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victoria-grimesss · 9 months

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tear you apart - part I

masterlist

->Pairing: König x fem!reader

->Words: 2.2k

->Warning: sexual thoughts, use of Y/N, close proximity, and tension, eventual smut

->Summary: König is kinda mean, dark and a little possessive but it’s all in good fun! A new girl catches the colonel's eyes, and he won’t let her go. Inspired by my favorite song Tear you Apart by She Wants Revenge.

->A/N: please let me know what ya’ll think, this is my first time writing anything spicy so im open to feedback. Also my requests are always open :)

The base is cold as it should be at this time of year, you transferred from the states to the Austrian KorTac base against your own wishes, you are a specialized stealth agent that the higher ups thought could be a valued member to the KorTac team. Wishing to be back in the sun but alas your new skies are clouded and mean.

It is what it is, you thought to yourself, lacing your boots, and emerging from your room. It’s always a weird adjustment process when you transfer to a new base, learning the way around like learning a new maze each time. The people were friendly enough although you didn’t know if it was because you were a new soldier or just because you were a new pretty face around that hadn’t heard any rumors about the seedy guys and their proclivities.

Altogether you have heard one rumor,

One big, tall, menacing rumor.

König

“The king”

Curiosity killed the cat and God help you, all you wanted was to know if what they said was true. Before you left for transfer you heard whispers when they found out where you were going.

“She’ll be miserable under his watch.”

“He’ll have her running laps and doing reps the first day for sure.”

“He’ll eat her alive.”

Did these whispers make her shiver? Yes

Did these whispers make her restless? Yes

Did these whispers make her ache in anticipation? Absolutely.

It’s been a long while since the last body occupied her bed, a touch a century ago, a kiss eons ago. All these fairy tales about this big, tall strong man that could throw her two football fields didn’t help her desperation at all.

She knew these thoughts weren’t appropriate, sleeping with a superior was frowned upon. He was probably married and happy, men like that don’t stay on the market for long. And from the stories she heard she obviously has no shot with him.

She rounded a corner from the barracks and exited to the outside courtyard, the air nipping at her skin. Dark clouds looms and the trees are barren of leaves ready for life anew. Approaching the main building the smell of sweat and metal entered her nose making way to the meeting room.

——

The debriefing was the same as all the others, the captain explaining what to do and who goes where. She nearly fell asleep until the doorknob turned, that’s weird, usually people don’t barge into these things halfway through… unless they’re king of the castle.

He enters the room, his aura dominating those around him. His stature is something to behold, well over six feet of pure muscle. He could break me over his knee like a glowstick and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it…

He stalks into the room greeting the captain, his voice it deep and dark and you want to hear more of it.

His gear makes him all that bulkier, his mask concealing his face and yea, if I were the enemy and I saw him running towards me I would definitely shit my pants.

He stands at the front of the room observing everyone in it and maintaining concentration on the presentation the captain is giving for the next mission. You try your hardest to maintain the same concentration but he’s just so tall and all the rumors are true he’s an enigma. You find your eyes drinking him in, from his shoes to the metal plates on his shins, to his..oh god… his broad broad shoulders. You imagine taking your hands and tracing over them feeling the thick muscles underneath his war-torn skin as you bring your hands lower-

He shifts in place.

Your eyes quickly dart away then to his eyes, his eyes locked on yours like a predator watching his prey.

You immediately break into a sweat, his eyes like a spotlight and they don’t move from you.

You look again to see if he’s still looking, he tilts his head a bit to the side and raises an eyebrow teasingly. Shit. oh no he’s hot. Like really hot.

Shifting in your seat, nervous beads of sweat dripping down your neck, the meeting is coming to a close and people start tucking in their chairs. König is still standing by the door, his eyes still locked on yours, I wonder what he’s thinking. I mean, surely if he’s a married man he wouldn’t be looking at me so hard….right? Maybe no one told him you were transferring so he’s just confused on who the fuck is this new girl in here I didn’t approve this. By now most of everyone has left the room, the projector is turned off, the map put away, the captain gone. You move your gaze to the floor and get up and tuck in your chair, clearing your throat, now realizing how eerily quiet the room is and you haven’t heard König make a noise since he greeted the captain. You make your way to the door, preparing to walk by him and out of the room.

An arm shoots out to block the doorway and you are forced to stop dead in your tracks keeping your eyes dead set on the long dark hallway in front of you.

“Your name soldier.” He barks, his voice smooth and dark like black coffee. The sweat beads up again and you know for a fact your face is growing hot.

“Y/N, sir.” You straighten your back and maintain my straight state.

He leans down. You can tell he’s looking at you and you raise your eyes to meet his and your heart is racing a million miles an hour and nerves are on fire you breath is uneven and you know he knows, I mean who wouldn’t be uneasy this close to him.

“I-I’m the transfer from the states sir, from the stealth unit.”

“I know who you are hübsches Mädchen, read your file. Approved your transfer myself.”

He replied, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s even more intimidating this close but something deep within you wants to reach out to him and quell this thirst for his touch.

“I appreciate you thinking me worthy to serve on this team, I won’t let you down.” You affirm with the little strength you have left. His gaze is piercing but intoxicating all the same.

He removes his hand slowly from the doorframe and straightens his back standing at his full height again. His begins again,

“Training at 0700 tomorrow morning be there, I’d like to see you demonstrate some maneuvers see if you need any additional training. I will be watching closely, do not disappoint me.” His arms are crossed now and he’s even larger than before.

“Yes, of course sir, I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it.” His tone is light now, maybe even teasing.

You swear you saw him wink but maybe it was just the lighting and how it hit his mask.

“Well run along kleiner Hase; you need your beauty sleep after all.” He motions to the hallway and you take quick steps back to your room, cheeks still hot and breath still quick. It was going to be difficult to have him as your commanding officer.

——

Sleep didn’t come easy, tossing and turning and thinking about the way König devoured you with his eyes made you sweat and frankly being that close to him and replaying that moment over and over again didn’t help with your insomnia. You thought of him a lot that night, more than once, enough to make your hand cramp up. By the time it was daylight you were running off 4 hours of sleep and a large coffee you picked up from the mess hall. You trudged your way over to the main building again where the gym and training room was, once again passing through the courtyard.

The trees are still barren, and you almost slip on the sleet left on the pathway cursing to yourself and hoping to god no one saw.

The gym smells musty, the air vents clearly working overtime since the gym has some activity. A couple groups of pairs work on sparing on the far side and others work out alone. You walk over to the mats and stand to the side watching the two pairs fight for the upper hand, takedown training great, you knew how to do it most of the time on missions you were equipped with a silenced pistol and other quieter tools. Stealth takedowns are your forte but it can’t hurts to get more practice with face to face takedowns.

The fight with the two are done and you were too busy thinking to hear your voice being called.”

“Sergeant L/N!, to the mat.” König barked, his authority shaking the ground, not the best first impression on training day.

You apologize quickly and step onto the mat, your opponent being someone a bit taller than you but not by much, a weight to weight equal, should be easy enough.

König’s eyes watch you as you grapple with the opponent twisting his arm and throwing him over your shoulder onto the mat, you brace your knee on his neck and apply a small amount of pressure, the opponent taps out. He won’t lie, König felt his pants get tight from seeing you work so effectively. Your work is certainly good, he won’t lie, taking down someone so easily.

“Again, another.” He barks once more, his accent thick.

You take down another three opponents, you clearly are growing restless from the muscle exertion and signal to take a break. König watches with amusement.

“A break? What if this was real combat kleiner Hase, will you beg your advisories to adjourn their dissatisfaction for you? Beg them for a time out?” By now he’s stepped onto the mat with you, today he’s shed the outer layer of his gear just wearing his mask and usual military uniform, he still looks just as hot.

“There’s no time for breaks out there as you know, and when you come up with a larger enemy you must be able to take them down as well.”

Fuck.

He wants you to take HIM down, your muscles are already weak from the last three fights he surly knows you’ve exerted yourself right? Right?!

“Go on schatz, I’ll let you make the first move.” His voice has an edge of teasing to it and you want to rip off his mask and see the smirk you know he’s displaying.

You huff

“Very well sir.”

You move to grapple his middle trying to take out his legs, he’s sturdy like a tree and you think if you can take out his legs he’ll go down like one. He budges only slightly when you hit on a pressure point and just when he’s moving and you think you’ve gain the upper hand he sweeps your legs from underneath you and has you pinned. Your wrists are bound by one of his hands above you head and he’s got both of his very thick thighs straddling you.

Your face grows hot at your defeat, especially all your other coworkers seeing it too. But it burns even hotter when he comes down close to your ear and whispers to you,

“You look very pretty underneath me schatz, so pretty when you are short of breath.” He laughs, that bastard.

You can’t admit it but your panties grow damp at his words and your body is on fire, although to those around you it just looks like you’ve over exerted yourself with a tad too much training.

König stand, his height from down here is astonishing. He reaches a hand down and lifts you to your feet but he’s so strong you accidentally collide with his chest before taking a quick step back. You mumble an apology.

“You fight well L/N, no doubt you will be a fine addition to this team. Although you will need to know how to take down large adversaries so I can help you with additional training of course.”

He holds his hand for you to shake it and you meet him halfway, his large hand grips yours and you get a flashback to feeling it wrapped tightly around your wrists, you shiver.

König’s gaze casts down upon you, no woman has yet to capture his attention the way you have. Many have tried. Thrown themselves at him in an unsavory manner, but you, oh you’re different. He admires the way you speak to him, although not many words have been exchanged between the two of you he prays there are more.

Your hair, your eyes, your body, all of it has entranced him and the moment he laid eyes on you, the others know. The way his gaze is steady and dark on you the others know you’re off limits. He yearns to learn more of you, to hear of your history as he strips your clothes off one article at a time under the dim lights of his office. He must be patient though. You are like a deer, scared in the spotlight and he must not spook you, he stands still until you come to him. For now he stares.

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books · 2 years

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Writer Spotlight: Tamsyn Muir

Tamsyn Muir probably doesn’t need a lot of introduction here on Tumblr, but for those who aren’t yet familiar with her work: Tamsyn Muir is the bestselling author of the Locked Tomb Series. Her fiction has won the Locus and Crawford awards. It has been nominated for the Hugo Award, the Nebula Award, the Shirley Jackson Award, the World Fantasy Award, the Dragon Award, and the Eugie Foster Memorial Award. A Kiwi, she has spent most of her life in Howick, New Zealand, with time living in Waiuku and central Wellington. She currently lives and works in Oxford, in the United Kingdom.

We asked Tamsyn some questions about Nona the Ninth, the next installment of the Locked Tomb series, which comes out on September 13. (Mild spoilers ahead. You have been warned!)

Can you tell us about Nona the Ninth? How would you contextualize it alongside the previous Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth?

The Locked Tomb has always followed a concrete set of rules about whose point of view we’re in—there’s a priority list and a hard if-and-else-if set of codes about who is telling the tale. The priority character is always Gideon Nav herself, but after Gideon the Ninth, in many ways, she gets knocked out of the ring.

Nona is the next rule on the priority list—the next storyteller. Except there are also a bunch of other storytellers popping up in the priority list as she lets her guard down. That’s kind of one curtain I wanted to pull back on The Locked Tomb as a whole. Who’s telling this story? What is the truth as someone else understands it? Which is why, where the last two books have been told very much from the perspectives of the Nine Houses, we’re finally in a setting where the Houses have pulled back, and the truth told is completely different.

You have a knack for approaching the next part of the story from a completely different vantage point, which is deliciously frustrating for the reader. Why do you think this works so well (when really, it sort of shouldn’t)?

Oh, but it does, and it’s been proved to work—just play an RPG! One thing I passionately loved in Final Fantasy IX, my very favourite Final Fantasy at the end of the day, is that one moment you’re with the thief-turned-thespian Zidane and a wonderfully dashing attempt to kidnap a princess in the middle of a theater performance—then you’re with…some very bizarre kid called Vivi…who has lost his ticket and is getting negged by a horrifying rat child. You’re given a completely different lens on a completely different situation in what’s basically a completely different genre. In the same game! There’s a risk of getting too comfortable in someone’s truth—you might want to settle down in a character whom you have learned to understand. But then you have to practice a very radical empathy in settling down in Nona, who just absolutely does not give a shit about swords or empire and, at her worst, can be quite an irritating, materialistic babe in the woods who is WAY too into dogs. Of course it’s alienating. If the experience of being in Gideon’s head was the same as being in Harrow’s as being in Nona’s, there wouldn’t be any point. If different vantage points didn’t work, A Song of Ice and Fire would never have gotten off the ground. Hell, neither would The Iliad. I just sit longer with my vantage point.

After writing foul-mouthed and horny Gideon and acerbic, memory-challenged, and also horny Harrow, how did you approach writing Nona’s character, and what did you enjoy most about the process?

Harrow would hate that you described her as horny. Gideon would be fine with being described as horny. Nona would love to sit you down and talk about all the things that make her horny, at the end of which you are 50% worried that she doesn’t honestly understand ‘horny,’ and 50% worried that she DOES understand ‘horny.’

Nona is my character who doesn’t give a fuck. Gideon and Harrow both give too many. It was fun to write a character who sincerely seeks out love as she understands it, who has a large collection of friends and interests, and has no ambition. And yet what I really enjoyed is that Nona is easily also the most terrifying POV character of the series.

We meet some old friends in a new place in Nona. What aspect of the familiar characters meeting the unfamiliar world was the most fun to write?

Honestly, the fact that they’re in such a different milieu was fun enough. One is a woman completely out of time, trying to find something to live for; two are dyed-in-the-wool Housers forced to re-examine values they’ve always taken for granted and what the next part of life after death is going to look like for them. All three are fish out of water. And then there’s actually the reader meeting the familiar after two long books about the unfamiliar, and all the ways I hope that’s entirely weird and recontextualizing. And then, for Nona, what’s familiar to us is entirely unfamiliar to her. Writing Nona was like one long experiment with jamais vu.

When Lyctorhood goes south or gets experimented with, we get someone’s mind in someone else’s body. What is it that drew you to writing this Cartesian mechanism into the universe of the Nine Houses?

Oh my God, please do not spring words like Cartesian on me, I have not had lunch yet.

My understanding is that Descartes thought mind and matter were two completely different things and then got stuck trying to explain why they don’t feel like two completely different things. So if someone kicks you in the goolies and your mind forms the thought ‘yowch, my goolies,’ how is that mind-matter gulf being bridged? Minds in The Locked Tomb lose to matter nine times out of ten. (This is linked, not coincidentally, to my experience of psychosis.) Gideon’s mind is constantly in danger of being sucked away into the storm drain of Harrow’s matter. Revenants are minds that have temporarily anchored themselves to foreign matter, but over time the matter exerts itself, and the mind starts to fall apart. So when you get a mind that’s big enough not only to resist the matter it’s attached to but actually to start burning that matter up…well, what kind of mind could possibly be so powerful?? (Significant looks at camera.)

You’ve previously headcanoned the often affectionately named “Jod” as Taika Waititi (which offers up the potential for some delightful space-god-gay-pirate crossover fic, thank you). Do you have any casting headcanons for the other characters?

I have recently admitted to loving Erana James as Harrow, except I don’t think Harrowhark is quite that good-looking.

By the way, I wish I had come up with Jod. Whoever did, well done you.

We know you’re not allowed to read fanfic for legal reasons, but who would you find intriguing as a ship proposition and why?

I find all ships intriguing. I’ve spent too long in these mines. No ship is too problematic or cracky for me. My only hope is to out-fandom fandom by presenting them with ships more problematic and crack-filled than they do (I will not; fandom always wins). In these tiresome days where ship wars have been taking on airs, as is my understanding, of virtue versus sin (I don’t even know what Bakudeku is and yet I feel sorry for anyone who ships it; I didn’t ship Reylo because it wasn’t messed-up enough and feel the same), I hope the Locked Tomb fandom is just accepting that all shipping is batshit and every ship is just as bad as the next. Gideon x Harrow is just as bad as Teacher x Crux is as bad as Hot Sauce x Cytherea the First is as bad as Camilla x Juno Zeta is as bad as Silas x Every Asht Brother (actually, I wrote the Asht brothers in an unrelated piece that’ll never see the light of day and imo they’ve suffered enough, but).

I was in the Kingdom Hearts fandom briefly. We shipped people with Goofy. Actually, let’s go with that. Naberius Tern x Goofy. On second thought, please don’t go with that. Goofy had a happy marriage and would know better.

This question has sparked some debate among the editorial team here because we absolutely can’t agree on one. Do you have a favorite character?

Yes. As of twenty seconds ago, it’s Naberius because I can’t enthuse enough over how he and Goofy’s relationship would break down because Babs spends so much money on silk pillowcases to avoid hair frizz. He only needs two, max, but has twenty. I hope Goofy goes on longer and longer adventures with Sora and Donald to try to ignore how his love life is breaking down over Naberius leaving the wedding they were just attending because he saw some other dude wearing the same shirt. Leave him, Goofy!!!

If Nona had a Tumblr, what would it be called, and what would she post?

It would just be a single text post with ‘hi,’ and she didn’t even write it. She dictated to Camilla, then ran out of ideas. Her profile just says ‘nona,’ and it’s a default layout. Nona just wouldn’t see the point of Tumblr, even if you told her there were pictures of dogs: why would you want to see a picture of a dog when you could be near a dog in real life? (I told you Nona was scary.)

Which house would you belong to, and do you see yourself more as an adept or cavalier?

I belong to No House. I’ve never been able to belong to a House. I’ve never been able to sort myself into anything really; I’ve tried, and nothing sticks. I can’t be an adept or a cavalier either, I’m just sitting in the corner glumly eating hot dogs. I guess I’m Hot Dog House.

The Locked Tomb fanart is strong here on Tumblr. Do you have a favorite piece you’ve seen recently?

Every piece I have seen recently is my most favorite piece! I was just in Spain for the Celsius convention, and the most intensely wonderful thing was that I came away with fan art that the fans have done. I don’t know what they’re feeding them there in Spain, but pretty much every fan was just nonchalantly like, ‘I drew this,’ and presented me with the goddamn Sistine Chapel. Someone had, while they were waiting in a queue, just filled a sketchbook with the most incredible work on the fly. Special shout-out to a marvelous flipbook I got where Harrow and Gideon are ducks.

The plan was for Alecto the Ninth to be the third and last book. Here we are with Nona the Ninth and Alecto still set to appear (we are not complaining). How has that process been?

AWFUL!!!!

It took me a long time to let go of the fact that it wasn’t going to be a trilogy; it was four books. I want the story to be done now! For one thing, because I’m really excited about the ending, and for another thing, the longer this goes on, the more of a terrible gremlin I become. The Locked Tomb is very special to me, but also I have five million other stories to write and only so long in a lifetime. I’ve been with this world since 2018, and I am wildly excited to get to all the other places. My editor and I will, I think, shed a sentimental tear on the final page, but also, you haven’t even met Teresa Santos yet, who has kept every gun she has ever loved.

What kind of writer are you? A plotter? A pantser? Do you have any morning rituals that set you up for a day of writing?

Plotter. I envy pantsers and gardeners. This is why Nona being unexpected got to me so much. I don’t actually have any rituals or exercises or anything—it’s important for me to have a specific writing space and a good breakfast. But every book is different. Like, what helped with Harrow was breaking every so often to die in Donkey Kong Country.

Do you have any writing or publishing or life advice for any budding queer sci-fi writers reading this?

I see so many writers—and this may also have something to do with being a queer writer—giving themselves SUCH a goddamned hard time. If I could give any advice to them, it would be to stop beating themselves up so much. I’m really dubious at how there’s this perceived glamorous youthquake to writing— like, that if you haven’t been published by 25 and don’t have BookTok at your feet, you’re a failure—it is so much more important to live your life. I’m so grateful I lived in an era where I could write fanfiction, for instance, and not have the sense that it ought to be my side hustle. You don’t have to have published the world’s most important and meaningful queer SFF story by the time you are 29. You don’t need to have done jack shit.

I do have one piece of practical life advice because if I have any regrets, it is that for a large portion of my early twenties, I used to consume like six cans of Mountain Dew a day. I don’t think this sparked queer joy. I think it stripped away all my tooth enamel. You will LOVE having tooth enamel in your old age, so stop.

The Locked Tomb is seriously good and gloriously queer, and its continued success will hopefully encourage more publishers to publish more queer sci-fi, all of the time. Do you have any queer sci-fi reading recs to tide us over while we await Alecto?

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh is coming soon. It should really be called Problematic Gays I Have Loved (this is why they don’t let me title things).

Thank you so much to Tamsyn for taking the time to answer our questions! We’re so excited to see everyone’s reactions to Nona the Ninth when she arrives on September 13!! In the meantime, head over to the #the locked tomb tag for fan theories, fics, and art (remember to filter for spoilers)!

#writer spotlight #tamsyn muir #nona the ninth #harrow the ninth #gideon the ninth #you can't spell necromantic without romantic #the locked tomb #writers on tumblr #tlt #lgbtqia+ lit #lgbtqia+ reading recs

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danaewrites · 3 months

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you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.”

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?”

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about.

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.”

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?”

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.”

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.”

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile.

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly.

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression.

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.”

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone.

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you.

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently.

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation.

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?”

He thought your eyes were pretty?

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out.

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl @lilly-aliyah @milivanili99 @stars-havefallen @spidergwnn @prongs-moon @joeytribbiani18 @yeahright0h @ronancebot @ropickle @regulusblacksposts @lovelywritersgarden @helloitsmeeeeeee @xobridgertonblues @azuredgalaxies

please comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

#james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #sirius black #bisexual sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #fem reader #fem!reader #best friends to lovers #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders x y/n #lily evans #harry potter #hp fandom

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fandangotales · 2 years

Note

500 Followers Event, figured I would do it right out the gate so I didn't forget lol. Also, be aware this is lengthy and I am so sorry for it.

How do you think the characters (Jean, Ningguang, and Sara) would react to a reader who listens to crime and history stories while playing, in particular crime cases such as Jack the Ripper, history stories such as the South Sea bubble and the Depression, and war stories such as the American Civil war or stories from the world wars?

How would Jean react to hearing about the devil of Whitechapel who paralyzed London and was never caught? What would she think of a world where monsters like Jack roam while her god is defenseless.

How would Ningguang react to the first financial crash in history...and the fact that so many people actually fell for it?

How would she feel knowing about just how often our world has financial crashes and just how many troublers it has with currency, and more importantly how would she feel knowing that such times could engulf the world while her God calls it home?

How would Sara react to the bloody and horrible nature of our conflicts, because while Inazuma's civil war may have been bad, I feel that it utterly pales in comparison to the sheer devastation and madness that was America staining itself red.

How would the ever loyal general feel knowing just how devastating and horrific the wars of our world can be, and just how plentiful they are? How would she feel knowing that her creator could be caught in one such conflict with none of them there to protect them?

I intend to do something like this where the Acolytes get tormented with gruesome facts and stories by a child reader who is a history buff and decides to tell them some of the tales about our world...and promptly gives all of them nightmares in the process lol.

I hope to get on the idea...sometime this or next year because I have a few other projects I am working on and I know just how badly I tend to procrastinate.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this ask, if you don't want to do it that is okay. Here is hoping I did everything right in regards to the rules in regards to this ask, but regardless have a great day and stay safe.

If you do end up writing that, I’d love to be tagged so that I can read it. Also, please don’t worry about your ask being troublesome, I’m honored to be getting an ask from one of my favorite SAGAU writers! Keep up the good work on your writing, I always love reading your posts! <3

Honestly, considering the way Teyvat works in regards to safety, and wars… I think it’s fair to say that many, if not all of the people there would be shocked by what life is like on Earth.

For example, if you decided to go out on an adventure by yourself, the worst you’d have to worry about would be hilichurls, considering that you aren’t going anywhere particularly dangerous.

On Earth, that simply wouldn’t work because there are a lot of bad people, and bad things that could happen to you if you were simply out on a walk at night. Especially if you weren’t in the company of another person.

If Jean heard about people who’ve done horrible things like murdering multiple people for… “The fun of it?”.

I can imagine her being repulsed, and incredibly concerned for your safety.

You may be the literal God of Teyvat, but would that stop anyone from randomly deciding to murder you, “for the fun of it?”

You might hear this idle voice line more often than the others:

“I do hope the Knights of Favonius are all working hard…”

She wants to tell you to take precautions against those with hostile intentions, to make sure you aren’t out to late… if only the code didn’t restrict her from voicing her thoughts.

For now she’d have to settle with reminding you of how safe Mondstadt was. With the Knights of Favonius, you would be safe.

With her, you’d always be safe.

Just… please be careful, alright?

The first time Ningguang heard about how terribly this world deals with money, she’d probably laugh.

“Oh, how amusing.” She’d chuckle, before realizing that it was your reality, instead of just a poorly made joke.

The idea of multiple currencies seems especially stranger to her, since Teyvat only uses Mora. (Disregarding the use primogems, which is only for you.)

One day, however, as you were talking while playing Genshin, she heard you bring up something called “inflation”.

You then proceeded to complain about how food prices where getting ridiculously expensive, and how your “fridge” had literally no food in it.

Ningguang seemed to freeze, being brought back to her early days as a child.

She had been through similar struggles, but knowing that her God is going through financial issues?

That her God is suffering because of the undeserving world in which they reside?

Preposterous.

“There were over 60 million casualties from World War 2…”

The voice droned on, as another daily commission was completed.

Sara’s face blanched, taking in the numbers.

60 million.

That was well over the number of citizens living in the entirety of Inazuma.

“The war was notable for the Nazi-sponsored genocide of the Jewish people…”

Genocide of people?

Why?

Her hands shook around her bow, as you guided her to shoot a hilichurl, directly in the head.

Sara heard you sigh, as the monotone voice was silenced.

Your divine voice spoke over the background music of the game.

“Third war I’ve had to research this week, interesting, huh?”

This was… considered an everyday occurrence for you?

Another shot, the hilichurl faded to dust.

You lived in a world where wars like that frequently happened-

She steeled herself, finding resolve as she struggled to keep shooting the hilichurls.

Sara would find a way to bring you to Teyvat, where you wouldn’t be in any danger, ever again.

#cultau #sagau #genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #fandangoevent #genshin cult au #genshin sagau #sara genshin impact #ningguang #jean genshin impact

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cloveroctobers · 6 months

Text

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🦇 — 5. RIO

A/N: had a dream about my man the other night so I guess that was his way of telling me that he misses me? We love delulu!!! Anyways thought this would be fun to actually write something on the line of thriller/spooky this time around. This is me making up for not writing part two’s to my other fall inspired prompt on this man way back when. Hope y’all enjoy this 🧡🫶🏽!!!

PROMPT is from HERE + I’m using: A Begs B to come explore an old house that they believe is haunted. B is hesitant, especially after hearing the scary tales A knows so much about.

*GIF + PHOTO DO NOT BELONG TO ME!

WARNINGS: some France slander, language & hints of sexual content.

<- read my previous October anthology prompt here.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Being in France for the month of October initially wasn’t the plan.

Khadijah and Rio ventured out here for a couple days for Khadijah’s birthday and for Rio to tie up some loose ends for business. What was supposed to be a four day trip turned into a much longer adventure.

“I know y’all done heard they got bed bugs out there, why are your asses staying out there longer?” Khadijah’s mother blurted into the FaceTime call.

Rio chuckled to himself by the mini bar, fixing himself something brown before entering the main living room part of the suite.

“Mom,” Khadijah hissed as she flicked through the channels, “this was a unexpected extended birthday trip.”

“Uh huh, sure it is.” The older woman said not entirely believing that, “Don’t think you can get cute on us and decide not to come back.”

“I’m already cute,” Khadijah modeled with extra shoulder as she sat on the tan couch while her mother brings the camera to show that she’s rolling her eyes.

“Well where do you think you get it from?”

“My father.”

“More like you got his smart mouth.” Khadijah’s mom comments, making her child hold up her finger to interject.

Now she loved her mom dearly but it was no secret that Khadijah was a daddy’s girl and her father’s favorite daughter despite what her two sisters thought. She was one of four children while her youngest sibling happened to be the only boy.

“Aw c’mon, don’t do Mr. Wells like that, especially if he’s not here to defend himself. Where is he anyway? It’s gotta be after 10:30 back home?” Rio came into frame, crouching behind Khadijah, who turned to peck his cheek before facing her phone once more.

The woman sighed, “where else? Working, working, working. I’ve been telling him he needs to slow down, he’s not some twenty year old no more. Lord knows it.”

Mr. Wells had a heart attack last year and had to have a stint put in. Rio’s never seen Khadijah’s so stressed before in his life and although the hardworking man had a good job with good insurance working for the city, they slammed him with some bills that Rio paid off. Which Mr. Wells wouldn’t let slide and already was in the process of paying back.

His choice, not Rio’s.

“He’s close to retirement and he loves supporting his family which is respectable.” Rio starts before joking, “once that happens then the both of you can come with us to Paris next time.”

“Uh uh. I’m never going over there, never had the desire to which is why I want y’all asses to get out of there fast!” Mrs. Wells’ large glasses come into frame now as she holds the phone at not the best angle, “I’d love to see Dubai or St. Lucia with Kayode, your father, and I guess your big headed brother can come too, Deej.”

Khadijah laughs, “yeah and he can bring Eliza too.”

“if I catch him even thinking about it, I’ll click my heels three times and send her bony ass right to hell.”

Laughter bubbles in Khadijah’s throat as she sends a teasing smile to Rio who winked back at his wife, knowing that neither of Khadijah’s parents were fond of their youngest child’s significant other. He was nineteen and found his supposed first love so it was evident that the pair were clingy and so in love with each other. They went to the same high school together, weren’t in the same cliques but ended up at the same community college and decided to give each other a try.

In shorter terms.

“We’ll make it happen,” Rio sighs as he comes around to plop down on the couch next to Khadijah, tossing a hand around the back of the couch, “minus Eliza right?”

“Damn straight,” Mrs. Wells humphed, “she can date somebody else’s son and boss them around for all i care. I just hope it’s over before thanksgiving.”

“Now Mom! Let’s not spread that negative energy for your birthday month, do you need some lavender and Kirk Franklin to keep your blood pressure down?”

The woman with the now bonnet secured around her micro locs fanned her hand, “I already had my session with Mr. Franklin around 7pm so hush! You know that’s what I’m wishing for and hoping you don’t wait around and decide to come back then.”

Khadijah blinks at Rio, who meets her stare. He had no plans of staying here longer than another few days, things got delayed and he offered to send Khadijah back to Detroit if that’s what she wanted but she had some vacation time that she didn’t mind using and she didn’t want to leave Rio behind either.

He’s been busy lately and she just knows as soon as they get back to Detroit, he’ll probably disappear for a little awhile again. So sue the woman if she wanted to be a little selfish and spend more time with her man.

“We’re gonna bring you something much better,” Rio smirks after taking a sip of his liquor, “maybe even a new bundle of joy.”

“WHAT?!” Mrs. Wells yells, “don’t play with me right now. When was your last cycle? I’ve been saying your tatas been looking fuller, ooooh I’ll have to tell your grandmomma.”

“Hey, hey! I’m not pregnant—

“Yet. We’ve been practicing though.” Rio announces, biting down on his bottom lip while Khadijah gasps and shoved at his knee.

Mrs. Wells claps her hands in joy, “y’all keep doing that but don’t bring those bed bugs back with you.”

“We won’t and did our research. If it makes you feel any better, we’re leaving this hotel tonight to stay at this castle for the rest of our trip and then tomorrow we’re gonna go explore this historic house since Rio wanted to have a rest day.” Khadijah informs her mother while Rio slowly nods his head, not knowing of the exploring a house portion but they’d discuss it later.

Mrs. Wells yawns as she sits up in bed now, “sounds fancy but okay then, mom’s tired and ready to knock out. But continue to be safe, the both of you and I’ll see you soon?”

“You sure will, night momma Wells.” Rio gave a two finger salute while Khadijah shared, “I love you’s, talk soon.” Before hanging up the call.

Khadijah leans back against the couch with a sigh, “told you mom’s got serious seperation anxiety all thanks to Kaliyah moving to Toronto with her girlfriend and we’re only traveling!”

“Which is exactly why I tried to smooth over her worries with baby talk, it worked didn’t it?” Rio lifts a thick brow while Khadijah shrugs her shoulders.

Soon she rests her head on Rio’s chest, locking her arms around his waist, “it’ll happen when it’s meant to…and we need to make sure we’re all packed for our new temporary home.”

“Oh I know I am, it’s you you gotta worry about mamas.” Rio presses a kiss to Khadijah’s rosemary scented hair.

Khadijah scoffs, “sorry but I had to buy more for this trip…which I’m not complaining! BUT! Paris’ fashion is really for the petite girlies.”

“They’re forreal missing out on the inclusion and better get on that.” Rio hummed.

“Siobhán is.” Khadijah grins while Rio slowly dips his head at the mention of his old designer friend.

Before Khadijah could get into asking about how she’s been doing, Rio sips from his drink once more and changes the subject, “what’s this about exploring tomorrow?”

“We maybe moving into a castle mansion for a little awhile but there’s no way I’m staying cooped up any longer without seeing what Dordogne has to offer.” Khadijah tells her husband with the perfect pronunciation of the town—or rather department as France calls it.

Rio raises the hand the rests against his wife’s shoulder, “heard you, mamas. No arguing on my part but you know it’s beneficial to have reset days too.”

“Which YouTuber told you that?” Khadijah smirks up at the buzz haired man, figuring that he was probably logged onto her account instead of switching over to his own to watch whatever it is he gets into.

Rio snorts, “don’t try and play me, my aesthetician did.”

“Of course they did.” Khadijah nods believing that since Rio didn’t mess around when it came to his skincare, “and you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with rest days. You’ve been running around x2 compared to me so I get it. You get a nap in and I’ll get the bags ready since we have what? An hour before the service comes and gets us.”

Rio grips Khadijah’s hand as she gets up from the couch, “you sure all an hour is what you need?”

“Shut up, Christopher.” Khadijah laughs, matching Rio’s smile before leaving the man to get his nap on.

With the city life behind the married couple, they settled in Dordogne late last night into the 18th century home. Surprisingly Rio wakes up late the next day, like around eleven am late compared to his seven am timeline. However Khadijah doesn’t mind letting him sleep, snapping a picture of his rest with the camera she brought along for the trip. She watches the clock from time to time, knowing just when to order breakfast to be sent to their room.

Khadijah’s sitting on a olive couch pushed underneath the windows which are half pulled back, sipping on caffe viennese, stomach half full from a classic French breakfast as she stares out into the scenery acting like the main character in a Victorian film.

“Morning, mamas. You starting the day without me?” Rio’s rough morning voice greets the brown skinned woman, who glances over her shoulder at him.

A soft smile meets her full lips, “good morning but someone has to get this party started. But don’t worry, I’ll never not let you in on the thrill. Got you one of these,” she holds the mug up in the air, nodding with her chin on the nightstand next to the man, “and there’s breakfast waiting for you underneath the cloche.”

“Did I mention hearing you speak French is sexy?” Rio states as he slowly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Khadijah smirks, “plenty when you were tipsy on the late night ride here.”

“I regret nothing,” Rio laughs before turning to reach and sip at the warm coffee, “this is delicious.”

Khadijah pops her tongue, “Yeah it is.”

“What we doin’ today? Hold up, what time is it?” Rio turns his eyes into slits, reaching for his phone to let out a low whistle, “damn, haven’t slept that long—

“Since you got shot?”

Rio let’s out a cough, “whoa, that was dark.”

“Sorry,” Khadijah says, “kinda just slipped out.”

“Something you wanna talk about, Dija?” Rio hums, staring at his wife from their temporary shared bed.

Khadijah shakes her head, “nothing I want to get into on this brand new day, no. So!”

She uncurls her feet from underneath her to stand in her floral print lace trim set, placing a smile on her lips as she plops down on the bed. Taking a quick sip of the coffee again, she places it on her side of the nightstand and reaches inside to pull out two slips of paper.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?” Rio suspiciously tries to peek at the papers but Khadijah slaps them right on her chest.

“You asked what we’re gonna do.”

“Didn’t you say exploring some house last night?” Rio frowns, trying to remember.

Khadijah’s little smile to herself seems wicked but as soon as it appeared it vanished while she wiggled a bit on the bed, “that’s tonight’s adventure after dinner. We have at least a few hours before then to do something else so…pick one, anyone.”

The two options were: Château des Milandes OR Canoeing on the Brantôme.

Rio doesn’t wipe the frown off his brows but holds out his thumb and pointer finger while Khadijah holds onto the deck of two pieces. The tatted man makes a show of taking his time debating, just to irritate Khadijah for a little until he smiles picking the paper to the left.

And the winner is…

“Great choice! Now get your butt up and let’s shower, they’ve been open since 9 this morning.”

Chateau des Milandes!

Rio hums as he studies the paper, sipping at his coffee then replies, “can I enjoy my breakfast along with the view first?”

Khadijah dramatically sighs as she flops beside Rio, resting on her elbow to stare back at the ajar windows, “oh fine but I promise you, the one outside is much better.”

“personally I like the one right next to me.”

Khadijah flicks her head back to meet Rio’s brown eyes and she can’t help but to let a smile split over her lips, then puckering them for Rio to peck and lick his own smiling lips afterwards, “you think you’re so smooth.”

“I mean give a guy some credit. How else do you think I got you?” Rio chuckled while Khadijah just nodded her head from side to side mockingly.

“Just eat your food Christopher.”

It was Rio’s turn to mimic his wife.

“Aight, Khadijah.” He said over his shoulder, sitting on his knees and reaching over for the second tray of food.

Chateau Des Milandes was a sight to see and was a wonderful experience. Ugh!!! here Khadijah was sounding like her very emotional Granny Mozella but she never took moments like these with Rio for granted. On the outside it may seem like Rio was only street smart since that’s what he preferred yet he didn’t mind listening in on historical facts from time to time and no he wasn’t really into podcasts—unless it was true crime content—but no one could ever say he wasn’t open to learning new material and translating it into his own life.

He was good at finding purpose in anything.

He also liked draping his arm across Khadijah’s shoulders as they took the tour around the home that used to be owned by the successful Josephine Baker. That was more interesting to Khadijah than the Lords that lived it way before Ms. Baker but nonetheless they took it all in together including the architecture.

No one could deny that France had a way with its design and art.

They explored the garden, which led to a picnic and wine for dinner with the French sunset as the perfect backdrop, then they ended their time at the Chateau with a bird experience, much to Rio’s surprise as Khadijah winked and placed a kiss on the tattoo on his neck, before clenching onto his arm for dear life once the various of birds—specifically the one that was very similar to the one on Rio’s skin started flying around.

Rio found amusement in that, even when they made it back to the rental car.

“If that big ass bird would have crapped on me, we would have been having a whole different type of bird for thanksgiving this year.” Khadijah continuously checked her outfit for any unfamiliar marks, the paranoia getting to her.

Rio couldn’t help but to throw his head back against the headrest laughing. “They’ve been trained, that wasn’t gonna happen. Plus it may just wanted a strand of your hair for warmth, huh? French winters can be brutal so I hear.”

The man went to curl a strand of his wife’s loose curl that framed her face who scoffed at him.

“You’re far from funny, Mr. Montoya.” Khadijah slapped his hand away to fix her pin curl updo in the drop down mirror.

Rio chuckled some more, watching her, “you’re right…I’m hilarious, Mrs. Montoya.”

“Im glad you had fun, baby. I can tell the bird part was your favorite,” Khadijah gave the man a playful side eye, “but now it’s time for my activity.”

Rio glanced at the watch on his wrist, “it’s going on seven…what else you trying to get into besides drinking more wine and eating cheese?”

“Whew! No more cheese for me.” Khadijah flicked the sun visor back up, “so…I have this other place to visit.”

Rio tapped on the GPS, “aight, what’s the address?”

“I don’t think the GPS will fully locate it…just to a certain point.”

Rio thought about this for a second and asked, “what? It’s some underground event or something?”

“Well sure, yeah. Kinda.” Khadijah shrugged her shoulders making Rio sigh and sit back with his hands clasped.

Khadijah was tapping away on her phone for a moment while Rio just studied her. When she realized the car wasn’t moving, Khadijah turned her attention back to Rio who was patiently waiting for her to come right on out with it.

“We’re not going anywhere until you give me the info I need. No shady shit allowed.”

Khadijah turned sideways to face Rio, “Okay so…there’s this house that we should see.”

“You said that already. But Why? To buy?”

“Hell no,” Khadijah was quick to say, further making Rio put his guard up as to what this whole adventure was even about, “I mean no…yeah no that’s exactly what I mean. It wouldn’t be for us to live…just to see.”

Rio pried, “what’s so special about it?”

“It has a colorful story.”

“Which is…?”

“The year was 1666–

“Nah,” Rio immediately said leaning forward to start the engine but Khadijah flew her hand out to stop Rio from switching the gears.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

Rio leans on the console to completely face Khadijah, “by the way you’re dragging this out let’s me know you’re about to tell me some bullshit, that you know I’m not about to let fly.”

“Can’t a bitch add some extra flavor to the tale?” Khadijah scrunches up her face, “Sheesh.”

“Stop playin’ with me, Dija.”

“So hostile,” Khadijah flicked her hair off her shoulder, “alright you want the synopsis? Got it. So this house is special because during the year of 1666 a woman named Blanche lived there with her father, mother, two siblings, and new husband. Allegedly she was later accused of poisoning her family and beheaded her husband after they all suspected she was a witch because of some rumors started at the hospital she volunteered at. Her sickly father was the one to put her down after his wife and other children slowly started to die one by one. They say Blanche still haunts the home and asks when and or if you visit, to leave a ribbon and tea bag’s on their front step as a offering and for her to rid any vengeance in your life.”

Rio caressed his facial hair in thought, “Question for you, mamas? Did that eagle peck at your brain when i wasn’t around or…”

Khadijah sucks her teeth, “it’s spooky season, asshole!”

“I know that,” Rio lifts his shoulders carelessly, “but you’re trying to get into some serious shit and I can tell you one thing: I’m not feelin’ it.”

“Are you scared?” Khadijah leaned into the center console ready to comfort him, “I never said we had to go inside the house. Just see it and leave something for Blanche.”

Rio didn’t miss how Khadijah started to trail her hands over him but he didn’t fold, “Her business ain’t ours.”

It was Khadijah’s turn to laugh now, “you’re definitely scared!”

“No I’m not.” Rio scowled, “I’m just saying you have to be careful what you expose yourself to. I told moms we’d bring her back a baby, not a witch that may latch onto your body.”

Khadijah frowns, “why would you think Blanche would latch onto mine and not yours?”

“Whoever! And I really can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re trying to mess with some spirits.”

Khadijah wasn’t trying to “‘mess with spirits,” she always respected the dead but this sounded better than visiting the catacombs to be honest.

So she challenged, “Hey! It’s something to do.”

“I can find plenty of other things we can get into.” Rio placed his chin into the palm of his hand, “We’re not about to be here much longer anyway.”

Khadijah sighs as she grabs Rio’s hand to place in her lap, “I’ll let you try out our new toy at the same time while you’re inside…”

Rio’s eyes begin to darken as they meet Khadijah’s much lighter ones. This was a promising bargain and this Khadijah knew as Rio trailed his own hand up her stomach, between her breasts, and to grip her chin.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Rio states as he presses their lips together and leads the way with his tongue dancing along hers.

It’s passionate and a little nasty just the way the married couple liked their kisses but brief enough that he leaves Khadijah panting on the passenger side. He smirks to himself, lifting up from the driver’s side to pull out his Glock 17 from his black jeans to rest on the dashboard.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Rio tells Khadijah who shortly follows through, “and not a word of this to my abuelita.”

Khadijah makes a cross my heart motion as Rio puts the car in drive.

The drive to this supposed haunted home was a good half hour north from where they were staying and the decline of the countryside was clear. There seemed to be no livelihood as the skies got even darker. Rio could sense to the left of him that Khadijah seemed to be at unease the deeper they got into the area.

He checks in, “How we doing?”

“Hm? Oh, there it is. Stop.”

Rio turns his attention back to the lack of road up ahead and notices that there’s a tunnel with no lighting. He steps on the breaks, witnessing to the left of the tunnel the narrow road carried upwards to what exactly? That he didn’t know. There was no homes or animals in sight on this drive since they started getting further away from the chateau.

“What’s this?”

“That’s the tunnel that leads to Blanche’s house.” Khadijah is sitting on the edge of the passenger seat now.

Rio tightens his hold on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the scenery with the help of the automatic headlights. If they went through that tunnel, which was surely to be just as narrow as the roads out here in the countryside he wasn’t positive they would make it back. His intuition was telling him since the beginning that this didn’t feel right and being physically here was enough to confirm that for Rio.

Turning his eyes into slits towards the right of the tunnel, Rio can see a decaying headstone with a bunch of colorful ribbons tossed around and possibly some rocks that were most likely teabags scattered below it.

“This is what you came for,” Rio says keeping his eyes on the road.

“Oui-Oui.” Khadijah says suddenly halfhearted and any other time Rio would have laughed but the expression on her face made him aware that the tension was also felt by her as well.

Rio steps on the gas, driving full speed towards the tunnel but stops just at edge, parallel to the headstone, making Khadijah grip the dashboard at the abruptness.

“Get going, sweetheart.” Rio tells Khadijah with a lift of his chin.

Khadijah swallows, prying her eyes away from the tunnel then to the headstone and back to her husband. “W-what? You’re not coming with me?”

“I never said I was going in there. I have sense.” Rio tapped at his temple.

Khadijah glares, “wow. So here’s to trying new things was just another one of your lies then huh?”

“Another? Don’t go there, I’m not doing that with you this evening. You brought this terrible idea to me and I brought you here so go head, show me you’re the one who isn’t scared.” Rio’s hardened stare was now on the fuming woman.

Khadijah didn’t know what the fuck Rio’s problem was and why he thought this energy was okay? Khadijah didn’t like Rio’s tone so she snatched her baguette bag from beside her feet and went to push on the door but remained right inside.

“Are you serious?!”

Rio made a U-Turn and began driving back in the direction they came, “are you forreal thinking I’m about to have our asses messing around with the actual dead? Let alone your indecisive ass? And we don’t even have the full context?”

“I mean…do you not have bodies? You don’t see me questioning you about them.” Khadijah muttered.

Rio snapped his eyes to his wife, “two completely different things and you know that.”

It really wasn’t but okay, if Rio hated her riding the fence then let’s see if he hated it now.

“Whatever.” Khadijah slouched against the seat, “You just wasted our time, like why entertain the fact that you were with it if you’re just gonna try to clown me?”

“I wasn’t letting you do that and you should have known that.” Rio clenched his jaw, “I would never willingly put you in harm’s way and that’s exactly what you were signing up for.”

Khadijah knows Rio wouldn’t and if she wanted to be petty she could but she just mumbles, “You just ruined spooky season in France like?”

“Better throw that ribbon and teabags out the window and get glad. Who knows what would have happened if we went down that dark ass tunnel with only the Glock against a whole spirit mind you, that we don’t even know if she’s still vengeful or not.”

“I mean you make valid arguments…and I don’t even know if the house is still standing. The last update online was from 2021 so I guess I can’t be too pressed about it.” Khadijah explains as she starts to search through her bag, “but you can’t say I was indecisive this time, yet you locked me in here like I’m a child.”

Rio deeply exhales, rubbing at his face in slight aggravation, “yeah we gotta get back to Detroit and quick. I think you need to go back to work and continue spreading peaceful energy at that non-profit instead whatever this is.”

“What?” Khadijah sucked her teeth, “Trying to be on theme?”

“We could easily rent a movie at the spot and call it a day.”

“I wanna be one with nature!”

“As soon as we get far away from Blanche’s murder site, I’ll take the locks off so you can touch some grass.”

“Ohhhh, I cannot stand you!” Khadijah scowled followed by some laughter before ghosting her fingers over the window button, “is this going to work for me or am I still being held hostage?”

Rio just hums to himself, glancing in the rear view spotting a blur of white in the distance along with something that wasn’t tumbleweed rolling right by their feet.

Khadijah doesn’t notice as she cracks the window to toss a pink ribbon and a teabag out on the dirt road.

And when she looks in the rearview, she doesn’t see anything unusual or creepy. So she rolls her window back up and presses her elbow into the arm of the door, resting her cheek along her fingers, watching the night scenery whip by her highlighter eyes.

Soon Rio’s hand reaches for the Glock to rest in the cup holders before sneaking his hand over to bring Khadijah’s hand up to his lips. He knew she was a little sour with him over this and probably a bunch of other built up issues but Khadijah always tried to make the best of it.

Rio was trying to get better at validating her feelings but this shit right here was not it and Khadijah knew that inside. Which is why he had a more safer route up his sleeve to spend the day with Khadijah tomorrow since celebrating Halloween was apparently too american for the French. So he did the best that he could choosing a theme park that would be “on theme” for Khadijah’s spooky cravings.

That would be his gift to her and routine of keeping her best interest at heart, even if she didn’t fully want to see it that way sometimes…

Ah, she’ll be aight.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #Rio good girls #rio x black!reader #rio x reader #october prompts #queued #spooky prompts #good girls nbc #Rio x oc #manny montana

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cryptotheism · 11 months

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Tediore actually was the villain of the new Tales from the Borderlands iirc

Yeah and they look boring. The Borderlands series is my favorite type of media to consume because it's so almost good. I love any Strong B+ type shit that could have been cool if you changed like two things. It inspires a man!

Borderlands 1: Nothing writing. Solid base of mechanics for a fun series.

Borderlands 2: Mechanically fun. Some pretty dope environments. Flashes of genuinely good writing contrasted with actively awful writing.

Pirate DLC: Forgettable writing, but had some dope set piece fights. Carried by the strength of it's setting alone. Fun mechanically. Forgettable writing.

Torgue DLC: Grating and annoying.

Hammerlocks Hunt: "I'm sure gearbox will handle the African big game hunt themed DLC well. What could possibly go wrong."

Tiny Tina DLC: Honestly more enjoyable than the base game. A genuinely fun concept that manages to hold back the annoying quips long enough to flesh out Tiny Fucking Tina of all characters??? What's wild is it WORKS. Imo it successfully walks the line of madcap humor and commentary on its own uberviolence, exploring how Tina's LMAO random XD persona is a safety blanket. At her core she is a traumatized child who has lost another father figure. It's Tina using the player as an instrument of uberviolent fantasy justice to process her grief and against all odds it works PERFECTLY with the tone of Borderlands.

Pre-Sequel: Literally everything interesting in this game happens in like, flavor text. Expanding on the villains of 2 is a cool idea. Seeing Jack become Jack is neat, but honestly didn't do much for me. Forgettable environments. Mid gameplay. Felt like a test run for 3. The Dahl mercenaries were a missed opportunity. I remember a single quest that got a real laugh out of me: the one where it's revealed that the respawn station voice isn't pre-recorded, it's a live lady who has now been captured by bandits, who are making her say cringe shit on the intercom.

Borderlands 3: A master class in environmental and level design. Every character is extremely fun to play. I love the Eden-6 Louisiana Dinosaur Jungle. I love the Maliwan Corporate City. I fucking LOVED Nekrotefayo. "Evil twitch streamers" was a brilliant choice that the writers legendarily fumbled. Main Villain should have been the Maliwan twerp. The Danny Devito Indiana Jones character fits in the world but needed way more time in the oven. Making him the Calypsos dad was a bizarre choice.

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ceruleancattail · 11 months

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Oh! If you're still open for requests, maybe something fluffy with a reader flustering Vil (or any of the more 'composed' of the boys) with an honest and cute compliment. (Like maybe tucking a small flower behind Vil's ear and saying it's pretty because it matches his eyes or something)

Thank you for sharing your writing anyway, though! It's always so cute and sweet! <3

Compliments and Flowers

Vil x reader

The cloying scent of morning dew, and freshly mown grass. The blanket rustles as Vil shifts closer to you, staring at the chain in your hands. Fingers moving deftly, you twist flower after flower together, effortlessly weaving a chain of blossoms.

“What are you making there, hm?”

He brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear, leaning down for a better look. You raise it up, allowing him to observe the flower stems you’re twisted together.

“A flower chain!”

A sheepish laugh, before you continue. Adding more and more flowers into it. You hardly look at the chain, eyes only on Vil.

The sunlight seemed to shine on him perfectly, the morning sun blessing him with a gentle halo. The lights highlighting his elegant features, enhancing his beauty by a hundredfold.

“It’s something I’ve learnt awhile ago. It’s fun.”

“So it seems.”

He watches your fingers dance across the chain, sewing the stems together. Your gaze meet his. Vil only smiles, gesturing for you to carry on. Shaking your head, you reach for more flowers, before depositing them on his lap.

“The best way to learn would be experience, no?”

You cup his hands in yours, before slowly guiding him through the process. The back of his palm was as smooth as silk. He smelt like lavender, the pleasant scent wafting into your nostrils, settling deep in your heart. Those purple buds were renown for having a calming effect. Soon, you could feel your shoulders relaxing, leaning into Vil’s chest.

A chuckle shook your back, before his arms move around your waist, elbows resting on your knees. You two sit down together, weaving long chains of little flowers. Fastening it into a loop, it almost looked like a tiara, dotting with multi coloured gems.

A chin resting on your shoulder, Vil pokes at your crown, his fingers skating on it’s entirety.

“What a charming crown. To think it’s made entirely out of flowers.”

That gets a laugh out of you. Beaming, you slide it onto his head. Nestling in his locks of blond and purple, little blossoms dotted across his head. He looked like a Elfen prince from a fairy tale, who’ve just emerged from the woods.

“Well, you’re my Prince Charming after all. It does look good on you, Vil.”

A pause, before his cheeks glow a faint pink. A blush rampaging on his face, glowing as brightly as the sun. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, you could feel his breath press into your skin. Much like warm caresses, lingering on the base of your neck.

His arms slide across your torso, holding you tightly. An embrace that has your back slotted against his chest, close enough to feel his heartbeat beat through your back. A flustered beat, rapidly thumping through his chest.

“Now really…You’re rather honest, aren’t you?”

A gentle kiss is pressed onto your cheek, his lips melting against you like butter in the summer’s sun.

“I can’t say I dislike it, love.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit #vil #twst vil #vil schoenheit x reader #Vil x reader #lucky potion 🔷#this was super sweet to write #thank you for the request!!!

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sleepwrites · 1 year

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could we maybe have some headcanons for macaque, wukong, and mk where it’s been a rough day and the reader lets him lay his head on their lap and he’s just like ‘I don’t ever wanna get up.’

Hey there thanks for the request! So this was a breath of fresh air for me to write because of all the persuasive stuff I had to write for english classes. But enough about my stupid exams, enjoy!

Tough day?

MK, Sun Wukong and Macaque laying on their s/o’s lap after a tough day and never ever wanting to get up.

MK works a delivery job people. He probably has to deal with the worst of the worst people half the time.

So his favourite part of the day was obviously shuffling through the door to his apartment and finding you, sitting on the couch with a soft smile on your face and a movie ready on the TV.

He smiled tiredly and lumbered over to you, promptly flopping down on the couch next to you. He brought his legs up on the couch and laid his head down on your lap as you began the movie.

MK closed his eyes as the opening of the movie began to play. “Work beat you up pretty bad huh?” You said.

He nodded and began his diatribe of how difficult the day was and each difficult customer he had to deal with, the occasional story about a demon attack thrown in here and there.

You listen attentively, eventually turning off the movie to listen to him better, you nodded along to his story, adding a comment here and there.

While he was talking you stroked your hand through his hair, undoing his bandana in the process. His hair then cascaded over your thighs, almost like a river of chocolate as you continued to gently undo the knots in his hair.

Once he finished he opened his eyes and looked up at you. He was met with your eyes staring lovingly down at him. The evening light shining through his open window and bouncing off your (h/c) hair made you look ethereal.

“So in conclusion, yeah work kicked my butt,” he said, bringing a hand up to cup your face.

You giggled and tilted your head into his touch, placing your own hand above his. You removed his hand from your face and held it.

MK sighed. “I dont think I’m ever getting up,”. “Fine by me,” you said, leaning down to give him a kiss.

Yeah, you could do this forever.

Sun Wukong

You sat on the couch of Sun Wukong’s little cottage, a few baby monkeys scampered around the floor as you flicked through movie selections.

You heard the tell tale sound of a door creaking open and you whipped your head round to see none other than the Monkey King (and your boyfriend).

He sighed dramatically before seeing you, smiling at him in all your wonderful light. Your eyes seemed to sparkle in the afternoon light streaming in from his window.

He grinned at you before scampering to the couch and practically throwing himself onto you, his tail wagging excitedly. He smothered your face with kisses before flopping down into your lap.

You giggled and began caressing his cheek with your hand, gazing lovingly into his golden eyes. They were almost like pools of liquid gold.

“Hows your day been?” You asked stroking his cheek with your thumb.

“Man, the kid’s getting better and better, he almost beat me this time!” He started to recount his and MK’s sparring session, gesturing wildly with his arms (even hitting you a couple of times by accident)

As usual you’d laugh at the jokes he’d crack and “gasp” when necessary, it was a simple routine that you’d fallen into when you moved in with Wukong.

You had never found it necessary or boring, your boyfriend made sure of that, it was fun, actually.

“aaand that about sums it up!” He said. “Well you’ve had quite the eventful day, how about we go and grab some lunch in the city?” You suggested.

Wukong dramatically sucked his teeth and sighed. “Yeah thats not going to happen, peaches,”

You furrowed you brow. “Why not?”

“Because I am never moving from here,”

Macaque

You sat on the bed of your small little apartment, nervously vibrating your leg as you did.

Macaque was an hour late for your meet up, usually he would show up two or three minutes before your set time.

Suddenly a black pool began to spread out on tour floor. You felt it but didn’t react. You simply smiled, staring at it and waiting for your boyfriend to emerge from it.

And emerge he did, he looked beaten up and tired, but he was alive at least.

You sprang from the bed and lept into his arms as the shadow portal dissipated. Luckily, Macaque caught you. He spun you around in a hug before stopping and hugging you properly.

You buried your face in his chest as he muttered something about not being that late. You slapped his arm, still hugging him.

You dragged him to your bed and laid his head on your lap as you propped yourself up on the headboard.

You looked down at his unamused face with mock seriousness and told him to spill the beans about what he was out doing and why the heck he was this late.

Macaque rolled his eyes before tiredly telling you the story of what he did that got him so beaten up. You listened attentively, becoming more and more engaged with each word he uttered (hes a theatre kid people he cant not tell an engaging story).

When he finished you looked up at you expectantly. You blinked out of your stupor and smiled at him before yawning loudly. You checked the clock across from your bed and raised your eyebrows at the time.

Macaque looked with you and smirked deviously before looking back at you, an idea forming in his head.

"Well darn, too late to head home and I'm oh so tired from that shadow portal, I guess I'll just have to stay the night here huh darling?~,"

#lmk #lmk x reader #lmk macaque x reader #lmk monkey king x reader #lmk mk x reader #Lego monkie kid x reader

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groenendaelfic · 3 months

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When you spend an hour writing a scene only to realize that you've already written said scene and the next 4k a month ago but labeled the file wrong.

#fun tales from my writing *process*#so it turns out I didn't accidentally mark part of my outline as written which wasn't yet after all #I hate working on 15k+ chapters #or oneshots #even if I do split them into sections #it only comes to bite me in the ass #and I swore I wouldn't do it anymore #because multi chapter fics exist #for a reason #but chapter 3 of Faroe Gone really can't be split up #and it's so much longer than 15k #it's driving me absolutely bananas #random ramblings #is this the punishment for setting ALaWHEO aside for a day despite not having reached the part I want to before s3 drops?#there's no need to be jealous ALaWHEO #you're still by fav

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dreamonseems · 11 months

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King Haaland Part 1

Erling Haaland X Female Reader

Summary: Reader brought to Norway as a slave, and Erling buys her.

I'm literally going to make this a short story, but I'm having so much fun writing it. I'm making it into a few parts.

"Flytt jente (Move, girl)!" My captor's rough voice pierces through the air as he forcefully shoves me off the boat. With a mixture of fear and adrenaline, I quickly step onto the dock, my heart racing in my chest. As I regain my balance, another man, equally as imposing, clasps chains onto my arms, linking me to the other unfortunate souls who are now my companions. We form a somber procession, coerced to follow our captors through the bustling civilization that lies before us.

The sight that unfolds before my eyes is both awe-inspiring and disheartening. The docks are teeming with activity—boats of various sizes and shapes line the water, some carrying fierce warriors, while others, like the one I was just on, serve as vessels of human bondage. The air is filled with a sense of urgency and purpose as people move about their tasks.

We are guided past the array of boats, eventually reaching the grand gates of the bustling kingdom. The gates, ornately decorated, loom above us, a testament to the wealth and power held within. As we pass through, I can't help but feel a mix of trepidation and curiosity about what awaits us on the other side.

Once inside, I am herded into a line alongside my fellow slaves. A man, who appears to be in charge, meticulously inspects each one of us. His eyes meet mine, and he pauses, his hand suddenly gripping my face, turning it this way and that as if evaluating a precious object. "Kongen kan betale en høy pris for denne (The king might pay a hefty price for this one)," he remarks in a language I don't understand. My chains are once again tagged, signifying that I am to follow this man, and I obediently comply, my heart sinking further with each step.

The man leads me, along with nine other girls, to a massive log house. As we enter, the sounds of laughter and merriment wash over us. The room is filled with people seated at long tables, feasting and reveling in their own world of abundance. But at the very front of the room, on an elevated wooden throne, sits a figure who immediately captures my attention.

He is a man of striking appearance, his long blonde hair cascading over his broad shoulders, framing a face that exudes both regal authority and undeniable charm. His piercing blue eyes survey the room, effortlessly commanding the attention of those around him. It is clear that this man is none other than the king himself, and in that moment, I can't help but wonder what fate awaits me under his rule.

The man who led me there bows his head respectfully and addresses the room, his words flowing in a language unfamiliar to my ears. "Stor viking konge Erling Haaland, jeg bringer skatter fra forskjellige land for deg (Great Viking King Erling Haaland, I bring treasures from different lands for you)," he proclaims with reverence. Though I struggle to comprehend his words, one word rings clear in my mind—Viking. The very mention of it sends shivers down my spine, for in my homeland, tales were whispered of Viking marauders who arrived in their formidable ships, wreaking havoc and destruction upon villages and towns. They were ruthless, fearsome beings who brought kingdoms to their knees. If this man indeed was a Viking king, then my fate was sealed, and I could only expect the worst.

A surge of fear courses through me, intensifying the already dire circumstances I find myself in. I am overwhelmed by the weight of the situation, my mind filled with images of the horrors that may lie ahead. But just as despair threatens to consume me, my captor's rough hand reaches for the front of my dress, attempting to tear it away. In a desperate bid to retain some semblance of control, I react instinctively, grabbing his arm with all my strength, desperately trying to halt his assault.

"No!" I scream, my voice echoing through the room, a desperate plea for mercy. However, my captor is not swayed by my pleas. With a swift motion, he smacks me across the face with his free hand, the impact leaving a searing pain and a metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Tears spring to my eyes, a mixture of agony and indignation fueling my resolve.

"La gå jente, vite din plass, slave (Let go, girl, know your place, slave)," he sneers, his words dripping with contempt. Blood trickles from my nose, staining my torn dress, but it only serves to stoke the fire within me. In a surge of defiance, I muster every ounce of strength I possess and lash out, delivering a powerful kick to his midsection. He grunts in pain, momentarily stunned by my unexpected retaliation.

Seizing the opportunity, I seize the man's hand that still clings to my dress and sink my teeth into his flesh with all my might. The taste of warm blood fills my mouth, and I bite down with a primal ferocity, managing to tear one of his fingers away from his hand. A bone-chilling scream erupts from his lips, mingling with my own defiant laughter. The man recoils in agony, releasing his grip on me, and I seize the chance to spit his severed finger back at him—a grotesque symbol of my unwavering spirit.

In that moment, something within me shifts. If this was to be my end, then I would meet it on my own terms. I refuse to be a passive victim in this cruel game of fate. With a newfound determination, I brace myself for whatever may come next, ready to face my destiny with unwavering resolve and an indomitable will to fight.

"Drep henne! (Kill her)!" The man's chilling cry echoes through the room, a sentence that seals my fate and sends a shiver down my spine. The guards surrounding me react swiftly, their movements synchronized as they grab hold of me and throw me violently to the ground. I thrash and scream, my body instinctively fighting back against the impending doom that looms over me.

In the midst of the chaos, as one of the guards raises his axe, poised to strike me down, a commanding voice pierces through the air, cutting through the clamor like a sword. "Stoppe (Stop)," the voice utters, freezing everyone in their tracks. The room falls silent, every eye turning towards the source of the commanding voice—the king himself.

With an air of authority that demands attention, the king rises from his throne, his towering stature an undeniable presence in the room. He strides purposefully toward me, his gaze fixated upon my trembling form. As he kneels down, our eyes lock in an intense, unspoken connection. Time seems to stand still, and I find myself holding my breath, unable to tear my gaze away from his piercing eyes.

He reaches out, his hand enveloping my face, his touch both commanding and intimate. In an act of defiance, I summon the strength within me and summon a defiant spit, aimed squarely at his face. The crimson trail of my blood-stained saliva trickles down his cheek, and to my astonishment, a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Jeg liker denne. Hun er en modig liten ting (I like this one. She is a brave little thing)," he utters, his words laden with unexpected admiration. He releases his grip on my face, rising to his full height once again. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, his eyes never leave mine as he makes a decision that sends a wave of confusion through me.

"Ta henne. Hun vil være min nye slave (Take her. She will be my new slave)," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. The guards, now under his direct order, move swiftly, escorting me away from the chaos and into a room adorned with a solitary bed. They leave me there, locking the door behind them. The realization sinks in—I am not to meet my demise just yet.

Confusion swirls within me, mingling with a newfound mixture of relief and apprehension. I am now a prisoner, destined to serve as the king's slave. Alone in the confines of the room, I take a moment to collect myself, steeling my resolve for the uncertain future that awaits me. In this unexpected twist of fate, I vow to remain strong, to find a way to survive, and perhaps, against all odds, to defy the chains that bind me and regain my freedom.

The morning light trickles into the room, casting a soft glow upon the somber surroundings. I rise from the bed, my body tense and ready to confront any imminent threat. However, my guard quickly dissipates as a young woman, around my age or slightly older, approaches me. Startled, I prepare myself for a fight, but her calm demeanor and words catch me off guard.

"Calm down. You are safe for now," she assures me, her voice filled with a soothing familiarity. I take a moment to process her words, a glimmer of hope flickering within me. "You speak my tongue," I respond, my voice tinged with both surprise and relief. "We are from the same lands," she explains, lifting her sleeves to reveal the markings of our people adorning her arm. In that moment, a wave of relief washes over me, knowing that I am in the presence of someone who brings memories of home.

"I am Celine," she introduces herself, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and recognition. Gathering my composure, I proudly reveal my own identity. "Y/N, daughter of Drahseen," I declare, my voice resonating with a sense of lineage and nobility. Celine's eyes widen at the sound of my name, a glimmer of awe dancing within her gaze. "With your markings and the way you are dressed, I had a feeling you came from a noble home. But I had no clue you were the daughter of the great warrior Drahseen, the rebel prince. No wonder you are a fighter," she remarks, a mix of admiration and intrigue evident in her voice.

I recount the tragic events that led to my capture, sharing the story of my father's valiant efforts to protect our family from the wrath of a cruel king. "My father kept our family hidden, afraid that the king would find us and kill us. But we were discovered. I managed to lead my mother and siblings to safety, but I was captured and sold into slavery," I explain, a mixture of sorrow and determination coloring my words. The memory of our kingdom's ongoing conflict, torn apart by the ambitions of my father's treacherous cousin, stirs within me, fueling my longing for justice and restoration.

Lost in the depths of my thoughts, I finally voice the question that lingers at the forefront of my mind. "What will happen to me?" I inquire, my voice laced with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. Celine's expression softens, reflecting the weight of the reality that awaits me. "King Haaland has taken a liking to you. You will learn how to become his house slave," she reveals, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Though the prospect of serving the king looms before me, I find solace in the unexpected companionship of Celine—a reminder of the bonds that tie me to my homeland. As I navigate the uncertain path that lies ahead, I draw strength from the resilience of my lineage, determined to survive and, if fate allows, to play a role in shaping the destiny of my people.

After being led away, I found myself in a small chamber where I was washed, cleansing away the grime and remnants of my past. Emerging from the refreshing ritual, Celine presented me with a new attire—a hangerok, a traditional dress commonly worn by Viking women. Though it felt foreign against my skin, it was a symbol of adaptation to this new life. Grateful for the small comfort, I noticed that my precious jewelry, gifts from my father, remained intact—a necklace and a bracelet—a reminder of the love and protection I carried with me.

Led further into the depths of the dwelling, I found myself in the bustling kitchen. Celine became my guide, imparting upon me the skills of culinary arts, servitude, and the intricacies of comporting oneself in the presence of the king. Days turned into weeks, and I immersed myself in the teachings, honing each nuance to perfection. Yet, in those seven days, the enigmatic king remained an elusive figure, concealed from my sight.

On the eighth day, my fate took an unexpected turn. I was appointed the task of serving the king his dinner—an honor and a trepidation intertwined. As I entered the grand Viking hall, my trembling hand clutched the Mead, a potent beverage fit for this momentous feast. It was my duty to stand by the king's side, fulfilling his desires by filling his cup whenever he beckoned. As our eyes met, a shiver cascaded down my spine, an unspoken tension lingering in the air. He wore a smirk, an expression that both intrigued and unsettled me.

With bated breath, I approached him, my every move measured. Our eyes remained locked, an unyielding gaze that held the weight of unspoken possibilities. He finally averted his gaze, allowing me to fill his cup, but the tension between us remained palpable. The night unfolded, the king indulging in the feast alongside his comrades, while I dutifully served him. However, in a sudden twist of events, he unexpectedly pulled me onto his lap, his immense frame enveloping my small stature. Panic surged through me, and I instinctively sought escape, but his grasp tightened around my waist, rendering me powerless.

He returned to his conversations, seemingly unaffected by my unease. My eyes darted to the table, fixating on the knife he had used to cut the meat. A daring thought surged within me, and in a swift motion, I reached out and seized the knife. My heart raced as I brought the blade dangerously close to his neck, a desperate attempt to reclaim my agency. But he reacted with astonishing speed, gripping my wrist with a firm hold, exerting pressure that forced me to drop the knife. He turned to face me once more, that infuriating smirk still adorning his face.

"Vær stille, kjære. Jeg snakker (Stay still, darling. I am talking)," he uttered, his voice devoid of any flinching or fear. His calm demeanor in the face of my rebellion left me stunned, utterly perplexed. What kind of man was he, who remained composed in the face of a threat to his own life? The enigma surrounding Erling Haaland deepened, shrouding him in an aura of mystery and unpredictability.

Perched on his lap, the night unfolded in a haze of bewildering gestures. The king, defying expectations, took on the role of both host and caretaker, feeding me morsels of food and coaxing me to drink from his horn. Each action left me more perplexed, as the dissonance between his seemingly kind demeanor and my preconceived notions of him clashed violently within me. As the festivities drew to a close, his subjects dispersed, leaving only the two of us in the grand hall, our seats still occupied.

Seated comfortably, the king summoned Celine to serve as his translator, seeking clarification as he inquired about my identity. "Hva er navnet hennes?(what is her name)," he questioned, his eyes fixed on me. Celine conveyed his query and my name, her voice serving as the conduit for our communication. The king, unfazed by the language barrier, issued his decree with an air of authority, causing my heart to race with trepidation.

"Fortell henne at hun skal komme til rommet mitt hver natt for å sove. Rommet mitt vil være hennes kammer fra nå av. (Tell her she shall come to my room every night to sleep. My room will be her chambers from now on)."

he stated, his words hanging heavily in the air. Celine dutifully translated, and the weight of his command settled upon me. Fear and panic coursed through my veins as I realized the implications—sleeping in his room meant more than mere rest. It meant surrendering the precious gift of my innocence, an act that terrified me to my core. Tears welled up in my eyes as I berated myself for allowing him to perceive my worth, my vulnerability.

Yet, amidst the overwhelming emotions, the king continued to defy my expectations. He reached out, wiping away my tears, and offered a reassuring squeeze around my waist. "Jeg vil ikke skade deg, søte. Det vil ikke skje noe annet enn søvn,(I will not hurt you sweet one, there will be nothing but sleep happening.)" he murmured, his voice laced with a gentleness that caught me off guard. Celine once again conveyed his words, granting me a momentary reprieve from the tormenting thoughts that plagued me.

Relief washed over me like a cool breeze, easing my anxious heart. But even in that moment, questions gnawed at my conscience. Why was he being so unexpectedly kind? And why, against my better judgment, was I beginning to trust him, even if only slightly? The enigma of Erling Haaland, the Viking king, deepened, intertwining my fear with a glimmer of hesitant hope.

Part 2

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