortly after they came of age, seeking nothing more than their next meal but finding some disturbing rumours about a travelling cult that had encamped near the town.

Over a bowl of fair-to-middling stew, Crowley wheedled out of the tavern's staff the information that the cult had a case of self-righteousness that was bizarre even by the standards of apocalypse cults, that a tiefling family in town had come into some ill-defined conflict with them and thus been marked for death, and that they had some sort of terrifying celestial figurehead/enforcer who would probably be tasked with the assassination. Crowley tried to hide their deeply instinctive, 'Nope. Not on my watch,' reaction under a veneer of, 'Huh, that's interesting,' and almost succeeded.

When the moon was hanging over the mountains like a dirty toenail clipping, Crowley hurried to the tiefling family's home, grumbling about stupid empathy making things stupidly complicated... Composing themselves, they knocked on the door, did the fastest talking of their life to convince the patriarch of their good intentions, and kept watch while the family packed supplies and prepared to flee. They'd all convened in the main room when Crowley, hearing a slight footstep outside, gestured for silence. The family retreated to a corner while Crowley took up a position beside the door, which began to creep open.

Moving with lightning speed, Crowley snatched the intruder's sword from its sheath and hurled it across the room while slamming its owner against the wall -- then was pulled up short. The cult's supposed 'terrifying celestial champion' turned out to be a scrawny aasimar barely older than them, who from the look in his eyes seemed to be under at least one mind-control spell of vicious power. Crowley's heart squeezed with compassion, even as something deep in their soul said, 'Yes. This one.'

Crowley tore their gaze (with some difficulty) away from the tormented look in those eyes -- a deep, rich brown peppered with flecks of silver -- and started throwing out questions worded with immense care, probing the edges of whatever geas had been laid upon the aasimar. Once satisfied that they'd worked out the shape of it, Crowley deployed their most silver-tongued persuasion, intending merely to convince this obviously enslaved enforcer to look the other way; even they were surprised when the aasimar actively helped get the tiefling family to the edge of town!

The family were just as flummoxed, and begged Crowley to say who they were.

"No-one of consequence."

"But we must know! We must properly thank..."

"Get used to disappointment. Now for...someone's...sake go! Get going! GO!"

Crowley watched the family until they'd disappeared into the darkness, then turned to their new...acquaintance? Friend? Acutely aware that geasa inflicted a horrible psychic backlash when disobeyed but unwilling to relinquish this troubled aasimar to the not-so-tender mercies of the cult, Crowley took him back to the house to burn it in hopes it'd look convincing from the cult's encampment, then invited him for a stroll on a hillside overlooking the town. More careful, gentle questioning -- and how long had it been since Crowley'd been this inquisitive? -- turned up the aasimar's name (Aziraphale) and a series of increasingly horrific facts about life in the cult, delivered hesitantly but in as casual a tone as might be used for discussing mundanities like the weather. For Crowley, the most heartbreaking detail was that Aziraphale was entirely unfamiliar with the concept of hugs; once Crowley'd explained it, he tentatively accepted a demonstration and began to relax against their shoulder -- then abruptly stiffened, twisted and screamed.

The scream was choked off almost as soon as it had begun, and Aziraphale stumbled away, moving like an ill-maintained puppet, but surprisingly quickly for all that. Crowley trailed him back to the cult's camp, the need for stealth meaning they were barely able to keep up.

Crowley stopped bothering with stealth once they reached the camp -- they could hear Aziraphale screaming from somewhere close by, and an unimpeded retreat felt more important than getting in unnoticed. They deployed dagger and shortsword on any cultists who tried to waylay them, and even tapped some of the inherent infernal magic they usually tried to ignore to intimidate others from getting close. They found Aziraphale in the largest tent, being beaten by a senior-looking cultist while another muttered ominous-sounding incantations. Crowley knocked them both away from Aziraphale, picked him up and fled without paying much attention to anyone else.

Crowley fled through the town, trying not to panic at the amount of blood gushing from Aziraphale's nose and ears. They found a temple to a god of healing, which they'd noted in passing on arriving in the town, and nearly kicked down the door in their haste. The temple's senior cleric was annoyed at first, but took one look at the state Aziraphale was in and immediately led them to an examination room.

The good news, the cleric said, was that Aziraphale could be healed and freed from the various geasa fairly easily, with few lasting effects, using the right spells. The bad news was twofold: the spells had to be cast within the next couple of hours, and because the day had been a busy one, all of the temple's usual healers were out of magic until the next dawn. At that, an acolyte who'd been assisting the examination suggested asking 'Learned Penric' -- apparently a visitor -- despite the late hour, and fled the room gratefully (with a nervous glance at Crowley, whose horns and tail were scratching the ceiling and walls with every agitated oscillation) when their superior assented.

This 'Learned Penric', when he arrived, appeared to be no more than a delicate-featured, blond-queued stripling, but the quick indrawn breath, mutter of, "Bastard's teeth!" and immediate application of multiple enormously powerful healing and curse-removal spells bespoke many years of experience; Crowley was too worried about Aziraphale to give the matter much thought.

Once Penric had pronounced the healing complete, Crowley insisted on being the one to move Aziraphale to a side room to recover. While watching him sleep, they tried to work out just what it was about this sparkling-halo'd aasimar that had them tied in such unaccustomed knots. The best answer they could come up with was that unexpectedly finding something of a kindred spirit was just so new that it had thrown them wildly off-centre. The exertions of the night caught up with them at that point, and they dozed off in their chair while idly studying the curl of Aziraphale's hair.

Crowley jerked awake a little before dawn, consumed with a sudden fear that the cult might already have started looking for them. Quelling the initial spasm of panic, they checked on Aziraphale -- who was sleeping fairly peacefully -- and darted out of the room to find him some new clothes. They were on their way back with a simple set of clothes, a cloak and some food when Learned Penric intercepted them.

"Leaving already? I'd advise against it -- your..."

"That cult could be here any moment! I want to get Aziraphale as far away from here as possible."

They began arguing with increasing heat, Crowley wanting to put as much distance between Aziraphale and the cult as possible, pointing out that the temple's staff were outnumbered, out of magic and unlikely to have sufficient combat experience, and Penric countering that it wasn't certain that the cult would be able or willing to mount an attack, that (magic or no) the temple was solid and defensible, that Aziraphale likely needed more rest before being fit to travel, and that Crowley was being selfish, reckless and inconsistent, willing to take the temple's help with healing Aziraphale but not to trust them to keep him safe afterwards. Crowley had no answer to that, but covered it by shouldering open the door to Aziraphale's room, helping him into the clothes they'd gathered, gently concealing his distinctive halo under the hood of the cloak, and hurrying him out of the temple's rear door just as dawn was breaking.

Hand-in-hand, they merged discreetly into the foot traffic on the westward road, Crowley keeping watch for any sign of pursuit and Aziraphale seeming almost stunned by the newness of being among ordinary people. By night, they camped in the most concealed spots Crowley could find. By day, they pushed westward as hard as Crowley dared, some of Penric's points about Aziraphale's health having penetrated Crowley's instinctive paranoia.

Aziraphale was obviously struggling, not complaining about the privations of life on the road but sleeping restlessly and frequently waking up screaming. Crowley, at something of a loss for how to help, defaulted to 'lots of hugs, and do the opposite of what the cult probably did', which mainly meant speaking to him kindly, making sure he ate properly and seeking and properly considering his input on various matters. It certainly seemed to help; Aziraphale eventually admitted (though with a reluctance evidently born of past violent betrayal) that his bad dreams were as much down to some dream-guide trying to make contact as to his awful memories. Crowley recognised this admission for the confession of trust that it was, their throat clogging with compassionate sadness for Aziraphale's pain, and hugged him firmly.

Crowley was pleased to see parts of Aziraphale's true personality emerging as the nightmares began to abate. The first one to show up was his love of butterflies; his hand-flapping and full-body excited wiggling whenever one showed up were downright adorable! Next to appear was his ability to enjoy simply watching running water or dust dancing in a sunbeam for hours on end. Crowley didn't fully understand this, but with the possibility of active pursuit lessening by the day, they were happy enough to indulge their aasimar friend.

One of the most significant developments came when Crowley woke from a nightmare of their own (the incident with the pit fiend had never really stopped troubling them) to find Aziraphale cuddled up on their chest, holding a small twig imbued with light. Befuddled by, but joyful at, this expression of care and trust, Crowley realised that Aziraphale was beginning to explore his innate aasimar magic -- something worth encouraging! Especially as every success meant he gained that adorably excited smile and wiggling... His glee at managing to manifest fully functional wings of pure luminous energy was infectious, and Crowley cherished the memory of holding Aziraphale's hand as he took his first flight around a sunlit forest clearing, the two of them giggling with overwhelming joy, for a long time afterwards.

When they'd made it a third or so of the way across the continent, their funds began to run low. As the two of them sat at a corner table in a lakeside tavern one afternoon, counting up their remaining store of coin, Aziraphale suggested that they take adventuring work to fund their onward travel. Crowley was taken aback but listened to his reasoning.

"One, there are plenty of jobs available and they pay well. Two, if anyone is still following us, making our route more unpredictable will only help shake them off. Three, we both have powers and skills that are worth using, and I for one would prefer to use mine to preserve the world rather than bring about its dissolution."

Crowley realised with a pang of guilt that, for all they'd spent so much time admiring Aziraphale's appearance and mannerisms, they hadn't properly looked at him; they did so now. The motes of light forming his halo winked and twinkled and danced in the glow of the tavern's torches, framing a face no longer sunken with hunger but full and strong, with a fierce, steely intelligence in the eyes. He'd gained some healthy weight, too, his body still rather lean but far more solid than when they'd first met. With Learned Penric's words about recklessness and lack of trust ringing distantly in their ears, Crowley took a breath, properly considered Aziraphale's reasoning and found it extremely solid. Luckily, the armourer near the tavern was still open, so they were able to find Aziraphale a sword and some basic armour without too much trouble.

As it turned out, taking up adventuring was an excellent idea! Jobs were indeed plentiful and paid well, both in coin and in other ways. Aziraphale seemed to genuinely enjoy helping and protecting people, and was (between his own powers and frightening skill with a sword) very good at it. His joy at this rubbed off on Crowley, who gradually went from simply not wanting to disappoint his wonderful aasimar to genuinely wanting to do good for its own sake. They even started exploring their innate infernal magic, on the slowly growing idea that simply being infernal in origin didn't make it inherently evil or wrong or shameful; the first time they cast hellish rebuke while battling a monster was still pretty startling! Despite their lack of physical wings, Crowley found that the westward journey felt more and more like they were flying.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses, though. Aziraphale's dream guide -- some stuck-up deva based on Mount Celestia -- might have provided genuinely useful information once or twice, but from what little Aziraphale said about it, it seemed to mostly be concerned with ordering Aziraphale around in a way frighteningly similar to the cult, albeit reading off some immutable list of 'Rules For Goodness' rather than plotting an apocalypse. Crowley grew to loathe that deva, for all that they'd never met; its visits always left Aziraphale unaccountably upset for days afterwards, with his nightmares and intermittent memory issues (a legacy, Crowley guessed, of the cult's mind-control magic) flaring up.

Crowley was worrying quietly about this, one misty, dew-soaked morning, when they heard a rustling and the distinctive excited squeak of an aasimar who'd found a particularly interesting butterfly. They looked over to see Aziraphale delicately balancing a huge and magnificent blue butterfly on one hand while wearing a look of almost beatific revelation. Once the butterfly had fluttered off, Aziraphale bounded across their small campsite -- almost landing on Crowley's ribcage -- and started babbling excitedly. Once he'd calmed down a little, and Crowley had worked through the metaphors about butterfly wings and chrysalises, it emerged that he was seriously considering taking oath as a paladin and wanted Crowley's input.

Crowley knew that Aziraphale's love of helping and protecting people, and generally doing good, fitted well with the requirements of the paladin's path; they did worry, though, about the high standards required to maintain the oath and potential harshness of the consequences of breaking it, even by accident. They did trust Aziraphale's decision-making, though, and were willing to support him in whatever choice he made. That being established, the two of them wandered into the nearby town (which had a reasonably respectable library) to do a bit of research and take counsel with an experienced paladin who happened to be in the area.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Crowley accompanied Aziraphale to a small glade near the town, and there watched as Aziraphale formally swore the Oath of the Ancients before no specific god save for nature itself, and received a butterfly-shaped amulet to act as his holy symbol. Crowley's heart was near bursting with affection and pride for how far Aziraphale had come, as his aasimar stood holding the amulet, quivering with nervous excitement and hope while the dappled sunlight breaking through the trees made glorious sparks of the ever-drifting motes of his halo.

Becoming a paladin evidently suited Aziraphale -- he seemed happier than ever, and his physical health improved greatly; Crowley was glad they'd trusted his choice (the increasingly muscular view when they bathed together certainly didn't hurt!). Their combat styles meshed well, too, with Crowley making speedy yet devastating sneak attacks while Aziraphale drew opponents' attention and absorbed their strikes. Together they achieved a not-inconsiderable degree of note for their deeds; even so, Aziraphale's kindly manner and flappy-handed, wiggly-bodied love of butterflies tended to lead people to underestimate him. It was, for Crowley, a reliable source of amusement to see people who'd assumed he was some sort of really eccentric druid get very startled when the latest undead monstrosity showed up and he promptly smote its ruin upon the good green earth.

Crowley still wasn't completely immune to underestimating Aziraphale themself, though. When their travels had brought them within a couple of weeks' ride of the continent's western coast, they ran into a smarmy con artist whom Crowley had encountered once or twice in their petty-thievery days (and how long had they been thinking of that period as firmly in the past?). They were briefly worried about Aziraphale being taken in, but instead he seriously unnerved the con artist by heavily playing up his literal-mindedness and asking a lot of uncomfortably pointed questions (Crowley was evidently rubbing off on him...) while maintaining fixed and near-unblinking eye contact with a point slightly above the con artist's left ear. Crowley could barely keep themself from laughing out loud at the odious twerp's obvious discomfiture and hasty retreat.

The realisation that they'd properly left behind any need for criminal activity gave Crowley a new surge of hope for the future. They evidently weren't alone in thinking of what was yet to come; when they visited an up-and-coming mining town in early spring, Aziraphale ducked into a shop selling magic items, and was excited but mysterious about what he'd bought. He explained it when they had some privacy, showing Crowley a pair of platinum rings and stuttering his way through an explanation of the warding bond spell. Crowley recognised the strategic value of the spell immediately, but there seemed to be something else behind their aasimar's nerves...

"Just to be clear, angel, are you proposing?"

A flustered nod.

Crowley took a moment to process that, yes, this was absolutely real. "Then I accept!" They held out their left hand so Aziraphale could put the ring on their finger. He was still flustered, gabbling about how Crowley was good and kind and brilliant and wonderful and... Crowley reflected that this would be a terrible time for their habitual insistence on just being a big mean ol' tiefling (grrr!), however joking, and instead petted Aziraphale's hair fondly.

The engagement lasted for precisely the length of time it took them to find someone to officiate the ceremony. A couple of days later, early in the morning when the sky was clear and the crisp bite of early-spring frost was still in the air, they were formally wed in a grassy meadow nestled in the foothills of the mountain near the mining town. Crowley couldn't remember ever having been this deliriously happy -- nor could Aziraphale, judging by the sparkly-eyed smile he wore throughout.

After a honeymoon mostly spent thoroughly stress-testing the bed in their room at the tavern, it was back to the adventuring! Crowley's ear for deceit, eye for detail and general irrepressible inquisitiveness garnered many leads to areas of trouble and situations requiring resolution; Aziraphale's deva guide was exactly as helpful as it had always been (i.e. not very). His nightmares and memory troubles were flaring up worse than ever after its visits. Crowley managed to coax him into talking about it, and they eventually worked out that the deva was acting a lot like the old cult, which meant that the old mental wounds were being torn open every time it made contact. He did his best to tell the deva to back off -- Crowley made extra sure to convey their pride in him for that.

A couple of weeks later, the two of them were returning to their lodgings after assisting a young copper dragon who was being troubled in its lair by a roaming fire giant and its horde of hell hounds. Suddenly, the air twisted in front of them and a celestial figure appeared, the radiance of its milk-pale skin and the gold edging of its chalk-white wing feathers almost blinding. Crowley had a funny feeling that this was the obnoxious deva guide they so despised, a feeling confirmed when the figure greeted Aziraphale by name and immediately began berating him for being wayward and distracted by petty trivialities like seeing to the well-being of individuals rather than the Greater Good, and for being insufficiently lawful in his choice of paladin oath. Aziraphale made an obvious effort to bear this tirade with equanimity, but Crowley could see him starting to regress to the state of fear and confusion he'd been in when they'd first met him, so long ago. They reached for their dagger, intending to hurl it into the deva's throat to shut it up -- but then it insulted their marriage.

The deva barely got halfway through insulting Crowley's tiefling heritage in the crassest manner imaginable before Aziraphale punched it in the face hard enough to break its nose and send it flying a few feet backward. Crowley suddenly had to ignore their dagger and physically restrain Aziraphale from drawing his sword with killing intent (an oath violation for sure, in these circumstances). They succeeded, just; he had several inches of blade visible while he delivered an instruction to never contact him again, in any way or for any reason, in tones of the coldest, most steely anger Crowley had ever heard him use. The deva was intimidated enough to flee immediately, hopefully never to return. Crowley hugged Aziraphale while he gathered himself, made sure to pamper him extra hard when they got back to their lodgings, and gently nudged him to take counsel about his oath with a relevant local cleric.

With that resolved, things went on much as they had before. One particularly memorable job involved an opera house; a middleweight adventuring party had been hired to clear a mysterious infestation of undead out of the cellars, but having found and barely escaped a demilich in the deepest cellar, they'd decided they needed backup. Crowley found them to be a mostly sensible bunch, if their bard would just stop trying to bloody peacock around in front of the corps de ballet! They're not even paying attention, it's embarrassing... Once the warlock of the group had delivered the (seemingly routine) refocusing clip 'round the ear, they descended into the monster's lair. The fight was a difficult one, though Aziraphale's aura of courage and healing spells, and Crowley's lightning reflexes and unparalleled darkvision, helped the team claim victory. While the adventuring party had done the majority of the fighting, destroying the demilich's phylactery was another matter. The wizard of the group determined that it could only be destroyed by being struck with celestial radiance and infernal flame simultaneously, while fully immersed in holy water. A tall order indeed -- unless, of course, one has a powerful aasimar/tiefling duo on hand! Aziraphale and Crowley both kept a few flasks of holy water in stock as a matter of course, and a simultaneous casting of moonbeam and hellish rebuke took care of the rest. The opera house's managers were profusely grateful and generous with their rewards; these included free tickets for that night's performance, a comical piece about pirates who did very little piracy and were either excellent or terrible at stealth, so the day's work was capped off with a very enjoyable date night.

Not every memorable incident involved difficult battles. On one occasion, the duo encountered a rare black-and-tan pegasus being pestered by human bounty hunters; once the ruffians had been driven off, the pegasus took an immediate liking to Crowley, much to their bemusement. They called it Bentley -- the name felt right somehow -- and it happily acted as their steed. Odder still was the incident some time later, when a green-robed old man with three bright yellow canaries sitting on each shoulder and one clinging to his hat accosted them in the street. He said something about liking their faces and pressed a small golden canary figurine on Aziraphale, before disappearing into the city crowds with an enigmatic wink. Aziraphale gave the figurine to Crowley immediately, because it 'matched their pretty gold eyes'. Crowley slipped it into their belt pouch (there was definitely something unusual about it, meriting further investigation), smooched Aziraphale on the cheek and gently towed him off to the marketplace to get him something in return, eventually settling on a ring of the ram, which seemed to fit his solidity and force of will.

It was sometime after that, when things had gone comparatively quiet on the adventuring front, that the duo were asked to look into a cult trying to set up a suspicious ritual. They duly went to the place where the worrying activity had been reported -- and found Aziraphale's former cult. Crowley could have kicked themself for not doing enough damage to them while rescuing Aziraphale all those years ago, especially as they recognised the cult's brainwash-magic-happy sage (though they took some comfort in the fact that it had apparently taken this long for the cult to rebound). The sight was evidently affecting Aziraphale, too, and despite his clear efforts to stay quiet, the sage heard and approached their hiding spot with a few club-wielding acolytes in tow.

The sage launched into a profoundly patronising speech 'forgiving' Aziraphale for 'being led astray' and inviting him to return to the fold. The last few words seemed to be laced with subtle persuasive magic, and Crowley had a fleeting pang of dread that it'd actually work; then they looked again at the sage and realised that his spellwork was rather sloppy and complacent. Aziraphale's formidable reputation as a bloody-minded stubborn paladin who was nigh-immune to enchantment and illusion magic had obviously passed him by, as he seemed to be assuming that this experienced aasimar (with an indisputably legitimate grievance) was still the same easily controllable child as before. Crowley was shifting into position, ready to correct their earlier mistakes, when Aziraphale did something that he'd never done before in all the time Crowley had known him -- he swore.

"FUCK that!"

A longsword blow that bisected the sage at the waist, an invocation of warding bond, and the battle was on. The cultists stood little chance; Crowley reflected that they probably shouldn't be enjoying the cult's destruction this much, even if they had tortured their husband for years... Once the cult was well and truly demolished -- permanently -- the duo reported back to their informant and returned to their lodgings, whereupon Aziraphale had an emotional meltdown in Crowley's arms.

A scant few weeks after that, they were setting up camp for the night when, with a waft of sulphurous air, a pit fiend ambushed them. It seized and telepathically mocked Crowley for not initially remembering 'their deal' and gloated about how much more interesting a prize they were now, before flying off to the nearby forest, where a portal to Avernus, first and outermost of the Nine Hells, was waiting. Crowley started to panic a little, once they realised that this was the very pit fiend they'd almost been sacrificed to as a child.

The pit fiend took them to a cave in a range of barren hills in an isolated part of Avernus. It threw Crowley into a cage and chained their wrists to the uppermost bars, before wrapping its wings around itself and flopping down next to a small heap of treasure (evidently stolen from luckless travellers) and thanking a bearded devil lurking in the shadows for their accurate information. Something about the lesser fiend seemed familiar to Crowley...

Affecting a lackadaisical manner, Crowley prodded the bearded devil with questions until it confirmed their suspicion that it used to be the sage of the old cult, having made a posthumous bargain for power in exchange for information about powerful souls to corrupt. The pit fiend was intelligent enough, at least, to realise that blabbing one's plans to a captive, however seemingly helpless, might not be the best idea, and tried to shut the bearded devil up. However, Crowley was able to play on the pit fiend's ego enough to persuade it to start bragging about its own scheme to usurp power in Avernus by corrupting powerful souls to its control -- Aziraphale and Crowley being particularly juicy targets. All the while, Crowley was subtly picking the locks on their chains, using the narrow tip of their prehensile tail.

Oddly enough, Crowley wasn't all that scared. They knew, so deep in their bones that it would be hard to articulate, that Aziraphale would come to their rescue and that they'd destroy the pit fiend and its loathsome scheme together, as they had so many other evil plans in the past. They also realised that even if they did escape from their chains now, getting out of the cave unharmed would be a very tall order, and running off into the wastelands of Avernus would only make it harder for Aziraphale to track them down; they therefore discreetly worked at their chains to the point where they could slip out of them relatively easily without giving this fact away to their captors.

Crowley's trust and faith were rewarded almost immediately, when a familiar column of silvery light caught the bearded devil in the back and engulfed it in ghostly flames of uncanny radiance, reducing it to nothingness in less than fifteen seconds. Aziraphale advanced into the cave, gesturing the moonbeam onto the pit fiend with his sword, his shield hanging on his left forearm to allow that hand to touch his butterfly amulet/spellcasting focus, a look of steely determination and controlled fury in his eyes. Crowley knew the spell needed the caster to concentrate on maintaining it, so they exchanged the briefest of acknowledging eye contact with him before working away at their bindings in earnest.

The chains fell away, and Crowley turned their attention to breaking out of the cage. The iron bars were sturdy and resisted their efforts to pull them apart, but Crowley gained the extra strength necessary to break them when the pit fiend lunged out of the shaft of moonbeam and struck Aziraphale with its tail, shattering his concentration on the spell and sending him reeling across the cave. Feeling the familiar flare of warding bond activating, Crowley shouted insults, hurled pieces of the cage and generally tried to distract the pit fiend while Aziraphale got to his feet and invoked his radiant aasimar wings. A few more seconds bought, and a shift in his posture told Crowley that he'd also assumed the leonine mane of shimmering butterfly wings that signified the strongest magics granted by his paladin oath.

He charged forward and attacked, drawing the pit fiend's attention back to himself while Crowley landed their signature sneak attacks with dual-wielded shortswords. Their well-honed co-operative combat, with spell and blade in fluid accord, certainly caused the pit fiend grief, though less than Crowley would have liked. It got a few lucky hits in with fireball, claw, mace and tail, and forced them to keep their distance with a well-timed wall of fire just as Aziraphale's transformations wore off.

The pit fiend seized its chance then, biting down on Crowley's arm with its venom-dripping fangs and tossing them into Aziraphale, who was beginning to wilt inside his plate armour from the heat of the fiend's fires. Crowley was dimly aware of Aziraphale dragging them out of range of the heat of the fire while the pit fiend gloated and its venom burned through their veins.

As the fiend's wall of fire died down, Crowley dimly registered Aziraphale passing a glowing hand over the bite wound on their arm. The effects of the pit fiend's venom faded away, and Crowley was able to gather enough of their wits that they remembered the mysterious canary figurine that they'd never quite got round to investigating. They fumbled it out of their belt pouch, glanced at the words carved on the base and hurled it at the pit fiend's feet while chanting what they really hoped was the right incantation. The pit fiend's mocking laughter was abruptly cut off when the tiny figurine transformed into an adult gold dragon!

Crowley gasped out a command to the dragon -- "Keep it busy!" -- which the dragon interpreted as an instruction to invoke its fear-inducing aura and go to town with its claws and bite while the pit fiend cowered against the cave wall. Aziraphale, as was usual, made sure to use the opportunity to heal Crowley up and repair their armour before seeing to his own needs. This done, the duo readied themselves to re-enter the fray. Although the effects of its aura were beginning to wear off, the gold dragon had done a great deal of damage to the pit fiend by this time; Aziraphale added to it by muttering divine incantations (lacking the energy for stronger magic by this time) and invoking his ring of the ram. He gave Crowley the final blow, though, and as they delivered the coup de grace something unknotted deep inside them.

With the pit fiend vanquished, the duo exchanged bows with the gold dragon before it turned itself back into the canary figurine. Crowley shakily picked it up and out it away while explaining to Aziraphale (who was taking a moment to catch his breath) the background information he might've missed.

They were both too exhausted to want to risk leaving Avernus the long way, or lingering in the cave too long, so once they'd gathered themselves, the duo poked around the pit fiend's small heap of stolen treasure. A glint caught Crowley's eye, which turned out to be a silver ring of deceptively simple design, inlaid with three green gemstones. Aziraphale immediately noted the strong magic in the one gemstone that still burned with its own internal fire, and with that clue Crowley identified the item as a ring of three wishes, with two-thirds of its charges expended. They were swaying on their feet by this time (and in any case were no great shakes at spellcasting), so Aziraphale hooked an arm round their waist, held up the ring and used its one remaining charge to replicate the plane shift spell, which deposited them back at their campsite scarcely half a day after they'd left. Bentley the pegasus was there, whickering nervously and nuzzling their faces, along with what seemed to be a hastily-assembled rescue party, who appeared relieved to not have to contend with the Nine Hells after all.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had ever been particularly inclined to have faith in the gods, but the zenith of their adventuring career often involved performing commissions for them, with commensurate boons (up to and including immortality!) as rewards. It was during the course of one of these missions that something happened which Crowley had long dreaded -- Aziraphale's memory issues flared up badly in the middle of combat. Crowley was able to protect him until he recovered, and they finished the mission safely, but Aziraphale was badly rattled. Back in their lodgings, he raised for the first time the possibility of retirement. Crowley was just as shaken by the incident, and agreed that it would be unwise to risk another memory glitch happening in so dangerous a situation.

With their considerable accumulated wealth, Aziraphale bought property in an out-of-the-way town, with a large garden for Crowley to tend, a good stable for Bentley and plenty of space for it to run around. Aziraphale opted to open a bookshop where adventurers might find advice and information on any number of matters, but drew up some extremely convoluted opening hours in line with his impish sense of humour and long-standing distaste for directionless interactions with people other than Crowley (who found the whole thing rather amusing). They gradually settled into a quieter rhythm of life, with Crowley working wonders in the garden and unabashedly ogling Aziraphale while he practised sword drills to stay in shape, in lieu of opening the shop.

And so they live still. Crowley is much less inclined, these days, to hide their kind, generous nature, and will happily share produce from their garden with local businesses or friendly adventurers. They are intensely protective of their husband and their hard-won peaceful domesticity, though, so anyone who is terminally foolish enough to threaten them, by theft, violence or otherwise, will regret it very quickly.

---

Crowley

Medium Humanoid (Tiefling (Asmodeus), 20th level Inquisitive Rogue), Chaotic Good

Age: Unknown (immortal) Height: 6'1'' Weight: 120lb

Armour Class 21 (glamoured studded leather, Dual Wielder feat) Hit Points 170 (20d8+80) Speed 30ft

STR 22 (+6) DEX 24 (+7) CON 18 (+4) INT 24 (+7) WIS 23 (+6) CHA 25 (+7)

Saving Throws Strength (+12), Dexterity (+20), Intelligence (+19), Wisdom (+18), Charisma (+19)

Skills Athletics (+12), Acrobatics (+19), Stealth (+19), Arcana (+13), History (+13), Investigation (+19), Insight (+18), Perception (+18), Survival (+18), Deception (+19), Intimidation (+19), Persuasion (+19)

Damage Resistances fire, cold, poison, lightning

Damage Immunities psychic

Condition Immunities charmed, frightened, possessed, paralysed

Senses darkvision 60ft, passive Perception (33), passive Investigation (34)

Languages all

Challenge 20 (25,000 XP) Proficiency Bonus +6

Traits

Special Equipment Crowley dual-wields magic shortswords. One is an Ascendant Dragon's Wrath Shortsword (hereafter ADWS), which steeped in an Ancient Blue Dragon's hoard and as such inflicts an extra 3d6 lightning damage on a successful strike (included in the combat statistics); the other is a Crystal Shortsword, which inflicts an extra 1d8 radiant damage on a successful strike (included in the combat statistics). Crowley also wears a platinum ring for use with the warding bond spell on the ring finger of their left hand; Aziraphale wears the other such ring.

Magic Resistance Crowley has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.

Sneak Attack One per turn, Crowley can inflict an extra 10d6 (or 13d6 with Insightful Fighting, see below) piercing damage on one attack that is made either with advantage or on an enemy that is within 5 feet of Aziraphale (provided that he isn't incapacitated).

Insightful Fighting As a bonus action, Crowley can make a Wisdom (Insight) check against a creature they can see that isn't incapacitated, contested by the target's Charisma (Deception) check. On a success, for the next minute, Crowley can use their Sneak Attack against that target only without needing advantage on the attack roll, and inflicts an extra 3d6 damage with each successful Sneak Attack.

Cunning Action Crowley can use a bonus action to take the Dash, Disengage or Hide actions.

Uncanny Dodge Crowley can use their reaction to halve the damage taken when an attack hits them.

Evasion When subjected to an effect that allows them to make a Dexterity saving throw to only take half damage, Crowley instead takes no damage on a success, and only half damage on a failure.

Blindsense If Crowley is not deafened, they are aware of the locations of any hidden or invisible creature within 10 feet of them.

Elusive No attack roll has advantage against Crowley if they aren't incapacitated.

Legendary Resistance (4/day) If Crowley fails on a saving throw, they can choose to succeed instead.

Innate Spellcasting Crowley's spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 21). They can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components:

At will: thaumaturgy

1/day each: hellish rebuke (2nd level), darkness

Actions

Two-Weapon Fighting One melee attack with each weapon (one as an action, one as a bonus action): +13 (Crystal Shortsword)/+16 (ADWS) to hit, reach 5ft, one target. Hit: 1d6 + 16 piercing damage plus 3d6 lightning damage (ADWS), 1d6 + 13 piercing damage plus 1d8 radiant damage (Crystal Shortsword).

Melee Strike Crowley makes one attack with one weapon (see above).

Destructive Lightning (1/day) As an action, Crowley can unleash destructive energy from their ADWS in a 60ft cone. Each creature in that cone must make a DC 18 Dexterity saving throw, taking 12d6 lightning damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.

Reaction

Protective If an enemy damages Aziraphale or tries to cast enchantment or illusion magic on him, Crowley moves to within 5ft of that enemy and makes one Two-Weapon Fighting attack.

---

Notes:

I wrote this bio and Aziraphale's with the Forgotten Realms setting in mind, since I'm most familiar with that world; translating things to another part of the D&D multiverse shouldn't be too much of a problem

As with Azzy's bio and stats, I was leaning on the 2014 editions of the Player's Handbook, Monster Manual and Dungeon Master's Guide for this fic and statblock

With Aziraphale's bio, I was deliberately trying to emulate the style of an officially published D&D NPC bio. For this one, I just went 'f--- it, I'mma go expansive' :D

The 'Learned Penric' character here is from World of the Five Gods by Lois McMaster Bujold -- I decided to slip him in when I realised how easy it'd be to fit the Quintarian pantheon into a D&D setting! I'd imagine that, in D&D terms, Penric'd be something along the lines of a Wild Magic sorcerer/Life Domain cleric multiclass, with maybe a sprinkling of warlock, given the way his powers canonically work... I have a spoiler-free summary of the WotFG series on tumblr and AO3 if you want to know more!

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plaidbooks · 2 years ago

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Seasons Greetings

A/N: I know it's been a while since I wrote anything and this may not get traction because it is two OCs in a fandom, rather than established characters, but I hope you'll give this a shot! If you missed the bios on these two, you can read it here!

This covers the Spending Xmas Alone in @storiesofsvu bingo!

Also, let me know if you'd like to be on the taglist for these two!

Tags: none

Words: 1098

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart

Pairing: Benoit Montclair x Amelia Dansworth

~~~~~~~~~~

Amelia sat at her desk, typing away. Though it was Christmas Day, she had decided to come into the office--there was work to be done and if she didn't do it before New Years, she'd be worried for the whole vacation.

Besides, she wasn't doing anything for Christmas anyways; just sitting in her flat, drinking hot chocolate and watching some cheesy romcom on tv.

This seemed less pathetic. At least she thought so.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock on her open office door, and she jumped in surprise; she was supposed to be in the office alone today while everyone was off for the holidays.

But standing in the doorway was none other than Mr. Benoit Montclair, looking handsome as hell, even with his brow furrowed in concern, dark eyes on her.

"I thought everyone had the next week and a half off?" he said gently in his deep voice. He came into her office fully, standing in front of her desk.

Amelia blinked at him before responding, "they do--we do. But I wanted to finish this little financial snafu and it couldn't wait until the new year--"

"So you decided to come in on Christmas Day? No other day would suit you?"

She couldn't help but notice how he skipped over the "financial snafu;" did Mr. Montclair really trust her that much?

"I, uh, I don't have any family or anything to celebrate with. So, I thought I'd just get this done now." Heat rises to her cheeks, so Amelia switched it on him. "Why are you here, sir?"

Ben gave her a curt smile, lips pressed in a thin line. "My father is a workaholic and my sister lives in Japan."

"Oh...I'm sorry...."

He shrugs. "I don't really celebrate the holidays, anyways. And, like you mentioned, there is work to be done."

Running out of things to say, Amelia goes quiet. Her eyes slowly roam over her boss; from his Italian leather shoes, up his tall frame, and taking in his expensive suit--it probably cost more than her rent for a full year.

But what stopped her scan was a white envelope clutched in his hand.

Ben's eyes followed hers to the envelope, and he holds it up, glancing at it as if he also forgot he was holding. "Oh!" he started, "when I saw that you were logged in on site, I thought I'd bring you your Christmas bonus--so you wouldn't have to wait for the post like everyone else."

"Thank you, sir!" Amelia replied in shock. She had been looking forward to her bonus; it helped pay some of the end-of-the-year bills.

He walked closer to her desk, arm outstretched. But just as Amelia reached out for it, he flipped it out of reach. Confused, she looked up into his face, and he smiled softly at her.

"Do me a favor? Take the rest of your vacation off. I don't want to see yo here again before the new year, understand?"

The intensity in his dark eyes paired with that soft smile has her melting. "I--yes sir. And, um, you too?" She wasn't quite sure why she added that, but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling past her lips.

Ben's smile grew, showing a line of pearly white teeth. "I will try my best. It's hard when you're the boss."

And with that, he held out the envelope in his long, thin fingers. As soon as Amelia took it, Ben turned and headed out the door.

"Happy Christmas," he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

"And happy new year," Amelia replied, sitting back. With her boss's departure, she felt a tension leave her body.

Shaking her head to clear it, she started typing again. But the thought of her Christmas bonus sitting on her desk kept pulling her attention. She knew she had to look at the amount, so she could better plan her bill payments.

Amelia used her envelope cutter to break the tape and opened it to reveal the cheque inside. But as she gazed at the amount, she almost dropped it in disbelief.

Her normal paycheque was £5000 a month; about £1k more than an entry position. She had been expecting a £100 bonus. Instead, she had received double her monthly amount.

This could pay bills for a few months! she thought, a lump in her throat. There had to be some mistake--but no, also in the envelope was a letter.

Eyes skimming over the words, Amelia found that Mr. Montclair gave her that bonus--as well as "other, faithful employees," the letter said--out of his own pocket.

It took her a few moments to process before she was able to continue working. But the rest of the day and well into the night, Amelia had a floaty feeling about her.

#storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #benoit x amelia #benoit montclair #amelia dansworth #benoit montclair x amelia dansworth #adow #a discovery of witches #fanfic #my writing #ocs #my ocs.

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ghcstlyhearts · 2 years ago

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CHARACTER BASICS

Full Name: Dawson Elliot Porter

Nickname: Dawsey (very very rarely)

Age: 50

Gender: Cis Man

Pronouns: He & Him

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: Veritean

Education: Schooling on the island

Occupation: Groundskeeper for Moonshadow Inn

Hometown: Moonlit Creek

Current location: Moonlit Creek

Species: Werewolf

Written Aesthetics: feeling homesick whilst home, not recognising yourself in the mirror & shattered phone screens.

trigger warnings:

CHARACTER APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Skeet Ulrich

Height: 6ft

Hair Colour: Dark brown

Eye Colour: Dark brown

Dominant Hand: Right

Distinguishing Features: bags under his eyes, a constant tired expression, a slightly crooked nose

SUPERNATURAL EXTRAS

Abilities: heightened strength, speed, agility, and reflexes, enhanced senses, accelerated healing, shapeshifting, enhanced endurance & tracking abilities.

Have you always been aware of your abilities?: "Yes. I was born a wolf, and my father made sure to make sure I was trained in my abilities."

Favorite Magical Items: he tends to avoid magical items actually, being wary of them.

What supernatural creature is your character most scared of?: Vampires. Doesn't trust them. Hates them, actually.

Who or what would they die for? His siblings, despite the fact they don't talk anymore. His adopted kids.

Does your character fight or flee? Oh he would absolutely fight.

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: compassionate, active

Negative Traits: stubborn, guarded, bitter

Neutral Traits: hesitant, unforgiving

Goals/desires: His goals changed when he gained custody of Clara, his adoptive daughter, and with him technically adopting Weston too, his main goal is for his children to be happy.

Fears: Something happening to Clara or Weston, being attacked by a vampire.

Hobbies: restoration - finding old, broken things and restoring them back to their original state, going for a run, axe throwing

Habits: huffing in frustration, punching walls or trees when he's angry and pissed off.

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT Q’S

QUESTION ONE: were you born on the island, if so, what kind of curiosities do you have about the world beyond? if you weren’t, what do you miss about the world outside veritas isles? "Born and raised, I also used to be a recruiter. I enjoyed the outside world, but Veritas is my home."

QUESTION TWO: what is your favorite part about the island? "The fact that I don't have to go anywhere near vampires if I can help it. They can stay in their little caves."

QUESTION THREE: if your character is supernatural, do they fear humans? if human, do they fear the supernatural? He does fear humanity, after having a rather rough run in with hunters in the outside world. Hunters are also the reason Clara ended up coming into his care. He's afraid of the lengths they'd go to, just to hunt someone down for something they were unable to control - being born supernatural.

QUESTION FOUR: share a fun headcanon or fact about your character! this doesn’t have to be long, just something to introduce us to your character! Despite having his regenerative healing, Dawson got into many fights as a teenager enough that he often had a broken nose. Eventually, it would heal, but it healed wrong. He can't be bothered to fix it.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

BIO | PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Ex best friend - will post a wc, but basically the two of them were very close growing up, and he adored them. He eventually realised he had feelings, but it was too late - they were with another. The other's partner made them choose, and after an argument, they chose their partner, which broke his heart. They haven't really talked since, but I have the idea they've split from their partner and have come tumbling back into his life.

His siblings - will post a wc, but he has two siblings ! A sister and a brother, and he's the oldest. However, after a rather horrid falling out with his father, their relationship is strained. He loves his siblings, but they often try to get him to return home, and he's too stubborn too.

Friends - probably just as grumpy as he is, but perhaps someone who softens him a little.

Ex pack mates - he kind of abandoned his pack years ago when he ended up marrying a wixen and temporarily leaving moonlit creek.

Perhaps another ex or two since he got divorced at 23? I imagine it didn't end well, especially with him travelling a lot and generally being a grumpy git.

The reason he hates vampires so much - unsure as to why, but im imagining something dramatic happened. But if anyone wants to throw a vampire at him to really loathe, hit me up.

#task; dawson porter.#about; dawson porter.#vih.task01 #vih.intro

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chronicbeans · 2 years ago

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hihi !! i loved ur wally x reader of the maladaptive daydreaming and autism! :p

i don’t know if you have requests on, i did check your bio and also pinned post but anyway! if you aren’t doing requests you can just ignore this :D

human!wally x human!reader who HAS to sleep with a plushie/teddy else they’d have nightmares/sleep paralysis? sorry if it’s too much to ask or i haven’t put enough detail !! <33

Oh no I am still taking requests! They are just coming out very, veeerrrryyy slowly. Lol my brain is becoming a mixture of like... 2-3 fandoms, so everything is slower. Sorry!

Human Wally and a Human Reader who needs Plushies to Sleep:

TW: Insomnia, Sleep Paralysis

🧸 You were embarrassed to say that you need a plush or teddy to sleep. He will grow silent for a moment, causing you to grow even more embarrassed. Then, he will raise a finger to tell you to stay still, before turning around and opening up his closet. Next thing you know, you are buried in apple plushies as the tumble out of his closet.

🧸 Turns out, he is in a similar situation! He just can't fall asleep in general. Stupid insomnia. So, he has a bunch of apple plushies he hoards onto his bed, which is a part of why he keeps his bed in the corner, against a wall. He crowds them in a corner against a wall, making sure they won't fly off if he moves in his sleep, then falls asleep.

🧸 So... You can borrow some! He has like, what? Thirty plushies? Fourth? He lost count after the fiftieth plush apple.

🧸 He hasn't experiences sleep paralysis, but... from the one time he has seen you during it, it didn't look too nice. Then, when you talked to him about it afterward, he was horrified by it! It sounds like torture! Now he REALLY knows you need his apples!

🧸 Are you having a sleepover? Did you move in? It doesn't matter the situation, but if you ever have to sleep in the same bed as Wally, there WILL be a system to make sure you both get equal plushie distribution. He has three plans:

🧸 1: Wall. Just a wall of plush apples between you two. This is not the best option, because whoever is against the wall will probably be sore from being pressed against it.

🧸 2: Shell. Two equal rows of plushies along the outside of the bed, with you and Wally smooshed in the middle. Wally likes this option the best, because he likes human contact just as much as his plush apples. However, during late spring or summer, it might get a bit hot from body heat. There is also the fact that you might be uncomfortable being pressed against him. Everyone has their own idea of personal space, after all!

🧸 3: Stripes. Two rows on the outside, with one row in the middle. This is the second best option, in Wally's opinion. Protection from the wall the bed is against, with a protective wall between you and Wally, in case human contact isn't your thing while trying to sleep. It kinda looks like stripes along his bed, hence the name!

🧸 So, which option is the best? Do you need him to demonstrate each option? Maybe alternate between them, depending on the season? Just let him know!

#welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling #wally darling x reader #welcome home au

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undead-merman · 3 years ago

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I can't find the one where mc finds a harpy egg and takes it back to the brothers to raise (also harpies) can you link it for me? Thx

So the original post the asker no longer has their age in their bio so I want to delete the ask and post it here.

Poly harpy brothers with an abandoned egg GN-Reader SFW

Finding the egg

You have been on a walk through the tall mountain that you've called home for a long time now, and you decided to take a longer walk than normal. You head off the beaten path to a new patch of trees and cliffsides. You nearly trip after a big step down and tumble off the cliff when you grab a hanging root and pull yourself up.

You find a nest and it's barely even held together. The twigs and moss are ripped and broken, and a few eggs that sit inside are broken. Most likely, eaten by something. You are glad that whatever it is did leave one tiny egg.

It looked way too sad. You couldn't just leave it there, even if the brothers were the only ones allowed on this mountain top. You scooped it up and held it close and you made sure to go back carefully.

When you get back, everyone is still out, so you make your way to the family nest and sit next to it and try to warm it up.

When they came back and saw the egg, they all bickered and squawked over whose egg it was. When you reminded them that you're a human and told them how you found it and wanted to take care of it.

Satan told you it was likely the egg wouldn't hatch if it had been alone for too long and Lucifer agreed, but taking a look at it, sure enough it was a healthy egg.

Asmodeus was a bit uncomfortable with the idea, but if you wanted to take care of it he couldn't stop you. He couldn't think of an alternative anyway. He couldn't leave an egg all by himself.

Mammon hated the idea. He tried to see if he could pawn it on someone else, but when you gave him those big eyes he grumbled and kicked his talons around before curling his wing around you both.

Leviathan was scared, not exactly sure if he was responsible enough to help, let alone be around it without something going wrong. But you looked so happy. He couldn't take that happiness away.

Satan was interested in it. He wanted to see if it would act like a human when you raised it. He was also intrigued by the egg shape and color. He'd never seen an egg like that and was interested in the type of harpy that might hatch from it.

Lucifer didn't care either way. Just as long as you take care of it. If you couldn't, he'd find someone who could. It's a big decision. You better be ready for it.

Beelzebub was quite excited about the idea of making their family a bit bigger. His feathers puffed up as soon as he saw you with it, and now that everyone has agreed he's already thinking of names for it.

Belphegor didn't think too much of it but was happy he now had an excuse to sleep more. Warm an egg? No problem. And if it was with you that's even better.

Taking care of it

Some of them have helped rear eggs before. Beelzebub being the main one, with Lucifer right behind him. It's been a very long time so the process takes a while to get back into.

They take shifts watching over the egg with you. And with you being human they have to do most of the work.

Lucifer just has it sit in your lap as he wraps his wings around you to keep you both warm. He reminds you every once in a while to rotate the egg gently.

Mammon begrudgingly sits with it, grumbling about how he doesn't want to do this and how embarrassing it is. You can shut him up with a kiss or even call it Little Mammon for a bit and he gets attached. Maybe even to a point where he tries to take it from the others.

Leviathan tries his hardest to help, but with how small it is, he's convinced he's going to somehow fall over and turn it Sunny Side up. He has you hold it and wraps you both up as he fixes the nest more than warms the egg. Yes, he's excited to see it, but how will he cope? You look too adorable right now.

Satan didn't mind his duties. He took them rather seriously. He'd have it in his lap as he read and even had you sit next to him as he did it. He used the old candling technique to make sure it was developing correctly and even praised you for how well you're doing.

Asmodeus is fawning over you, his wings flapping as he gets a good look at you. Oh you're just so adorable with an egg sitting all pretty in the nest. It's a shame you could make more with him, but one is fine for now. He cuddles up with you and keeps the egg nice and tucked between you. It's hard to imagine he's ever had a problem with it before. Now he's polishing the shell and kissing it.

Beelzebub is brimming with excitement as he takes his turn. He ends up bringing back more food than he needs to, claiming it's for the chick. He sits with you. The egg in your lap and you are in his lap as you both hold each other. He makes sure to keep it clean and even gets a bit broody. He'll slap away his brothers if they are being too troublesome around it and finds comfort when he's around it.

Belphegor doesn't change much. He seeks it out only so he can nap with the both of you. Tucked next to him as his wing covers it and holds you close to his chest.

When they are all together, they leave a space for you and the egg, and for the first time since you've known them, they don't toss and turn. They lay perfectly still.

Hatching

When you're holding it, you can feel it wiggle and even a small cheap from inside, and when the others hear they all flock to you.

The tiny egg hatches, and it's unlike any other harpy they've seen. They’ve never seen one with such an interesting pattern. It must be from a different land. It falls right on you and when it opens its eyes, it just cuddles up to you. Some of them are jealous but the others smack them for being ridiculous.

The chick is perky and ready to run after a few days, and it follows you everywhere. It never leaves your side and the way it runs is almost comical with how it tries to flap its tiny underdeveloped wings to keep up.

Your family grew a little. And while it's hard to adjust it seems like everything is moving along well and everyone seems to be happy.

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generalluxun · 2 years ago

Text

Fanfiction: Late Bloomer (hanahaki)

Author's note: I don't normally write angst, but I wanted to give hanahaki a try, using the more true to folklore version that isn't about getting someone to love you(ala Beauty and the Beast) but instead having to share your own feelings openly. It's angst and angst with beautiful moments(I hope) mixed in, with an ambiguous ending. as usual it's also posted on AO3 which is linked in my Bio. Comments and critiques are welcome! Summary:

On what might very well be the last night of her life, Sabrina Raincomprix pulls out a very special scrapbook, pressed between the pages is the past, the past she has never shared with anyone. She relives how she got to this moment one page at a time, preparing herself for the end. A phone call interrupts her self-imposed exile and brings news that could change her life forever.

Even if it does though the question looms... change it how?

Sabrina kept her fist clenched tightly over her mouth until the coughing fit passed. Only once she was no longer gasping for breath, and the tingling in her limbs subsided, did she open her hand to reveal… nothing this time; a reprieve. She heaved a wheezing sigh, resettling the afghan over her shoulders before fixing the desklamp she had knocked askew in her throes.

It cast a small yellowish halo into her darkened room, highlighting little more than the scrapbook she had set before her. Some people had photo albums. Sabrina had this, and likely she wouldn’t even have this much longer. That’s why she was here now, to look through it one more time, in case the final bloom came suddenly.

She opened the book to the first page, and there pressed carefully under plastic against a white backing was a single petal. Sabrina ran her finger over the line of it, the color had faded in the intervening years, but in her mind it was still vibrant. It was a Rose petal, mostly pink with slender fingers of red reaching out timidly from the base, as if seeking light for the first time. Sabrina’s feverish mind was all too eager to take her back to that time, a better time.

Chloé had been jumping from foot to foot when Jean showed Sabrina into her suite. As always, Chloé was dressed in the finest fashion the world had to offer, and bedecked with makeup enough to turn her into a miniature adult, rather than the nine year old child she was.

Instantly her friend dashed to the foyer table and pulled down a package, “It took you long enough to get here! Look look, it’s from Mommy!”

Sabrina tried to give the package Chloé held a curious once over. She barely got to look before Chloé dashed away to her room. Sabrina waited, that’s what she was supposed to do. Jean had already left, so Sabrina had a moment of real worry that Chloé might forget about her and she would be stuck in the foyer all night.

“Chloé?” she ventured.

Chloé came running back, package and scissors in hand. She missed the bottom step and nearly crashed headlong into the floor. Sabrina grabbed her scissor-hand and Chloé curled her whole body around the package as she fell, turning a dive into a tumble. Sabrina fell to her knees beside Chloé, heart still in her throat.

Her friend sat up instantly, the near-miss utterly ignored with her usual bravado, “It came today. You are the worst for not getting here sooner!”

She took the scissors from Sabrina’s hand and went to work inexpertly attacking the packing tape. Sabrina took the moment to read the label properly this time. ‘From the Offices of Style Queen Enterprises. Thank you for your continued patronage.’ A seed of fear sprouted in Sabrina’s analytical mind.

It germinated when Chloé finally got the box open. Chloe yanked sheets of excessive decorative tissue packing out by the handful before producing a bottle of wine. She held it up and shot Sabrina a confused look. Sabrina could only give her a fragile smile. How could you even begin to explain what it was to someone who wanted to believe so badly?

Chloé’s brows knitted in her thinking face, and a little spark lit itself in Sabrina’s chest. Chloé brightened, “Mommy must think I’m so mature, I can have a whole bottle all to myself now, just like daddy at dinner.”

She set the bottle down with a confident nod, and Sabrina knew that flimsy excuse was reality for her friend now. More things came out from the box, each with their own explanation.

A fitted polo, size large: It’s a nightshirt!

An expensive wristwatch, men’s: Oh, this must be for daddy. She had to get him something after all.

Front row tickets to a fashion show in Paris that Andre would never send Chloé to: Oh, mommy just wants to show how much she cares. Those are places no one else can sit, because it’s my spot, even if I don’t go.

Catalogs of current and upcoming lines: She just wants me to remember how hard she’s always working…

Each justification took longer. Sabrina was biting her lip, hoping it would end before her friend’s fragile truth cracked. The ‘gifts’ were in a pile beside Chloé. already forgotten, as she pulled more paper from the box, searching frantically for any remaining surprises.

She came up triumphant with a small box of chocolates, only four in all. It was a foreign brand Sabrina didn’t know, but she guessed it was very expensive. Sabrina let out a nervous giggle from relief. Chocolate was something that didn’t need an excuse. Chocolate could have any meaning Chloé wanted it to.

Chloé broke the seal on the treats and revealed each individually shaped confection, “Aha, see? You can tell they’re exceptional, because there are so few of them.”

Sabrina scooted closer, curious about the flavors, but she also knew what would cheer her friend up. “You should eat them, all of them, right now.”

Chloé seemed to come out of a daze, as if she had forgotten Sabrina was really here, and had simply been talking aloud to herself. Sabrina was used to that, too. What she wasn’t used to was the long stare Chloé gave her in reply.

Sabrina ducked her head, trying to figure out what she might have done wrong. “I mean, if you want to…”

A smirk curled on her friend’s lips, one Sabrina had seen her practicing in mirrors. “Oh, they’ll get eaten alright. We are going to eat each and every one.”

Sabrina watched, dumbstruck, as Chloé’s perfect manicure pulled out one of the chocolates and struggled against it before finally breaking the truffle into messy uneven halves. That spark turned into a searing heat in her chest. Sabrina felt the prickle of sweat at her hairline, and her mouth went dry as those sapphire blue eyes watched her expectantly over the smushy treat.

Too much would come tumbling out, things she wasn’t supposed to be thinking of yet. Sabrina stuffed the half-truffle into her mouth to keep the words down. Silently, Chloé went to work breaking the next. They ate without talking, and things returned to normal. The fire burned but Sabrina kept her lips resolutely shut. Starved for oxygen, the flames ebbed. The only thing she told Chloé that evening had been ‘Good night.’

She’d gone home, and had her first coughing fit while brushing her teeth. There, pink amidst the green toothpaste in the sink, sat this single petal.

Sabrina turned the next few pages, each of them holding their own individual petals. Each petal having its own tale of feelings she hadn’t understood, but had been taught to fear. Flipping through each the slow progression of the pinks into reds told the tales of three years of her life.

Chloé had changed in those years, and Sabrina could honestly admit now, not for the better. It had been gradual at the time. Hours spent in front of a mirror had honed Chloé's expressions into a mirror of her absent mother's. Quotes and ideas stolen from magazine clippings shaped the inside to match the outside. Chloé began to practice her own brand of cruelty, using her father's power much as he had himself, to push people around when all else failed.

Through it all though, she was still Sabrina's friend. When Chloé's public persona leaked into personal life she could be every bit aloof and dismissive, but she would come back later to apologize, at first with words, then later with gifts when she didn't remember how to say the words anymore.

Sabrina turned pages to whole flowers now, still roses. She mentally teased herself for her lack of imagination while moments drifted up from each one.

Her father couldn't make parent's day at school because of an important meeting as Police Chief. Sabrina hadn't cried, she'd stood stoically off to the side. It's only one day, she told herself.

Then Chloé was screaming at her father the Mayor, it wasn't always easy to follow why. Sabrina scooted over to see if she could help but Chloé clammed up at her approach. She jabbed her father in the stomach with a painted nail and the Mayor fled, pulling out his phone.

Sabrina's father had shown up minutes later. Demoted for the day to beat cop, he had no business attending high level meetings, and spent the rest of the day with her, losing horribly at all the fun games. Chloé never said a word about it, but Sabrina caught her looking now and then. Those looks had combined to give birth to a tricolor rose, with eddies of yellow and pink among the red.

Sabrina turned page after page.

This one was the time someone had made fun of her glasses. Chloé had traded her for the whole day, they both bumped into things a lot, but seeing Chloé stare down the other girl and dare them to make fun of glasses had produced a red rose with only hints of pink.

It had gotten easier to think about her feelings, to admit them to herself, but she was still scared to voice them. What would Chloé think? What would she say? Her dad was a pushover, but he was super worried about his image too. It was the one thing that made him put his foot down. Chloé's mom was a distant worry, but also not. Ever more what Audrey thought, Chloé thought. Not knowing the answers sealed Sabrina's lips to all but a steady stream of blossoms.

Sabrina turned the page to the single largest flower in the the book. Bloom, stem, extra petals. Coughing it up had her in tears. The thorns left her tasting blood for a week.

There was a time when Sabrina thought it might stop. The meanness had peaked, Chloé became distant, and Sabrina very nearly left. Then Chloé was there, standing in a Ladybug costume and holding a Cat Noir costume in her arms. A Cat Noir costume for Sabrina.

Everyone knew what Cat Noir and Ladybug were. Sabrina's hands had trembled when she took it. Her lovesick mind had raced. Does this mean- Is she saying?

Sabrina had worn the costume and felt happier than she knew possible. They chased Jean, fought imaginary criminals, drank chocolate on the rooftop, and fell asleep on each other while 'monitoring for Hawkmoth' (watching TV).

The flower had convinced Sabrina to come clean. There was no doubt in her mind, and she couldn't keep this up any longer. The morning she chose for confessing though, Chloé was all aflutter with the latest news of Ladybug. She had videos to share, and watching Chloé watch the screen, Sabrina saw the look she had longed to receive herself.

Sabrina went home, envied Ladybug, and coughed up another flower.

She'd thrown that one away in a pique. There was a blank page where it should have been in her book. Page, page, Sabrina reached one with a glorious scattering of petals rather than a bloom. There were colors, every color, but oranges and purples stood out strongly. Even now, she blushed, and her fingers traced her own full pink lip print preserved in lipgloss between two sheets of plastic.

"It's, you know, whatever, right? I'm just saying that everyone is doing it now, and I don't want to be the only loser who doesn't know how to play."

Chloé held the tablet awkwardly, bright colors and dashing characters surrounded the title screen on it, 'Super Penguino!!!' with three exclamation points.

Sabrina swallowed to coat her suddenly dry mouth, "You want to play… with me?"

Chloé looked away with a toss of her head. Her reply was dripping with her usual affect, "Practice, Sabrina. We should practice, both of us. You don't want to be lame either, do you?"

YES! Sabrina screamed, but only on the inside. To Chloé she simply said"I- I- If that's what you want."

"Right, good. Well let's get to it. No time like the present," Chloé's words ran together, but as she pushed and handled Sabrina to the couch it left no time for consideration.

Her friend scooted in close, right up against Sabrina. Chloé's scent of cosmetics and perfume was always heady, this close it was overwhelming, or maybe that was the warmth of her hip against Sabrina's. They each held one side of the tablet, the game had a little thumb sensor circle so both players had to give up one hand to play. Each was only one half of the whole. Leaned in over the screen Sabrina felt Chloé's ponytail bump her bob with a careless movement. her glasses bumped the other girl's forelock in turn.

They began.

It was awkward at first. Chloé wanted to control everything, unsurprisingly. 'Too fast.' 'Too slow.' 'What were you thinking, putting your hand there?' 'Don't squirm so much.'

Yet she kept at it, with a determination Sabrina had last seen pulling apart four little chocolates. Sabrina squirmed, trying to keep her heart in check. More than tomorrow's sunrise, she didn't want to be the one to screw this up. Eventually they figured it out. There was a natural rhythm if you just let yourself relax.

They made it to the next level.

Triumphant music played, blue and white light from the screen washed one bronzed cheek as Chloé slowly turned her head. Turn- pause. Turn- pause, back. Turn-

The music faded before the beat of Sabrina's own heart. She turned too, averting her eyes while trying to remember the names of every saint she could pray to. A quick glance back to be in line, then away. A little further. Glance again, catching those sapphire eyes shooting away while the gap became smaller. Sabrina couldn't hold the tablet steady, but she didn't dare let go.

Gloss met gloss. The taste was familiar, she'd copied Chloé's brand long ago. The pliant warmth behind it was a wholly new experience beyond even her more ardent daydreams. It lingered, neither one seeming to know how to disengage. They did drift apart though, and her friend’s eyes were, her breath in light pants. Here was the moment. Sabrina felt it in her chest, all she had to do was say it.

She lingered just a second too long, the mask slipped back into place across Chloé’s expression. Game over. Chloé raised an eyebrow, turning a tender moment into an act. “Another round?”

It wasn’t the only time they practiced. It was the only time Sabrina ever came close to being able to say what she felt though. She was too afraid now, too afraid to lose these little moments. In the end, she lost them anyway. Emotion bottled up too long blurted out foolishly in front of the whole class, as they comforted Nino and Alya. ‘You know, sometimes even Chloé and I-’

Chloé’s reaction should have been expected. Sabrina wondered how she could have been so foolish, even as she traced the dried petals with a fingertip. Her lips were softer. Chloé had never been one to share emotions easily, too much risk in being hurt. Sabrina could sympathize. It had meant an end to practice though, and a further retreat.

Then came Miraculer, she’d let her emotions get the better of her, but Chloé had helped in the end. Next was Miracle Queen, Chloé had let her emotions get the better of her, and Sabrina was powerless to help. Audrey, Zoé, Vesperia, Lila, it all piled up. The colors became muddled, the stems grew thorns again, the thorns grew dark and hard.

Sabrina had tried to turn away again, in New York. A boy there liked her, and he was fun to talk to, but Sabrina’s eyes kept wandering back to the fire escape, hoping a head of gold might pop over the side, onto the roof. It never did. Sabrina kept in touch with the boy for a little bit, but his sweet letters, tinged as they were with feelings Sabrina knew all too well, never produced flowers of their own. In the end, she felt like she was being dishonest with him, and let the friendship lapse. She slipped the one letter she’s kept, her last, from the pages of the book and opened it. Delmar, that was his name.

The girl Sabrina had grown up with was nearly gone at that point, vanished under a pile of anger and resentment. Lila made everything worse, but she was too strong. Sabrina never knew the right words, the way to remind Chloé of what she was before she had become what she desperately believed her mother would love.

In the present Sabrina adjusted the afghan again and sipped hot tea with honey. It helped soothe her throat these days. She left red marks on the lip of the cup, then pressed a tissue to her lips until she’d caught the errant drops of blood. She was avoiding the next page.

It was still there when she finally gave in. A single chrysanthemum among the roses. It had been the catalyst, the sign she took to mean she had to end things. The scheduling ploy was an excuse. It was a joke of a plot itself, petty, pointless, and cruel. With it, she had an excuse to call Marinette. She started the ball rolling, and when all was said and done, she was free; free, and alone.

The flowers didn’t stop.

The next page, a bud that never bloomed.

Sabrina watched the plane lifting off. She’d made it to the airport, but lost her nerve and merely stood out at the fence, watching the end of the runway. When Audrey’s private jet took to the air, Sabrina felt a part of her going with it. She’d screamed the truth into the roar of the engines, screamed when she knew no one could hear, not even herself.

She’d fallen to all fours and coughed up a long string of climbing roses, barely a hint of red in the tight green buds. She’d nearly gone right there, suffocating as she pulled the long vine hand over hand, fearing it would take all of her with it. It didn’t though, and with weak hands she plucked a single bud from the mass.

Sabrina ran her fingers over the bud again. She had never been quite sure if it was a new beginning, or a never began. She still wasn’t, though she feared it was the later. After all, there were more pages.

Sabrina had made new friends, good friends. People afraid of Chloé emerged in the wake of her absence. Zoé was sweet, and kind.

Zoé could talk for hours about anything and nothing. Her world of words were the opposite of Chloé’s silences. It helped, having too many words for thoughts sometimes, and they shared a connection through the person missing from both of their lives, for better or worse. Sabrina would visit Zoé at the hotel. Sometimes she would still make a wrong turn and end up at the door to a now empty suite.

They stood on the balcony, leaning on the rail in the balmy summer air. Sabrina’s mind had wandered over the Paris skyline while Zoé’s voice played gentle background notes. Sabrina’s name brought her back down, she shook her head and asked softly,”I’m sorry, what?”

Zoé ducked her head and smiled, “I was just saying that after everything, you’ve been really strong. It’s inspiring.”

If only you knew. Sabrina merely shrugged, “If you say so.”

Zoé brushed the pink bangs back from her eyes. “I do. I also think, you’ve really gotten, you know, more confident, and… I like that.”

Sabrina’s mind was back on the ‘everything’ that Zoé had brought up. “I’m not that confident.”

Zoé shuffled nervously. She was closer than Sabrina remembered. “Well, um- it’s more than that. I guess I’m just kind of making a mess of it but…”

Zoé had reached up, brushing back Sabrina’s bob on the side facing her. When Sabrina turned Zoé was even closer. Those soft blue eyes, sky instead of sapphires, were asking a question even as she closed the distance between them.

Sabrina felt a sharp sting in her chest. Zoé’s features seem to shift, not to what Sabrina had feared, but instead to Delmar. It was New York all over again. Sabrina stumbled back, tripped on a deck chair and sprawled.

“Oh god, I’m sorry Sabrina!” Zoé reached for her.

Sabrina scrambled, staying out of reach. She backed away quickly. She backed away from a beautiful girl who was doing what Sabrina could not. “I- I- no. I just- I gotta go.”

She’d turned and fled, bolting from the hotel, running all the way home. She’d thrown herself in the shower, burning hot. She’d tried to scald away the moment. Instead she’d heaved up a new rose. This one a red so deep it was almost black, but red still. There were thorns, but the thorns were pliant, the sting was lessened. She’d known even before she’d set eyes on it, it wasn’t for Zoé.

Time marched on. Things were awkward with Zoé now, and Sabrina knew it was her fault. Zoé didn't understand, she couldn't understand. Why? Because Sabrina wouldn't tell her. She wouldn't tell anyone. The reasons were different now, but the effect was the same. Everyone was so proud of the person she had become. With Chloé gone people felt free to vent old grievances, and they assumed she wanted to partake. How would they react, knowing how she still felt? How could she explain love for what her friends so clearly saw as evil?

More pages, and the blooms became brighter, the thorns smaller. Absence dulled the lows and enshrined the highs. Pretty little things, they were still killing her, and faster than ever. The fence she had built around her secret was becoming too obvious. Maybe no one knew exactly what, but they knew something. Each opportunity to come clean that past by was another lance through her chest, another flower in the sink.

Sabrina turned to empty pages. The future, her future, if it would even last that long. A coughing fit left her with her forehead pressed to her desk, panting, but still today's offering would not dislodge itself. It would be soon though. She always paid for the day after the sun set. One more flower revolting against being denied light.

Sabrina shifted from her desk to the window. Coughing fits came and went, her tea got lower, but still peace was denied her. Her phone's ring pulled her from daydreams built from moments that had never been.

"Hello?"

"Hi! Sabrina… how are you?"

"Marinette?"

"Yeah, um, it's me. I was just calling to check up on you."

Sabrina glanced at the back of her hand, at the flecks of red her last fit had left behind. "I'm fine, why?"

Silence, then, "I just… wanted to be sure you were okay. It's been a while I know, but it was still a big deal, and since she's back in town again…"

Thorns coiled up and grabbed the inside of her throat. Sabrina choked, coughed, and croaked out in a whisper, "She is?"

-----------

Sabrina was cold, she had left without her jacket. Her purse was stuffed with a growing collection of blood flecked tissues, but she wouldn't stop. She'd turned off her phone to keep people from reaching her, but still she was scared. She knew her friends. There was every chance they were on their way to ambush her and put a stop to this, for her own good.

Not Le Grand Paris, they hadn’t been back there since the split. Sabrina had kept tabs though, and made her way to a beautiful home hidden away in a compound in the heart of the Bastille district. The Kenzo House, once home to a giant of Fashion, and now owned by another. Sabrina had to stop to catch her breath, leaned up against the wall of the compound. Another coughing fit had her doubling over in a panic. What she had been so ready to accept was now a ticking countdown, one she had one last chance to outrun.

The world swam before her eyes as she dabbed her lips, then looking at the tissue wiped her teeth. More blood, too much blood. There had never been this much. Sabrina could feel the thorns stuck. Was that a blessing or a curse? A sign of the end, or one last chance as death held his scythe in check. Turning, she staggered to the gates; locked. Her hands shook too much to make use of her less-savory skills. Sabrina was left to lean on the buzzer, pant, and hope.

Her knees began to shake. She shifted herself off the buzzer, slumping to the wall again. She turned her eyes skyward. At one point she might have been able to climb these walls, but it was too late for that. Tilting her head too far made her light headed, colors exploded then dulled into grays and darkness. She began to slide slowly down the wall, a leaf tickled the roof of her mouth.

“Sabrina?”

A chest punch from the inside out. Sabrina’s heart beat as if it had never bothered to try before. Color exploded back into the world, then grew instantly too bright. She squinted as she raised her head, and there, still a creature of gold; Chloé.

She was thinner, sharper. Sabrina wanted to ask if she had been eating enough. One look at those thin wrists answered the question though. Eyes so sharp they should have had facets were wary and clouded with confusion. Lips that had spilled more venom than honey were still parted from that single word. She wore a silk half-robe over pajamas that looked too big on her. What happened to you?

Sabrina tried to steady herself, tried to get an explanation out a greeting, an acknowledgement, anything. Instead she lurched into the gate, gripping the iron bars and letting them cool her feverish brow. Stupid to come here, I can’t, even now. I’ll just end up making a mess. It won’t matter in the end.

She could hear Chloé’s response in her head, put together from a lifetime of experience. Which would it be: ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘Ewww, What is your damage?’ ‘Ugh, are you sick? Don’t give me your germs!’ ‘What are you doing here, traitor?”

The touch of perfectly soft fingers covering her own through the bars. “What happened to you?”

Another beat, Sabrina’s ribs ached as if she might explode. Adrenaline had her salivating. She swallowed and couldn’t stifle a whine from the pain. The gate opened, and Sabrina staggered with her support gone. Instead of iron, her fists gripped silk. She very nearly dragged Chloé down with her. Sabrina’s neck wouldn’t obey her. She could only loll her head back and pick out the yellow and blue of her friend through swimming shapes and blurs. So close, she had been so close. This was all wrong. It would only make things worse.

That same adrenaline that was wracking her body gave her just enough morbid strength to haul herself up and grit through teeth pushed apart by vines, “I love you.”

Her grip slipped and Sabrina fell. She fell and coughed green leaves wet with red. On hands and knees she coughed, and spat around what she couldn’t stop. “Forever- loved you- long- kids- never to- sorry-"

And then her words were stolen. She heaved and shook, coughed and gagged. More and more came up. She felt warm arms around her, holding her, rocking her. She was taken back in time to falling asleep dressed as Cat Noir. Sleeping in leather, that had been uncomfortable to wake up to. She couldn’t laugh at the unbidden memory, not physically. Her oxygen starved brain laughed twice as hard for her. Pain lanced through her head that outmatched anything in throat. Darkness closed in, and the one thought Sabrina held onto amid it all was, I did it.

One last heave, and Sabrina felt what came out dragging itself up from her toes, tearing who knew how much with it. Pain beyond the ability to even feel it anymore, just the sense of things flowing from her lips until she fell.

Confusion creeped in. She was still breathing. Did people breathe in the afterlife? She hadn’t hit cold stones when she fell. She was curled on something warm. Sabrina tried opening her eyes, and was forced to try and comprehend what she saw. So much green, so many knotted vines. How had that all fit inside her? How had there been room for any of herself left in her skin? Perched atop the mass a single white lily opened its petals, untouched by the gore of its passing. The thing that drew her unfocused eyes though, was, roots. The flowers never had roots before, but this one did. Long, feathery roots that had dug in deep and held on. Now, they were gone, with all the rest.

Sabrina let out a slow and tortured, but still alive, sigh.

From outside her field of vision one manicured hand reached out to touch one of the petals on the lily with a single nail. In the wake of pain, reason creeped slowly back in. What she’d said, to who, where she was, it all tumbled back in on her. She turned her head slowly in Chloé’s lap and looked up. Dark blue eyes looked back down, unreadable.

Falling back into old habits, Sabrina mumbled, ”S-sorry.”

Chloé reply, “Can you stand?” was quiet, but neutral.

“I- maybe.” Sabrina tried to roll to her knees.

Chloé supported her, helping her up. “Then let’s get inside before the police arrive. Mommy has the buzzer set up to call them whenever someone pushes it.”

Sabrina leaned heavily on her- she didn’t even know anymore. She stooped once, plucking the bloom from the vines. Whatever happened next, it was proof of what she had done. Together they walked into a home out of place in Europe. Kenzo house was Japanese luxury and traditionalism blended to elegance. Sabrina would have loved to enjoy it, instead she just had to focus on her feet staying under her and trying not to drip errantly on anything.

The sound of a TV turned up too loudly came from somewhere in the four story mansion. They never got close though. Chloé ushered Sabrina into a surprisingly small room, complete with sliding rice-paper doors. Inside was shockingly sparse even for the side. A small bed, possibly even a single, sucked to one corner, A desk in the other, a single bureau with a lamp on it, and a low shelf with magazines.

Chloé deposited Sabrina in the desk chair and then backed up, sitting on the bed and picking up Mr. Cuddly- minus his diamond eyes. Once settled though, she didn’t seem to know what to do next. She watched Sabrina in silence.

Sabrina felt too weak for the moment. She knew, logically, she should be dead, but then, logically people didn’t cough up flowers either. Something felt… off? There should be more, there always was in books and movies when this happened. Sabrina felt the need to make it clear, “I meant it, you know.”

Chloé answered simply, “Yeah,” in a tone a thousand miles away.

“I just couldn’t…”

“I knew.” Chloé wasn’t looking at her, she was looking down at Mr. Cuddly. “Or, maybe I dreamed I knew. I thought about you a lot.”

Something was very off. Sabrina cast around for some clue, but there was so little to work with. Wait, that’s something itself, isn’t it? Sabrina swallowed, her once-tortured throat felt pink and new. “I uh- Is this your room?”

Chloé looked up, then around. Her hands played with Mr. Cuddly’s ears. “Yes, mommy picked it out for me.”

Sabirna tried to joke, “I thought you’d take the biggest room in the house.”

“Losers don’t get nice things.”

That didn’t make sense. “Chloé you’re not-”

“-that flower thing. You know how it works?

Sabrina wanted to change the subject back, but again, old habits. “Hanahaki? Yes, I’ve read up on all the tales and history of it. I had to, to try and survive.”

Chloé looked back at her, eyes even darker in the dim light, “Tell me what it means.”

Sabrina touched a hand to her forehead, then lifted her glasses to rub her eyes. When she finished Chloé was still staring at her with am unblinking intensity. “Well… it comes from holding your emotions in. It’s… there’s not a lot of real science behind it. It’s a magical illness. So, it can vary? There are tales of people who died very quickly from it. I… it’s been nearly ten years.”

Chloé looked back down to the bear in her lap, “Why flowers?”

“From what I read, the story goes, your emotions are a garden. You’re supposed to let them out, share them with others. If you don’t, if you bottle them up, they don’t go away, they keep growing, they fill you up until they come out the hard way. The longer it goes, the more you fill up, eventually, there’s no you left, just a husk around what could have been. The flowers are kind of like clues? Experiences maybe, ways to figure out what you are feeling, for your spirit to tell you what you need to do.”

Those blue eyes turned to the Lily in Sabrina’s lap. “And that?”

Sabrina looked down at the bloom and wracked her mind, “They can mean a lot of things. Right now? I’m hoping… rebirth, a fresh start.”

A hint of bitterness, “I thought you had that already.”

Sabrina would not let it begin this way. “There a lot of starts in life, as many as we give ourselves really. It’s hard to start. It’s scary. But it’s also, not? It shouldn’t be. Just because you start over doesn’t mean you have to throw out everything you’ve got.”

Sabrina tried to put it in terms her friend might understand. She struggled then brightened.

“You changed your look all the time, but yellow came with you through everything, right?”

All of Sabrina’s enthusiasm, all her her explanations, seemed to hit Chloé and vanish inside of her. Instead of responding directly she reached down under the skirting on her bed and pulled out a shoe box. She flicked the lid off and pulled out a clear plastic bag. She threw it to Sabrina and asked, “So, what do those mean?”

Sabrina caught the bag one handed, carefully setting her flower on the desk before opening it. What she saw through the clear sides made no sense, and what she pulled out did no better. Flowers, but wrong. Petals where leaves should be. Blossoms of thorns. Stems in Blues, reds, yellows, and all colors swirled together on a single stalk. They were beautiful and unsettling in turn. Sabrina looked up to ask a question, but the desperate look on Chloé’s face was its own answer.

Sabrina held one up. “They’re different, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad. Maybe… Maybe they just know quite how to be flowers just yet. Maybe nobody told them. Maybe they’re doing the best they can without any sun.”

Chloé watched the flower in Sabrina’s hand for a long moment. “They’re mine. They were mine, a long time ago. I bet you never knew. I didn’t tell you everything, you know. I didn’t want to bother you. I was scared, and I… I pushed.”

Sabrina held them out as if they might be weapons, shaking them at her friend in earnest, “Don’t you see? You can do something about it! I did! Me! Little Sabrina. That means you can too! You just have to take that first step. I’m here, I won’t let you fall.”

No harsh denial, but no emotional refrain either. Again, Sabrina’s words seemed to hit her one-time friend and simply vanish. Instead of an answer, Chloé reached down and plucked another bag from the box. She tossed it to Sabrina too. “And those?”

Sabrina opened the bag, and a sour scent instantly assaulted her nose. She looked in and…

Chloé…

No colors, not even wrong ones. Bloomless flowers, dried and curled leaves, mold spots on wet black stems, black spots on crumbling brown. These flowers had never stood a chance. Sabrina closed the bag, then curled up around it in denial. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut to stop tears. She shook her head harder, trying to drive this moment from reality.

Chloé took it for an answer. “That’s what I thought.”

It brought Sabrina back to her senses. She uncurled, stood up, and threw the bag across the room where it tore the paper screening. “No! No, I did it! No one knew, but I did it anyway! I don’t care! It can’t- No! I don’t care just, shout, be mad, order me around! Anything! It can’t all be for nothing. You’re still alive! You’re still alive, that means there’s a chance!”

Sabrina dove to her knees in front of Chloé she took hold of the other girl’s wrists, the thinness making a horrifying sense now. Sabrina had been bursting, her friend was rotting.

“Chloé, we can fix this. I’m not giving up!”

From somewhere in the house, “CAROLINE! KEEP IT DOWN! Children aren’t meant to be seen or heard! I’ll have to have them install soundproofing again!”

Sabrina flinched. Chloé didn’t. She just said in the same soft tone. “You’d better go. I’m glad you visited, Sabrina. I’m glad I could do something right for once, even if it was just standing there. I listened, so I suppose that’s new for me.”

Sabrina got to her feet, weakness purged, determination rising. “I am not going to give up.”

“Well, that’s one of us.”

Sabrina growled. “At least tell me. Tell me who it is! I can find them. I can make this happen. You don't need to be afraid of what happens. I'm here, you saw, I'm proof you can survive rejection!"

Chloé stood slowly in counterpoint to Sabrina's frenzy. She took Sabrina's hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. "It’s not the rejection I’m avoiding. It was good to see you Sabrina. Please go?"

Please, from Chloé, was shock enough to shake Sabrina's resolve and steal her voice. She could only nod, and let herself be led back outside. There were no police to greet them, just a dark gate and empty street. Sabrina's vine had sunk its roots in the ground beside the gate and curled its way up the wall, new buds were forming along its length and one had even opened beside the gate latch.

Seeing it unlocked Sabrina's tongue. As the gate closed behind her she warned, "I'll be back."

#miraculous ladybug #sabrina raincomprix #chloe bourgeois #hanahaki #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #Marinette dupain cheng #zoe lee #audrey bourgeois #angst #ambiguous ending #feels #young love #unhealthy relationships #confessions #implied child abuse

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icannotgetoverbirds · 3 years ago

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Please for the love of god infodump at me

Twitch moderator applications are live here!

It Takes A Village

Writing Sideblog

I go by Byrd for short. I'm an intersex autistic trans man, I use it/he pronouns (unless it's funnier or gayer not to), I'm plural, and I'm over 18. I'm also an ex-mormon. Do not fucking proselytize any fucking religion at me. You will be blocked.

I mostly reblog about random shit, but sometimes I'll make original posts and/or respond with my take on a situation - those should be mostly tagged as #byrd chirps.

My exmo tag is #byrd is an exmo. Sometimes, my moot @twiggyfrogblog sends me birds, sometimes other people do too, so if you're looking for fantastic bird posts, the tags #byrd's birds and #ty twiggy! should take you there. Ask games are tagged #byrd's ask games. Transparent gifs are tagged as both #transparent gif and #transparent gifs.

I also have some new tags - #byrd's silly art, which is for my artwork (currently just me tracing photographs to try and wrap my head around concepts like shapes and shading), and #byrd's writing, which is how I tag any posts about my writing.

I am currently writing a fanfic - I've started to try and tag that as #stt and #byrd's silly little fanfic - once someone finds the fic on AO3, I'll put a link in here.

Some of my posts/reblogs contain triggering/heavy/nsfw topics. I do my best to tag these, but I'm not perfect. Let me know if I miss anything. I don't generally tag swearing, and I do use the word queer as a self-identifier unapologetically.

I have a few sideblogs - some of which are currently inactive. I won't link them here - see if you can find them!

I'm friends with Kea, a writer who distributes his work under a pseudonym, and I have his permission to post his writing. Here is my favorite of his, The Model and The Letter.

Lots of links below the cut, including resources and ask games.

Current ask games:

Not Like The Other Ask Games™

Who Am I To You?

Gentle Cottagecore

Iconic Tumblr Post

Vibe Check

Why Do You Tolerate Me

What am I the patron saint of?

Colors

Character Opinion Bingo

what 3 fictional characters do you associate with me

?????

Another Character Opinion Bingo

????? 2 electric boogaloo

Another Colors

Pokemon types

Literally anything (I make no promises of answers, however)

❤

send me a shitty summary of my blog?

want me to pick a sentence from one of my WIPs to share?

the blorbo blingus (character ask game)

litcherally just ask me anything about my ocs

who am i to you?

toss me a gender, why dontcha

polyamory asks

squishmallow character ask game

In addition, I really enjoy helping to name things like fictional characters and whatnot. I have a method that I use that creates original names with meaning - it's not foolproof, but I've come up with some great names through it.

If you need help naming someone/something, feel free to send in an ask at least giving me a few words you'd like associated with the thing - more information is better, though! There's no cost, either - it's a fun exercise in creativity on my end. These will be tagged as #byrd's name game.

DNI is in my bio.

Other links -

Resources:

My ex-terf/ex-radfem blog

Everything you know about obesity is a lie (tw minor healthism in the article)

Body Neutral/Positive Recipes Base Post (feel free to contribute!)

Body Neutral/Positive Recipes Main Thread

Free Online ASL Lessons

Planned Parenthood's sex ed tab

help getting out of medical debt for usamericans

Masterlist of Native/Indigenous products

Good picrews for fat people

literally every animorphs book for free

Alternative search engines

The distinction between hating men and being a feminist and why it's so important

Pi-Hole

Piracy Subreddit

Drawing Tips Masterpost

Visual Snow Syndrome

If you need a smile:

Get a random birb

No Notes Bungus

Handmade ball python plushies

Good news: COVID-19 edition

The world's cutest alligator

Good news: Climate Change edition

A Different Aftermath

An important reminder

an absolutely buckwild idea i had

Tumblr writers

The Model and The Letter by Kea (if it gets 420k notes by the end of the year I'll read Animorphs and maybe write an essay about it)

Kea's Chapbooks on Ao3

Tumbleweed by Kea

Tumblr's Folk Tales

Misc:

The origins of parafonian

Kissinger Death Tontine

#pinned post #kea #resources #parafonian #exmo #byrd is an exmo #im feeling very exmo in this chilis tonight #exmormon #ex mormon #exlds #ex lds #ex religious #apostate #apostake #avian apostate :>#byrd's ask games #byrd chirps #tw o word

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smallesttits · 4 years ago

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•Jealously, Jealousy•

This is one of my stories from wattpad, felt like adding it on here. My wattpad is in my bio, ZONT STEAL MY SHIT IM BEGGING YOU LMAO ILL COME FOR YOU. (Side note, just go follow my wattpad if you want more of these because I have more on there💀)

Walking home alone home from a party I arrived to with my boyfriend was not how I imagined this would go down.

It was just past midnight, him and I had only been there for a mere hour and he was no where to be found. I considered calling vinnie, I knew he'd come pick me up in seconds if I asked. But I knew that if Oliver wasn't actually doing anything, we'd have a fight over Vinnie. Again.

Vinnie's been my bestfriend my entire life. We grew up together. He was my crush, my first kiss, my first lover. He moved away the second year of our relationship and it broke me. We tried our best to stay in contact but it was practically impossible with our different time zones. He used to visit often, before Oliver found me.

He was mad at me for about a week when I told him Oliver asked me out, and a solid month after when I told him I agreed.

We eventually found peace with one another, but I knew as long as I was in a relationship with anyone other than him.. he wouldn't be ok with it.

See Vinnie Hacker isnt the typical protector. He promised when we were little he would protect me until the day I died. And he always has.

I sniffle and adjust my jacket as I keep walking, around the corner from my house. My car was in the front, apparently Oliver decided he had full rights to it and drove himself home.

I sighed and opened the car door, snatching my keys and locking the door before walking up the stairs. The lights were not on, which was a pretty bad sign.

I had Vinnie on speed dial. Of course.

Unlocking the front door quietly, I shut it and look down at the trail of clothes leading to my fucking room.

I laugh, it's all I can do other than cry. I knew something wasnt right about him.

And the worst part is, he isn't even drunk.

I throw my keys on the counter and walk up the stairs to my bedroom. Hoarse moans and screams leave the room, the walls almost fucking shaking. I shiver in disgust.

Opening the door softly, I lean on the frame as the girl gets fucked from behind. His dick wasnt even that good, barely 3 or 3 ½ inches. I roll my eyes at the thought.

They dont notice me, and don't slow either. Its.. embarrassing. He looks as if he's trying to go his fastest on that poor girl. Hm, must suck.

"Alright dont you think you've had enough fun," I finally shout after a full minute of them still going at it.

They both scream, he goes to cover himself and not the girl. He pushes her off the bed. She tumbles down, and that looked like it fucking hurt.

I hold back a laugh.

"Get your shit, and leave." I smile at her, facing him now. He looks so weak, so scared. Its amusing.

"You. On the bed, now. Sit and if you move I swear on my life you won't see the light of day tomorrow." I narrow my eyes at him and watch as the girl scrambles down the stairs. When I hear the front door close after a couple seconds, probably putting her clothes back on, I walk into the closet and grab rope. My bed and his bed were different for one reason. He didn't have many kinks.

I did.

The mirror above my bed wasn't there for nothing, shall I say.

Lucky for me I'd get to use it on someone who deserves it.

Vinnie.

I walked out and saw him shaking as I pulled the rope with me, walking over and straddling him.

"You a-aren't mad right? I-I'm drunk baby, I didn't mean too, I- I thought that was you!" He lies as I sit on him, snatching his wrists into restraints in which I tied to the bed post.

I sigh, finishing off on the tying and just sitting over him now. He was still so scared. I laughed. Bringing my hand up, I cupped his cheek to soothe him.

Before slapping him right across the face.

And then again.

And then.. again.

They were not hard slaps, no. I'm not going to abuse him like that.

Just something to knock some sense into him.

I jump off of him and wiggle my fingers at him as a sign of me leaving. I walk downstairs and pick his clothes from the front up, and onto the front porch. Walking up to his room, I gather the few things he had and shoved them into a suitcase, along with his soap and toothbrush, and other things from the bathroom he owned. I rolled the suitcase down down the hall and pushed it outside with his other clothes, dusting my hands off when I closed the door.

Oops, the suitcase wasn't closed.

Eh.

Picking up my phone from my pocket, I hesitated.. but still called Vinnie. He answered on the second ring. Yep, definitely not over him..

"Hey, what's up love?" He starts off and my cheeks heat up immediately. I should be used to the pet name, he's called me it for years. But this time it felt amazing.

"Hey vin.. where are you?" I ask, knowing it's a stupid question. I didnt want to talk about the Oliver situation just yet.

"Umm.. actually on my way to see you. Is that ok? I can get a hotel or something if olive oil doesn't want me to 'steal his girlfriend'," he chuckles.

I gasp, not prepared for any of that. I didnt know he was coming to see me. And I didnt know Oliver had ever said anything like that.

"Oh, no that's actually.. perfect. I have a little problem you could help me with though.." I mumble.

--vinnie arriving <3 --

A knock on the front door sends butterflies shooting through my body.

But before I can reach the door, Oliver screams. "Y/N WHO IS THAT? DONT LET THEM IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

I chuckle and open the door quickly, glad I explained what happened before Vinnie got here.

I smiled at him shyly as I look at the porch. He moved all of Oliver's stuff into a chair, the suitcase open so he can pack his shit. he's too kind.

"Hey love," he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist. It feels so amazing to have him here with me, me wrapped around him.

"I missed you," I mumble into his neck as he moves his hand and grabs my ass almost fully, Holding me onto him.

I kicks the door shut and I'm moved, my legs wrapped around his waist and both of his hands squeezing my butt. I held back a moan.

"You don't know how much I've missed you y/n-" he grunts, but Oliver's screams cut him off.

"IS THAT FUCKING VINNIE?" he cries, and I can feel the house start to shake a little from his constant moving and thrashing.

"Vin, we need to get along with my plan and quickly." I blush as he nods and carries me up the stairs quickly.

Oliver, still naked and tied perfectly up sat there as Vinnie and I looked at him. Well, Vinnie narrowed his eyes slightly and I glared.

I tap Vinnie's shoulder and he puts me down, but not before kissing my forehead softly.

I moan for him and him only, then turn and walk over to Oliver.

He shudders when I sit infront of him, slowly arching my back as I pull myself closer to his dick.

I can hear Vinnie's silent protest from behind me as I stick my tongue out and pretend to lick up Oliver's dick.

"Alright that's enough of that," he grumbles and snatches me off the bed.

Oliver is left tied up and disgustingly hard again, all because of me. I smile.

Vinnie turns me to face him, cupping my cheeks and without hesitation connecting out lips.

I let his tongue slip into my mouth, massaging my own as his hands run down my neck. He pushes my jacket off slowly.

"Are you sure you want me to do this y/n? This.." he sighs, pulling back. "This can't be a one time thing love."

My eyes water, and I nod, pulling his forehead down to meet mine.

"I want you vin, I want you forever."

And with that, Vinnie smiled and pecked my forehead.

He almost ripped my tank top over my head, and unbuttoned my low rise jeans quickly. The small thong I wore covered almost nothing, and I hadn't decided to wear a bra. Almost fully bare infront of my best friend.

He marvels at my tits, his arms shaking out of his jacket and pulling the sweater he had under it off also. From what it looked like, he didnt wear underwear. I chuckled.

His large hands hold the sides of my rib cage as he bends down and licks my nipples to hardened them. When he successfully hardens them, he lifts me up and turns me around, so I am facing Oliver. He bends me quickly over the bed, taking a deep breath as his nose trails up my spine.

"you're so wet for me, hmm.." he mumbles softly pulling my thong off, I hear the waist band of his sweatpants pop as he pulls them down.

My thong sticks to my core, making me squirm as chill air hits me.

I look back at him, seeing his massive dick in his large palm. He jerks himself a little, drips of precum start to lather my wet entrance.

"Fuck me vin, fuck me." I beg.

He slides himself in and I almost scream. Stupid me, I literally just saw how big he was and still tried to take him fully.

"T-too much vin- wait-" I cry out as he pushes himself more into me.

"Hey, love are you ok? Want me to pull out-" he leans over me, his fingers wrapping around my throat and arching my back so I can look up at him.

"N-no, just give me a s-second.." I whine, tears prodding my waterline.

"Oh baby, dont cry, please. Are you sure you dont want me to pull out?" He whispers. I know he has a soft spot for me being hurt, he'd do anything to put me out of misery.

But I was fine.

"O-ok, you can go again," I whisper, and he sighs relieved.

Pulling himself out a bit, he thrusts back into me, almost knocking the air out of me. His thrusts speed as he pushes himself fully into me, my loud moans pouring out of my mouth. My vision blurs and my hearing almost vanishes as Oliver starts to cry and thrash again.

Vinnie takes his hand from around my throat and pushes my face into the bed, deep groans emerging from us both.

Slamming himself in and out of me, my ass jiggles with each thrust he gives.

He grips my ass with both of his hands, pushing it upwards as my face plunges deeper into my sheets. Spitting on my asshole, he takes his thumb and swirls it around before pushing his thumb in. I clench tightly around and squirm as he moans loudly.

I start to meet his thrusts when my high starts to get even closer. The bed rocks back and forth with us as I lift my head, looking straight at Oliver. Tears stream down his face as he watches angrily, but silently. I almost feel bad.

Almost.

"Oh, vinnie.. you -f-fill me up so g-good... I lo-love you.." I throw in, my eyes rolling back as I cum around him. He ruts forward, my face pushed right back into the covers as he answers me.

"I love you more, c-can I cum my tight little pussy? H-hm? Let me fuck some babies into you," he whispers, bottoming out in me relentlessly.

"Y-yes, please," I whine into the sheets, his thrusts pushing deeper and deeper into me. He bumps my cervix and I scream, in pain and pleasure. Filling my core with his spurts of white, he paints my walls and pushes me to take all of it. A smaller orgasm washes through me.

Fucked out, I slump on the bed, completely forgetting about my ex infront of me. Vinnie soothes me by rubbing all over, picking me up and carrying me to the bathroom. He sits me on the toilet, kissing me before he leaves for about 3 minutes.

When he comes back, he has his sweatpants back on and Oliver is gone.

"Are you done baby?" He asks, lifting my chin and I nod tiredly. He grabs a pair of underwear and helps me into them after wiping and cleaning me up along with himself.

Tossing me over his shoulder, he walks us to the living room and swaddled my mostly naked body in a blanket.

"Twilight?"

"Twilight."

🕴- I forgot how ass the first movie is lmao

But the cast 😩😩😩😩😩 #stantheorignalvictoria

Anyways

LILY OUT~

#vinnie hacker #vinnie #vhackerr #vinnie hacker smut #vinnie hacker imagine #tiktok #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie smut #vinnie x reader #tiktokimagines #tik tok boys #wattpad #wattpad imagine

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rollerskatinglizard · 4 years ago

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SUMMER BOOK SALE

ALL MY BOOKS are on sale at Smashwords for 50% off for the entire month of July! That’s two novellas, a novel and a novelette!

Want something short, fun and sfw? Try Athena Merrill and the Midnight Chicken, a 14k story about two kids, 9 and 12, dealing with their peers, selkies, and other obstacles in the way of doing the right thing (without their dad finding out)!

Or if you’re looking for some hot gay fantasy, check out Once Cursed, Twice Shy, about an enthusiastic dragon deciding a fae should be his treasure! Two boys with no sense of self-preservation and an attraction for trouble falling in love with all the grace of a tumble off a cliff.

More into vampires? We've got Binding a Page, a sweet and steamy vampire romance. Chris never wanted to be a powerful vampire lord, and Gabe spent his whole life preparing to be his lord's helpmate only to be cast aside, but together maybe they can save each other. (All profits from Binding a Page go to an lgbtq bail fund, the LGBTQ Freedom Fund.)

Finally, for sci fi fans, there’s After the Storm, nearly 200k of queer post-post-apocalyptic hurt/comfort with cute boys, trauma recovery, found family, top-shelf erotica and really awesome women! The main character is a giant genetically modified supersoldier who's a traumatized cinnamon roll. After four years of hell on a ship with a deadly crew, all Rich wants is a second chance. Get some sun, relax, maybe hook up with a cute guy. But old scars, bad habits, and an insane AI aren't going to make it easy…

Links to all these books are in my bio, and I'll reblog with them, but I'm first posting without so the post will be visible in tags.

#books on sale #book sale #queer sci fi #gay fantasy #gay vampires #gay dragons #gay sci fi #lgbt* fiction #after the storm #binding a page #once cursed twice shy #athena merrill and the midnight chicken #boat boys #original lgbt fiction

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 4 years ago

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your recent yugioh post had me tumbling down your ygo tag, which led to that ygo/dp xover thing, which got me thinking: what's WES' take on the whole "tucker is a reincarnation of an egyptian pharaoh" thing, given his whole conspiracy theorist shtick?

oooooh that is a very good question

and it kind of depends? mostly on whether you want to go with the idea of Tucker connecting with his past life and gaining ghostly abilities because of it, if so then he probably wants to keep that hidden from people

which means Wes would be bending over backwards to try and prove that Tucker also has special powers like Danny, but people would probably think it's even less believable than his Phantom theory, so Wes would just face even more scorn and mockery

the other alternative is if Tucker doesn't have any kind of special abilities or anything that would make his past life connection worth hiding

in which case Wes would pump this theory out and Tucker would be like 'haha dope' and then just go about his day, because honestly who would actually care? other than people being interested in the concept of reincarnation itself being real

Tucker probably gets a few of the school's more spiritually inclined types bothering him about it but other than that there wouldn't be much in the way of consequences

also it's funny to think of Wes going full conspiracy mode with all this evidence of how Duul Aman and Tucker look exactly alike and all these legends about his eventual return and he just confronts Tucker about it at lunchtime and he's like

'oh shit I was a king in a past life? that's poggers, I'm totally putting that in my tiktok bio'

actually thinking about it this all would probably happen the same way even if Tucker did get special abilities, because even if Wes could prove the past life theory that doesn't mean he can prove it gave Tucker superpowers

#asks #danny phantom #duul aman #tucker foley #wes weston #also yes I did get this post the first time it was just backlogged behind a few other asks I had yet to answer #sorry for the wait ~

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mas-o-kissed · 3 years ago

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(CW: Noncon hypno/mind control, sadism, hypnotic collar, implied personality change, fear, crying, physical struggle. Might be a little intense for some so please take caution. No minors or ageless bios, please read my DNI before you like or reblog this post if you do not follow me.)

After all that running, they had you backed into a corner.

You weren’t sure how they’d done it. You’d been on your way out, to escape, to freedom, but it was as though the walls had changed around you. The exit was always just out of reach. You looked at the tall, windowless wall. There was no way out.

Behind you, they laughed, and the sound of it made your stomach turn. “A dead end. How unfortunate,” they mused, mock-pity in their voice. “Nobody can say you didn’t try. You’re just not strong enough to escape me.” They casually twirled a golden collar in their fingers.

You looked past them. If you could get around them, you might be able to make it. But what then? This house seemed to change to their will. Were you only delaying the inevitable?

Either way, you had to try. It was that or…

… you didn’t want to think about that.

You made a break to their left, and suddenly felt the wind knocked out of you as they pushed you to your side. You tumbled onto the floor.

“Oh my dear, dear pet,” they said, climbing on top of you, pinning you to the ground. “I don’t want to have to hurt you. Once you put the collar on, it will be so easy.”

You struggled against them, but they were stronger. Each time you nearly broke free, they slammed you down on your back, smiling all the while.

It wasn’t long before you began to tire, while their stamina seemed limitless. You breathed heavily, still fighting weakly on the floor. But you knew you had lost.

“Very good,” they said, stroking your hair. They raised the collar to your throat.

“Please,” you breathed, and they paused.

“Yes, my pet?”

“Tell me what it’s going to do to me.”

They looked down at you, wiping a tear from your frightened eyes. They were no longer smiling, and instead spoke in a softer, more genuine tone. “Don’t be afraid,” their eyes seemed to have taken on a gentle glow. “You’ll still be you… for a while at least. And when you no longer resemble the person you were, you’ll be past the point of caring. You’ll simply feel so good being mine.”

They brought the collar closer to your neck.

“My obedient servant.”

They wrapped it around your throat.

“My sweet pet.”

They locked the clasp and a tingling warmth began to spread through your body.

“My most precious possession.” They let you up, their eyes still glowing in the waning light. You tugged at the collar around your neck, felt for the clasp that locked it around you. You heard them giggle as they watched you struggle to remove it. But there was no removing it. It was a part of you, now.

“Follow me to your chambers, pet,” they said, “we need to get you into clothing more befitting of your position.”

And although you wanted to run, your body no longer obeyed you. A subdued sense of calm smothered the fear you knew you should be feeling as you followed them down the hall. Your fingers traced the collar around your neck.

Down the stairs, through the foyer, you saw the front door. If you made a break for it, you knew you could escape. If you simply ran down the stairs you could fling yourself through the front door and into the fresh air of dusk…

“Keep up, pet.”

You snapped back to attention. “Yes,” you muttered, and followed them past the stairwell.

#my writing

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argylemnwrites · 4 years ago

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Fight or Flight - Chapter 24: Steps

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~4000

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Almost two months since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: Well, it’s weeks later than I’d planned, but I’m back! Gonna be trying Tuesdays for posting, at least through the end of the year, due to holidays and whatnot. Thanks to anyone who is choosing to stick with this series. Fingers crossed for no more extended hiatuses!

This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Drake unlocked the door, tucking the sack of groceries under one arm as he nudged it open with his free hand. “It’s me, Walker,” he called out, not wanting to cause her any more alarm than hearing the door open undoubtedly cause. Even though they’d been in the house for almost two weeks now, there was still this underlying current of fear - that their location wasn’t actually a secret, that they would be found, that their family wasn’t safe.

Still, the house was a blessing. Hell, that was probably the biggest understatement of their lives at this point. Having a roof over their heads, to not be shuffling between hotels and campgrounds, provided this sliver of stability that they hadn’t felt in weeks. Each day that passed without a knock on their door from Greek or Cordonian authorities made things feel just a bit steadier. If this worked out, Drake knew they would never be able to pay Maxwell back, because this went so much further than money.

“We’re right here.” Riley’s words drew Drake out of his introspection. He glanced over into the living room as he shut and locked the door behind him. There was Riley, seated on the floor in front of the couch, with Bridget clutching her hands as she stood in front of her. Bridget turned to look at Drake and lost her balance, tumbling to the floor.

“I didn’t miss it, did I?” He carried the food into the kitchen, unloading the milk, chicken, eggs, and produce into the fridge.

“Not yet,” said Riley, raising her voice to carry to the back of the house. “She’s still a bit top heavy.”

Drake couldn’t help but chuckle. When they’d last gone to the pediatrician, a few weeks before their lives fell apart, she’d commented that Bridget’s large head circumference might make standing and walking slower tasks for her to master. And while Bridget now had pulling to stand and cruising down, she kept stumbling every time she tried to take a step forward, even with a little support from either of them.

Still, her first steps seemed like they were just around the corner as she got steadier on her feet day by day. Drake had been reluctant to leave, even for needed errands, fearful not just to separate from Riley and Bridget from a safety standpoint, but also worried that he might miss such a major milestone. But they needed food and supplies, and he was the one who spoke Greek. So, it just had to be done.

Leaving the non-perishables to be dealt with later, Drake joined the two of them in the living room, sinking onto the couch behind Riley.

“You find baby gates?” Riley asked, holding her hands out for Bridget to pull herself up to try again.

“No, the owner of the market suggested heading up to Lamia for more stores.”

“How far away is that?”

Drake tugged his phone out of his pocket and quickly searched for the city in question. “Almost two hours away.”

Riley let out a sigh. “Well, that’s not ideal.”

It really wasn’t. In addition to food, formula, and diapers, he’d wanted to pick up baby gates for the top and bottom of the staircase today. Given that Bridget’s first steps seemed like they would come any moment now, it was a pressing need. Already, they had to keep her from crawling over to the stairs on a regular basis. As she got more mobile, it was only going to become more dangerous. And without credit cards, it’s not like they could order them online or anything like that.

“I did find a hardware store. I could pick up some wood, hinges, and latches to build a couple that would probably do the trick,” Drake said, watching Bridget fall on her bottom before reaching up for Riley’s hand again. “But if you would rather we drive up there and get some that were put together with actual safety specifications, I-”

“I trust you.” Riley tipped her head back as she cut him off, giving him a smile. “I know you wouldn’t say that you could make them if you didn’t trust yourself. That’s good enough for me.”

Drake couldn’t help but smile back as he felt his cheeks flush slightly. “Okay, then. Well, I’ll pick up some supplies on my next grocery run.”

“Sounds good, Drake.” Riley looked back at Bridget before continuing. “So, you explored the town, huh?”

“Yeah - a bit, at least.” Drake had driven through the few streets of Lidoriki, checking out the area. He figured that since they would be living in the area for the foreseeable future, he should at least have a bit of a sense of the closest village.

“Find anything interesting?”

Drake shrugged, in spite of knowing Riley couldn’t see him. “I mean, it’s small. There’s not a whole lot to see.”

Riley just hummed in acknowledgement. It gave Drake this slight tinge of guilt. For so much of their time on the run, she’d been relegated to watching Bridget. Hotel rooms, the car, and now the house had been where she’d spent most of her time. It was such a reversal of their usual dynamic. She was the social one, the adventurous one, the energetic one. He was the homebody who would rather just be alone with his family. And while his Greek and his lower level of recognizability, particularly with his beard, made him the more practical choice, she had to be going a little stir crazy.

“Maybe you guys should come with for my next trip.”

“Is that… wise considering…” Riley trailed off. Bridget interrupted the silence, yelling “Fuck” as she lost her footing yet again.

“I don’t know,” Drake replied honestly. Riley glanced back at him for just a moment, so he gave a little shrug before she looked back at Bridget. “But I think that we’re going to have to let her explore the world a little bit. Particularly since…”

“Since we could be here indefinitely?”

Drake let out a sigh before he answered. “Yeah, Walker. It’s not realistic for you two to stay hidden away forever. Plus, it’s a small village. I get the feeling that the new guy who has his wife and kid locked up is going to attract more gossip and speculation than the three of us showing our faces together.”

Riley tilted her head as she let out a chuckle. “Fair point. Have people asked you a lot of questions at the market?”

“Just some basics. I think Marina warned some people about us, because an older woman today asked how my family was ‘holding up’ when she heard where I was living.”

Riley let out a little gasp, but Drake slid a hand to her shoulder, massaging gently. “She definitely didn’t recognize me; it was only when I described the house that she seemed to have any idea who I could be. And she was very sympathetic, just seemed worried about us.” Drake definitely understood Riley’s anxiety over anyone possibly recognizing them. But depending how long Marina had lived here before them, it would make sense for her to have some friends who she told about selling the house. Hopefully, Maxwell’s story about hiding from a stalker ex was the right blend of earning them sympathy without people wanting to pry and ask too many details.

Riley nodded. “Okay, okay. I just…” She trailed off, letting the anxieties linger unsaid. It was hard to trust anything or anyone at this point.

“I get it, Riley. But unless she was as skilled an actress as Cassandra Leigh, I really don’t think she had any idea who I was. Other than the new guy, you know?”

She nodded again, her hair brushing against his knees as she did so. “Anything else noteworthy you found today?”

He paused for a second, running his hand through his hair. “I did see a bakery.”

Riley twisted around, an eyebrow raised. “Are you missing Maxwell so much that you needed to channel his spirit?”

He rolled his eyes. “I was more thinking that it might be an option for her birthday, but if you want to believe that Walker, feel free.”

She frowned slightly, leaning forward for a moment as Bridget tugged on her hair, helping her find her balance again before she spoke. “I… I hadn’t even thought about what we could do for her birthday.”

“Well, I think we’ve had a few other things to worry about.”

It was strange. Back in Cordonia, there had been plans in the works for a massive state affair for Bridget’s first birthday. There had been hours of planning with palace staff, a guest list that included hundreds of people Drake couldn’t pick out of a line up, and undoubtedly carried a price tag of at least several thousand Euros. The only honest preference that he’d expressed, which Riley had readily backed him on, was that the party fall on any date other than the fourth of October. They’d wanted to celebrate her actual birthday with the few people that genuinely cared about her as a person, not a princess. Now, they were getting a smaller guest list than even he’d wanted.

“Still, I should have thought of something for her.”

“We have a couple of weeks to figure something out, Walker. It’ll be fine.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on Bridget. “You’re right. We could get her a cake, light some candles, blow up some balloons. I don’t know what we can do for presents. I don’t suppose there was a toy store in town?”

“No, I think that would probably be a drive to find. But she’s too little to care about presents anyway. It’ll still be good, Riley.” Drake dropped a hand down to her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. He didn’t want her beating herself up over not having all the traditional elements of a birthday party. He knew that given her childhood birthdays, she probably wanted to make sure that Bridget always felt loved and celebrated. Hell, she insisted on making him feel loved and celebrated on his birthday, and he was well past the age of caring about getting another year older. She was likely feeling guilty that she wasn’t able to go all out for their kid’s birthday, but under the circumstances, he figured any celebration should be considered a win.

Riley nodded in response. “You’re right, it can still be fun for her.” They both were silent for a few moments, watching Bridget bounce while clutching Riley’s hands, but then Riley spoke again. “It’s… it’s not wrong for us to celebrate, is it?”

She looked up at him, her hands still holding Bridget upright. Drake watched her try to find her balance as she lifted her left foot, but she tumbled into Riley’s arms. “Fuck! Fuck!” she cried out, continuing to use her only word quite appropriately. She was so damn close to figuring it out. She was growing and learning, would be a whole year old soon. That had to be worth celebrating. But their lives were such a shit show, that his wife felt guilty over even choosing to be happy about that fact.

Drake swallowed, trying to put all his thoughts into words. It felt weird, probably because there was so little in their lives worth celebrating at this point. But, Bridget was only going to have one first birthday. And it seemed more wrong to not do anything for the day, even if it was just the three of them and a small cake.

“Drake?” Riley prompted, pulling Bridget up her chest, wrapping her in a soothing hug.

“I think that our daughter deserves a chance to smash her hands into a slice of cake, just like any other kid.”

Riley smiled, handing Bridget up to him before pushing herself off the floor and curling up on the couch next to him. “Me too,” she said, leaning her head against her shoulder.

Drake tucked Bridget against his chest with one arm as he wrapped his other around Riley’s shoulders. “Had enough of the trying to walk for today, Peanut?”

“Dada,” she said, grabbing his ear with a surprising amount of force.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants to try again later. She’s a stubborn one, and it’s like she knows that she almost has it.”

“Stubborn, huh? Where could that possibly come from?”

Drake’s teasing comment earned him a playful elbow in his side from Riley. “From both of us, and you know it.”

“Maybe,” he acquiesced, “but not this sort of stubbornness. That comes entirely from you.”

Riley twisted slightly, pulling back to look him in the eyes. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, so Drake kept going. “Your stubbornness is on a whole other level. It’s more determination than I could ever muster. It has a purpose. My stubbornness is more… assholey.”

“Drake… that’s not-”

“Nah, it’s the truth, Riley. You’re a force of nature.”

She shook her head. “Don’t sell yourself short, Drake. From where I’m seated, you’re pretty damn determined yourself.”

All Drake could do was roll his eyes. “I should have known you would be stubborn enough to fight me on this one,” he said, earning him another teasing nudge from Riley.

“Since this has all the markings of going on for a while, I will let you have it this time,” she said, leaning back against his shoulder as he shifted Bridget onto his knees, letting her push herself up and bounce. “But in exchange, I am gonna ask for a favor.”

“What is it, Walker?”

“Do you think you could work on teaching me Greek again?”

Drake turned his head and pulled back slightly, taking in Riley staring at him, her eyes surprisingly serious. After their wedding, Riley had asked him for some basic Greek lessons, but it had really been a half-hearted effort from both of them. Riley had never seemed that motivated to actually learn another language. Besides, she was prone to distracting him with wandering hands whenever she got bored. He knew that Hana had been a little more successful, but again, Riley had not been a very dedicated student. It had just seemed like it was never high on her priority list.

But priorities had shifted a lot over the past few weeks. Or maybe they were just clearer than they had been before. Regardless, it made sense that getting Riley at least conversational in Greek was now much more important. If they were going to be living here for the indefinite future, Riley being able to communicate without him acting as translator would be pretty damn useful. Besides, the goal was to blend in in this village. Both of them speaking Greek would absolutely be a key part of that.

“Sure thing, Riley,” he said.

Riley smiled gently. “Thanks. You should probably start using Greek with her, too,” she said, pointing at Bridget.

Drake frowned. “No way, Walker.”

“Drake, we need to-” she started, sitting upright and spinning on the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself as she faced him fully.

“Maybe when you have some more down, but I’m not gonna leave you out.” he interjected, explaining himself.

She shook her head. “We’re not the only ones who are going to be living here for the foreseeable future. She needs to be learning words in the language that people will actually be speaking around her. It’s not fair to deprive her of that just because I was lazy.”

Before Drake could even think up a response, Bridget started trying to slide off his knees, back down onto the floor. He placed her down, watching as she pulled herself up to standing using his legs almost instantly. She shifted and started slowly shuffling, cruising along the couch.

“Besides, it’ll be extra motivation for me to pay attention to what you teach me.” Riley’s quip caused Drake to glance back to her. She smiled and gave him a little shrug, so Drake just nodded.

“Okay, Walker. Okay.” He looked back in time to see Bridget tumble down as she let go of the couch cushion, but less than a second later, she was pulling herself back up again.

Everyone always said how much Bridget looked like Riley, but their resemblance went so much deeper than the physical. The resiliency, the strength, and yes - that stubborn determination. His wife and his daughter both had those traits in spades. Because much like Bridget was going to master walking on her own, no matter how many times she fell down, he knew Riley would face learning Greek with the same intensity. And no matter what they were facing, no matter what hell they’d been through already or would go through going forward, Drake couldn’t help but feel grateful that both the women in his life were never going to let anything keep them down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Olivia drummed her fingers against the bench in the courtroom, eyes roving over the other people seated there. High Court proceedings were closed to the press and the general population, but given that today’s case involved the power structure of a Great House, all the other Great Houses were allowed to sit in on the hearings. Rashad would also have been allowed to attend as the acting King Regent, but he wasn’t there. Olivia couldn’t begin to understand that decision.

Everyone else was there, though. Barthelemy sat with his lawyers on the far side of the courtroom, Adelaide and Madeleine in the first row behind them. Madeleine had tried to make eye contact with her at several points, but there was no way she was going to engage with her. Well, other than the middle finger she’d slid against her cheek when she was sure that she was trying to get her attention.

Hakim and Kiara were also on Barthelemy’s side of the courtroom, as was Landon, who sat near the back and kept checking his watch. Olivia supposed these proceedings were at a very inconvenient time for him, with Penelope’s wedding just a few days away. Either that, or he was nervous about something related to Barthelemy or House Beaumont. She watched him for a few moments, but he just looked vaguely anxious. She wasn’t going to get further insight into what he was thinking today.

On Bertrand’s side, it was just her, other than Savannah, Maxwell, and Bartie. Since House Rys was not a Great House, Liam’s presence in the courtroom was not permitted. Instead, he’d volunteered to take note of the media coverage surrounding the case. Olivia also wondered if it wasn’t a convenient excuse to avoid a several hour car ride from Lythikos to the capital together. Ever since he’d kissed her, she’d noticed he’d been quick to find reasons for them to not be stuck in the same place together. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She knew deep in her gut that the mess that was that kiss was very low on the priority list. But as the weeks marched on, she had to wonder if just pretending it never happened was a mistake. She knew, based on the way they’d both been raised, that Liam’s instinct would always be to avoid uncomfortable emotions. Still, they were in a position where they needed to rely on each other completely. The fact that he now treated her more like a foreign diplomat than one of his oldest allies was sure to cause more issues down the road.

Olivia knew that sooner or later, she was just going to have to address it, tell him that given the circumstances, she shouldn’t have kissed him back. Hopefully, he would apologize and that would be that. The issue was going to be finding the right time to do so. At any rate it wasn’t going to happen today. Depending on the outcome here, there might be a lot of scrambling happening tonight.

The decision about who would be granted the title of Duke of Ramsford was expected from the High Justices today, but it was growing dangerously close to close of business hours. Olivia hoped that it all would wrap up today. She didn’t have time to come back to the capital again tomorrow. But after almost twenty more painful minutes of waiting, the side door opened and the usher stepped through. “All rise for the High Justices of Her Regency’s Court.”

Everyone stood as the five High Justices reentered the room, all filing in to their seats along the top bench. High Justice Questa was positioned in the middle, meaning she was the author of the official court decision. It honestly didn’t give much of a hint to the outcome, as Questa was considered the deciding vote on the panel. Everyone knew this was going to be a 3-2 decision, it was always a question of which way Questa would side. For all her reputation as no-nonsense, her choosing to author the court’s majority decision in this case made things shockingly suspenseful and dramatic.

Everyone in the courtroom, other than Questa, sat back down. The room was silent, the shuffle of papers in Questa’s hands almost jarring. She glanced up and nodded at both desks as the usher adjusted the microphone to her height.

“Alright, after review of the submitted briefs and testimony over the past week, the High Court has ruled in favor of Duke Barthelemy Beaumont. The full decision has been submitted for official filing, as has an opposition document authored by my colleague, High Justice Polmar. I will now read the summary for the High Court record.”

Olivia barely took a moment to take in Bertrand's slumped shoulders, Maxwell gripping them tightly as he leaned over and whispered something to Savannah before she stood, striding out of the courtroom without a glance back. She didn’t need to stick around to hear Questa deliver some cowardly decision, hiding behind the fact that Bertrand was only granted the title due to his father’s illness. Fuck that lack of moral fortitude to actually take a stand. She certainly wasn’t going to waste her time or energy watching Barthelemy gleefully revel that he was one step closer to wresting power for himself. She had better things to do.

She made her way quickly out the front doors of the High Court building, down the steps and past the throngs of reporters waiting for the official word. They would have it soon enough when the official court record became public. She wasn’t going to give them a sound bite. Instead, she zeroed in on Ray, who swung open the passenger door for her without a word.

As soon as he closed the door behind her, she let out a sigh and pulled out her phone, tapping the top of her contact’s list. She was nervous that the news might send him spiraling, but she knew he would be waiting for her call. Besides, the entire nation would know the truth soon enough.

“Good afternoon, Olivia.” Liam’s voice sounded stiff. She wasn’t sure if it was due to his anxiety over the legal proceedings or just his newfound discomfort interacting with her.

“Barthelemy won. Reporters are gonna know in probably less than five minutes.” Ray slid into the driver’s seat and rolled up the privacy divider without saying a word.

Olivia heard Liam sigh, but then the line was silent for a few painful moments. She braced herself, wondering just how he would handle this set back. He’d been less of a wallowing mess recently, and Olivia hoped this wouldn’t undo all of that progress. “Liam?”

There was another brief sigh before he spoke again. “Well, we were preparing for this and Maxwell had warned us this was a likely outcome. I suppose this makes our time with Landon of higher importance. I’ll make note of what the pundits say and prepare a briefing for us.”

In spite of everything, Olivia felt her lips tug into something almost resembling a smile. He wasn’t floundering or overwhelmed or plain disengaged. He had his eyes on the prize. It was a step in the right direction - one that she could work with for now.

Perma: @mom2000aggie @octobereighth @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14

TRR/TRH: @iplaydrake @princessleac1 @twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @ladyangel70 @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @sirbeepsalot @iaminlovewithtrr @forallthatitsworth @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @hedgehogs-dilemmas

Drake/MC: @petiteboheme @mskaneko

FoF: @burnsoslow

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr au #trh AU #trh au fanfic #trr fanfic #trh #trr #olivia nevrakis #choices fanfiction

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just--another--daydreamer · 5 years ago

Text

How they realize that they are in love

» Katsuki Bakugo // Shoto Todoroki // Izuku Midoriya x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

» Genre: Fluff & Angst » Summary: Just some HCs about Baku, Todo & Deku (seperately) and how they realize that they are in love » Warnings: fighting, death, injuries & swearing (Bakugo) implied abuse (Todoroki) panic attacks, overthinking & mentions of fighting (Midoriya) » Words: ~1.7k » Author's Note: These were fun to write, if you’d like to see them for any other characters, feel free to ask! This was inspired by @/costellos, check their stuff out

You can find a link to my Masterlist etc in my bio and pinned post

⋘ ──────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────── ⋙

» Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo realizes that he is in love with you when you put yourself in danger to help him

Usually, Bakugo would be furious if someone else saw him as a person in need of help and tried supporting or even protecting him in a dangerous situation, but this time it feels different

Instead of anger boiling deep within Bakugo, close to making him explode, he feels an unusual numbness at first, while he watches your body fall to the ground after taking a hit for him. Even though he is often unable to identify his own feelings and is out of touch with them, he notices that change withing himself

The numbness quickly gives way to fear. He tumbles forward as he screams your name. For the first time in a while he is not sure what to do; he wants to check if you are alright, if you are alive, if you are still with him. But he also wants to charge forward and rip the person who hurt you to shreds

He feels helpless, unable to decide and unable to push those sudden overwhelming feelings aside. Instead, shock is freezing his whole body, only allowing his arms and legs to tremble. His mind is racing and screaming and calling him weak. Weak for needing your help, weak for not being able to protect you, weak for not killing this damn bastard in front of him

“Bakugo!” Your voice is feeble and barely audible over the sounds of the fight, but he can still hear you. You reach him through the clouds in his mind, through his own voice in his head tormenting him

He regains control over his body and it only takes him a few blows to knock out the enemy

In the next moment, he is cowering next to you, pulling you close, checking your vitals. Once again, his fingers tremble. You are alive, but in dire need of help

Bakugo hates being afraid and he pushes the feeling down with full force, trying to let his anger take over once again. The anger that numbs his senses, makes him care less about the people around him, makes him unapproachable and lets him keep everyone at a distance

“You damn fool!” His voice cracks. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Baku-” “Shut up!” The pain in his throat from screaming is a welcome one. “Just shut the fuck up! I didn’t need you to save me, dammit!” A lump forms in his throat, taking his ability to speak. He can feel tears in his eyes, but he wipes them away before they can fall

Bakugo leans down and puts his arms under your body to carry you to an ambulance. Under his breath, he mutters, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

» Shoto Todoroki:

Todoroki realizes that he is in love with you when you are patient with him

Most people in Todoroki’s life expect a lot from him, if not way too much. His father expects him to be the perfect hero and successor to him since the day his quirk awoke, UA expects him to always be one step ahead of everyone else and he puts those expectations on himself as well. Even though it is not hard for him to be all those things at this point in his life, having someone around who is patient with him and does not care if he fails or lets himself go from time to time is a relief

Like on most days, Todoroki and you walk home together after class, since you have to go into a similar direction. Most of the time both of you walk in silence or you try making conversation with Todoroki only to be met with silence or short answers

Todoroki knows that he is not the best person to be around at all times, that he does not always get jokes or acts distant with people – he just does not know what to say and how to react to certain things

Having friends is hard for him. Either he overshares about his past or keeps people at a safe distance. Todoroki needs time to figure out this new thing called friendship for himself. Can he even call his classmates friends? Can he call Midoriya, Iida and Uraraka friends? Can he call you a friend? What do you and the others call your relationship from your perspectives?

He has known you for a while now and you walk together every single day and you talk and you text, so you are his friend, right?

“Todoroki?” you catch him a little off-guard. “Hm?” “Would you like to hang out some time?”

He looks up at you and tries reading your expression. A friendly smile, waiting for his answer. It is his decision. You are not deciding for him, you are not demanding anything from him. Not many people have ever asked him to decide things for himself in the past. Everyone always decided in his place, especially when it came to big things like becoming a hero. It is a simple yes or no question over a small thing, yet Todoroki has trouble coming up with an answer

You seem to notice his hesitation. “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to hang out,” you calmly tell him. There is no undertone in your voice, only genuine kindness. “You can take your time deciding, you can take your time getting comfortable with having friends, or even just the idea of it.” Did you have another secret quirk that allowed you to read minds? Todoroki pushed that thought away. “Take your time. I promise that whatever you say, I won’t be mad or hurt by it. Alright?”

Even though you do not say anything to compliment or embarrass Todoroki, he feels himself blushing. Just a little, but he turns his face away to not let you notice. You are patient with him. You want him to be comfortable with you, you do not want to push anything on him. A warm feeling spreads through his body and for a second, Todoroki thinks that he is losing control of his fire quirk, but he quickly realizes that it is something else – something nice and good

“Yes, I’d love that, actually.” “Okay, great! I’ll text you then?” “Yeah.”

The two of you part ways but the warm feeling stays

» Izuku Midoriya

Midoriya realizes that he is in love with you when you comfort him

Whenever something goes wrong during a mission or a patrol, that he goes on during his internship, Midoriya is quick to blame himself for what happened. He himself and everyone around him makes him think that he needs to be a perfect hero even though he is only an intern and a student

It starts with overthinking his steps, replaying the scene in his head again and again, and sometimes even ends in panic attacks. Most of the time he tries to deal with those things alone and disappears in his dorm room, but over time you have learned to see the signs that Midoriya is not doing well and you have been trying to find ways to comfort him

You both sit on his bed as Midoriya talks about what happened earlier. The civilians that got hurt, the villain who got away, his own inability to save everyone and stop the bastard. His voice is weak, tears run down his cheeks and sobs shake his body every now and then

He goes on and on about the mistakes he made until you interrupt him

“Midoriya.” Your voice is soothing yet insistent. “Not everything that happened today is your fault. Maybe even nothing. You are still in training, there are adults who are responsible for you. Putting someone as young as you and me out there is a risk, because we make mistakes. But that’s a way to learn. We learn from our past mistakes and become stronger. The next time you are in a situation like this, you’ll be able to handle it just fine.”

Some more tears run down his face, so you pull him into an embrace. Midoriya appreciates your words. He really does. But for now, he has lost his ability to speak

“You are not alone with this. And it’s not your fault.”

Another choked sob leaves Midoriya. He hugs you back, clings to your shirt and buries his face in the crook of your neck. The way your hands draw patterns on his back soothe him until he eventually stops crying. But he does not want to let go just yet

“Thank you,” he whispers after a while. “Thank you so much.” He is not alone. He knows that he can talk to you about this, about anything. He just wishes he had the courage to open up more often

You stay like this until it gets dark, until all the other lights have gone out. Until everything is silent and Midoriya can only hear your and his own breathing. He feels oddly warm and safe in your arms, so he hopes that you will never get up to go to your room, but he knows that you have to, eventually

Suddenly, one of your hands is on the back of his head, your fingers running through his hair. Midoriya has a hard time stopping himself from leaning into your touch more. “I hope you know that I’m here for you, Izuku.” You never call him by his first name. Midoriya’s heart skips a beat and heat rises to his cheeks. He is glad that you cannot see his face right now because he is sure that it is as red as a tomato

“The same goes for you.” And he wholeheartedly means it

You linger there for another moment before finally pulling away. Midoriya does not want you to, he wants you to stay there, with him, forever. But he cannot have that. Not yet at least. And even though the circumstances that lead to this are not the best, he wishes for this to happen again soon

#midoriya izuku x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #midoriya izuku #deku #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #midoriya x reader #bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #midoriya #bakugou #todoroki #x reader #x you #x yn #x gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader

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