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pyro-chaos · 7 months

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Mike Schmidt x Reader

Pt. 1: And They Were Roommates…

Summary: Prologue. How it all started.

Or, Mike and you develop the foundation for a relationship.

Tropes: Fluff, angst if you squint,

And they were roommates…

Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

A/N: I’m actually super proud of this one haha, feedback is never required but appreciated anyway!!! Thank you!! Enjoy your read

-———-———

Mike knows you, but not well.

You live in a nicer house than his. Abby likes how your TV has more than just the news channels.

Max stopped answering Mike’s calls, and his aunt wasn’t around anymore.

You’ve babysat Abby before, but only briefly. Times that Mike needed to go to a job interview or pick up an extra shift and he couldn't find anyone else. Planned situations.

You were a last resort. He didn’t mean to overbook himself, but he did, and now he’s desperately hoping you won’t turn down a few extra dollars.

You answer Mike’s frantic knocks with wide eyes. You still have your work uniform on, and Mike has to actively suppress his wince.

“I’m so sorry,” he feels Abby squeeze his hand, “I didn’t know who else would be available.”

Mike doesn’t even try to suppress his relieved sigh when you wave him off and usher Abby inside. You - albeit awkwardly - invite him in, but he’s already running late.

You ask when he’ll be back for Abby, but he doesn’t know, so he says, tonight, I’ll call you and speed-walks to his car; tail tucked so far between his legs that he almost feels like crying.

When he returns to your home, he thanks you with a check and assurances that it’s just a one-time thing, and he couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be willing, but you just smile and offer him some dinner leftovers.

Then, a man walks in with a paper plate wrapped in saran wrap, and Mike feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand. You introduce the man as your boyfriend, Mike shakes his hand, but he’s practically choking on the air of judgment surrounding Oliver.

So that’s how you can afford a place like this.

Abby sleeps on the drive home, and Mike thinks about you.

Mike met you at work; maiding for a cleaning company for rich snobs. He…didn’t mind the days he worked with you. The manager often paired the two of you together for large estate-wide projects.

You never complained when he needed to bring Abby to work. If anything, you seemed like you had more fun on days he brought his little sister.

You asked Abby questions about her interests and even shared some of your own. Mike even once caught you packing extra frosted Animal Crackers from the lobby.

Sometimes, Abby would drag Mike into games of three-person hide-and-seek. Most often, he got stuck seeking. You laughed a lot on those days.

You even defended Mike when the manager wrote him up for not controlling his child.

He remembers apologizing with coffee for getting you written up. He also remembers you assuring him that, “the client needs to calm the fuck down. It’s not like we knocked over an Urn.”

He remembers how you made him chuckle.

The manager doesn’t pair the two of you up anymore. Mike would have to ask his co-workers to change shifts with him if he wanted to see you more often, but asking sounds awkward.

You corner him in the office during shift change the night after you babysit Abby. You ask if he wants to go meet for coffee during the break hour, your treat.

He wants to say he’s busy. The words rest on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know why you want to do him another favor. You're making him feel jumbled and awkward.

But then you mention the food, and I’ll meet you in the lobby if you want to carpool, just slips out of his mouth.

A big part of Mike thinks he offered to drive because he feels guilty for interrupting your evening. He doesn’t want to spend time with you, he only wants to pacify you enough to leave him alone.

The smaller part feels curious -for lack of a better term- why are you being nice? What’s wrong with you?

Mike drags his feet to meet you at the office. He hates that he’s about to give up his break for the Hi! How-are-you’s and the I’m-doing-well’s of small talk. He hates that he’s spending his energy on something so unnecessary. Plus, it’s not like he’s ever been friends with you.

He hopes that he hasn’t given you the idea that he cares more than he does.

The café is nice. It has hanging vines over the counters and windowsills. It smells like espresso and fresh soil. There’s an old-looking bookshelf right by a sunny window. It feels homey.

You buy Mike's food, and he tries to downplay how happy he gets when he has enough leftovers for another meal. The two of you talk. You ask if he has a consistent babysitter, and he dodges the question. You tell him your ‘free nights’ in case he hasn’t found a babysitter by the time he needs one, because, apparently, you have a lot of fun with Abby.

Mike feels the defensiveness creep up into his neck. The urge to bare his teeth and roll his eyes crawls into the forefront of his mind. He can take care of Abby just fine. He’s beginning to think that you think they’re a charity case. They don’t need you.

You must notice Mike tense because you change the subject. You tell him about how vinegar helps when cleaning smoke-stained walls, and the work-drama surrounding your shared boss.

His shoulders unwind, and he even adds a few jokes about bad clients. His input seems to sweeten the interaction like the honey in the tea he’s drinking.

He has fun.

He calls you the next time he needs a babysitter.

A few months go by. You, Abby, and Mike settle into a schedule. He learns that your boyfriend shares a car with you. Mike and Oliver don’t talk much, but when they do, they’re cordial.

Abby’s never complained about Oliver, but Mike can feel the simmering judgment, and wonders if Oliver has ever said anything to you about them.

Mike can’t pay you all the time. In fact, he can’t pay you most of the time, but you don’t seem to care. He wants to ask why.

You have a day job separate from the nights at the cleaning company - just like him - and the generosity you have with your time makes him feel itchy; like he owes you something, but you never bring anything up.

Anyway, he’s stuck with you. Who else would he leave Abby with on weekends and three nights a week?

You’re different today. Your eyes look glossy, and when Mike asks how it went with Abby, you just say it went well.

He doesn’t ask, but he wants to.

Friday night, you call and cancel babysitting Abby.

Your voice sounds small, and he hears you sniff a few times.

He doesn’t think your emotions are his business, but it feels like it’s the right time to ask anyway.

So, Mike asks, “Everything alright?”

You answer without a beat, “Yeah, just caught a bug from work, I’ll just need a day.”

Mike doesn’t know how he feels about the words I’ll just need a day. It feels like you’re justifying yourself. It feels like words a coworker would say to another coworker.

“I’m sorry,” you finish. It’s so soft and genuine that it makes Mike’s breath hitch.

“No,” he blurts, “No need to be sorry. I hope you feel better soon,” and he genuinely does.

Mike can’t afford to skip today's shift. He’s already received too many late notices from his landlord. One more and he’ll be evicted.

He’ll probably have to work through lunch this week if he wants to make ends meet.

He doesn’t know what to do.

So, Mike does the only thing he can think of. Mike carefully instructs Abby to never touch the stove, never to go near the thermostat, don’t answer the door unless she hears their secret knock, don’t answer the phone, and to keep the blinds and curtains closed.

Abby Pinky promises to do all of those things. Mike believes her, but writes a list and tapes it to the fridge just in case she forgets.

Abby asks why she’s not going to your house while Mike prepares a quick breakfast. He tells her you’re sick as he inhales his portion.

“Does she need medicine?” Abby asks.

“I don’t know,” he puts his dishes in the sink, “she said she’d be better by tomorrow.”

“Does she have medicine?”

“Probably, she’s a grown-up.”

“Does she have chicken soup?”

Mike doesn’t know how he’s supposed to know that, but Abby sounds genuinely worried about whether or not you have chicken soup. So, he stops what he’s doing and puts all of his attention on his sister.

“She’s gonna be okay Abby, she’s just not feeling her best. You’ll see her tomorrow.”

His sister looks at the table. Her little eyebrows furrow as she plays with her food. Mike feels… a twist of ugly things in his gut. He doesn’t like that he can’t protect Abby. He doesn’t like that he’s leaving her home alone.

That night, Mike brings her ice cream and lets her stay up past her bedtime.

Tomorrow comes too soon.

Mike tries to keep his nose out of your business, but the packing boxes littering your home stare into his soul. Your car is gone, too.

You welcome Abby, and you smile at Mike, but your eyes seem vacant. You don’t look like you’ve been sick, but your eyes are puffy.

At this point, Mike knows something’s going on.

He wants to give you something, but what could he offer? He’s not sure how close the two of you are. He’s not sure what you want from him.

In reality, paying you would be the best thing he could do for you, but he can't do that. So, he keeps his head down and asks if you need anything.

You get solemn after Mike’s offer; like you have bad news that you've been waiting to spring on him.

Mike clenches his teeth. He's expecting you to tell him you're done; he hasn't paid you, and you're starting to get annoyed.

"Actually, I have a huge favor to ask"

That's not what Mike's expecting, but he can't say no without sounding like an asshole. So he says, "Sure, what's up?"

You lick your lips again, “You can totally say no. It’s kind of a lot, and I know you’re already busy, but Abby goes to school around the same time I go to work, and I’d pay you for gas money” You're fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, "Would you be willing to give me a ride to work this week?"

Mike doesn’t even hesitate, "What time do you need to be picked up?"

You bring Mike a muffin. You nurse a coffee.

You seem quieter in the mornings, but Mike is just quiet. So, interactions only occur when you need to give him directions.

It’s not necessarily awkward, but Mike still feels tense and icky at the beginning.

Picking you up in the afternoons feels better on Mike’s psyche. You talk more, and he knows where the cleaning company is, so he doesn’t have to ask where to go.

Sometimes Mike brings you left-over meals from his day job. Sometimes you bring him and Abby a packed lunch.

Abby’s enrolled in an after school program until 6pm the two nights you don’t have her. Mike has those nights off, but he still picks you up and drops you off before getting his sister.

A few weeks go by.

You settle into a new schedule. You still don’t have a car. Mike never reminds you that you offered gas money.

“Thank you” you unbuckle your seatbelt.

Mike parks the car in your driveway, “It’s no problem”

It’s the least he can do, really. But he doesn’t want to tell you that he feels like he owes you.

You haven’t left yet, and Mike’s starting to feel confused.

You sigh before looking at him, “I might be getting a roommate soon”

The words sound casual, but you’re pursing your lips and fidgeting with your sleeves. Mike doesn’t understand why.

“Sorry, it’s just, I figured you should know.” You lick your lips, “I can’t afford this place without a roommate, and I don’t feel comfortable letting Abby around someone I don’t know”

He’s grateful for that, honestly. But something in his gut still drops. He has no idea what he’s going to do without your help.

“When?” he croaks. He clears his throat, “uh when do you think you’ll have one by?”

He doesn’t have to go get Abby for another half-hour.

You shrug, rubbing a hand on your hairline, “hopefully within the next few weeks.”

He nods, he’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure if there’s anything to say.

Then you gasp so loud that Mike literally feels his heart bang against his lungs. Your eyes go bright and you look into Mike’s eyes with an excitement that makes him feel slightly overwhelmed.

“You wanna move in with me?!”

Mike spends the rest of the half-hour in your kitchen, brainstorming how the three of you can move Abby’s bed with Mike’s tiny car. Without paying for a moving truck.

He has fun.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt imagine

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junipernight · 3 months

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I redesigned Yangchen's outfit!

... I actually designed a lot of outfits for her, because I am Extremely Normal about these books, and also I like costume design and learning about historical clothing.

Short disclaimer: These fantasy clothes aren't culturally or historically accurate, just historically and culturally influenced. I don't have any expertise in East or Central Asian culture or clothing, I've just been clicking around on the internet a lot the last two weeks learning things because that's my idea of fun lol. If you wanted to talk to people who actually know things you should check out @atlaculture or like @ziseviolet, both of whom's blogs I referenced while drawing.

I only designed two alternates for the outer robes. The first is based loosely off the robes Buddhist monks wear (loosely, because drawing draped fabric is hard ^^') especially the Tibetan zhen robe. This garment is just a long wide rectangle of cloth which can be draped across the body in lots of ways (versatility ftw!).

The other garment I drew is a Chuba, a traditional garment from Tibet and the Himalayas. It's a robe, but it highkey reminds me of kilts and hoodies, in that it a) can be worn over one or both shoulders or just as a skirt and b) it makes a giant pocket over the stomach. The long sleeves can be folded up or tied back btw.

I spent the most time on the middle layer, because I was thinking it has to be something she could comfortably fight in while also being suitable for diplomatic meetings, meditating, espionage, and possibly sleeping.

And like. You can fight and hike and whatnot in loose skirts, but it's annoying how twisted up they can get while sleeping. ALSO, YC does a lot of flying and leaping, so my girl needs pants. My faves are definitely the Xiaolin monk pants and the yellow wrap pants Aang wears. I tried dhoti (Indian wrap pants) because that kind of looks like what the giant statue of Yangchen meditating might be wearing, but I think it looks odd paired with a highwaisted shirt instead of a long tunic. Maybe I'll do some more drawings with her in a tunic and dhoti or a monk's dhonka and shemdap later, idk.

As any good historical fashion nerd knows, foundational garments are everything (◡‿◡✿).

But also, there's a scene where Yangchen and Kavik pretend to be lovers, and are "discovered" by a maid sleeping in the same room, with Yangchen in a state of partial undress (gasp!)

I am living for this fake drama; I need to know how scandalized the maid was lmao.

When the maid walks in, Yangchen immediately wraps herself in a bedsheet before ushering the maid back out the door. Maybe all she did was take off her outer robe... but why would she need to wrap herself in a sheet if she was wearing a long-sleeved high-necked gown? I got the sense from both the book and cursory research about buddhist monks that walking around without your outer robes was socially acceptable, at least in casual settings. I think it more likely she was in her underclothes, which historically (in the west anyway) would also double as sleeping clothes.

"The Aang" is censored because this is Tumblr-dot-com. Its mostly a joke, but also, I know other countries are less uptight about bººbies, so like, maybe it's a valid option ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The ~Water Tribe~ look is based off Sokka's swimwear and not Katara's, mostly because chest binding seems antithetical to airbending.

All the other undergarment designs are based on hanfu neiyi, because that's what I could find reference photos and romanized names for.

I'm tired of typing now. Lemme know if you have questions about something, or want me to post a larger version of a specific outfit. I am open to feedback and tentatively open to requests.

#costume design #character redesign #Yangchen #avatar #airbenders #air nomads #avatar novels #chronicles of the avatar #atla #I realize now there are typos in the jpeg rip #too late to change it now

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highhhfiveee · 7 months

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Mike x reader, with reader who works long hours during the daytime and Mike working at night which results in them barely having time to see eachother besides from dinner and bedtime

oh, you wanted angst fr 🥲 i think it could go either way, but honestly angst is what stood out to me first. i’m going to make this sadder too, just because i can 💜

to crumble (mike schmidt x reader)

tags/warnings: angst, pain, prescription drug mentions, fluff and cuteness in the beginning but not for long. mike fucks up, reader picks up his slack. things just don’t work! let me know if i missed anything! mndi.

this is long, sorry ;-; there are also probably a million errors in this, please ignore 💜

part 2 here: 🏳️

all i can think ab is the unbearable pain that replaces the love in your hearts as time goes on.

you’ve been together for half a year. things were fun at first, but once you decide to move in to help with abby, you start to see the cracks in the foundation.

in this one, reader works two jobs (bc let’s face it, this is unfortunately realistic); teaching from 9-4 and cashiering from 5-8:30. mike doesn’t want you working two jobs and you didn’t want to, but you knew that your salaries combined wouldn’t keep you afloat. abby’s school is expensive, and so is everything else in life. the extra money you get from cashiering gives you guys flexibility.

every morning at 6:30, monday to friday, you wake up alone. even though you know it’ll probably be empty, you still reach your arm over to run it over mike’s side. it’s always cold and flat, completely untouched.

you brush this off at first; it's one of the things that comes with him working overnight and you know he needs this job so that he can keep abby. you want that for him and know that love is sacrifice.

you wake abby up and start getting her ready in between fixing yourself up; brushing her teeth while you brush yours, letting her get a few more minutes of sleep in while you throw on your clothes, guiding her through packing her bag while you make breakfast. by that time, closer to 7:30, mike is finally walking into the house.

his eyes are hooded and surrounded by dark bags and you can tell he's exhausted from the way he hangs his things up lethargically. he kisses abby, who's running around collecting things, on the head, then ambles over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing along your neck.

they're soft, gentle actions that make you forget about not being able to do things like this at night. it doesn't matter when you have mornings with him, even if it's only 30 minutes before you have to go. you giggle and reach a hand up to his cheek, kissing him on his other one.

"missed you," you whisper.

"missed you too," he mumbles back, planting a kiss on your lips before stalking away to ask abby something.

you all eat breakfast together, and then you're slipping abby's coat over her shoulders before you put on your own. you usher her to the car and give mike one last kiss before you leave, a deep one that you hope he feels all day. when you pull away, you can see the affection sparkling in his eyes, low and tired but expressive nonetheless.

"i love you," he whispers, his sleepiness masquerading as love-drunkeness.

"i love you, mike. get some rest, okay?"

you drop abby off, wishing her well, before you're alone for the next 12 hours. it often drags. at your teaching job, you feel as if it's just passing you buy in waves, everything whizzing past you at light speed. you're aware that you're in front of the kids, but then you just blackout. you're thrown into autopilot, and you do this over and over until your lunch break at 1. you text mike to pass the time.

sometimes it's something silly, like "god i do not get paid enough" or "a kid just ate glue /: send help", to which mike will respond "😂😂😂" or "lol you deserve millions (:". he makes you laugh, and it's enough to help you push through the end of the day.

he picks up abby from school, asking her all about her day and what she wants for dinner. he'll text you what she says so you know what to expect when you get home, like "meatloaf 🍖🍞 (:" or "chicken alfredo 0: fancy".

for you, transitioning from teaching to customer service was easy; all you had to do was maintain that same autopilot: smile on, eyes alert, prepared for anything. no one suspected a thing when you could keep up and answer their questions.

mike helps abby with her homework, scratching his head with the eraser of a pencil when he draws blanks on a math or history question. abby only sighs, telling him about something off-topic. "art class is much more interesting."

mike starts dinner while you're closing up at work, sweeping the front end of the store and counting down your drawer. he lets abby help sometimes, and they usually have it ready for you by the time you're home at 9.

abby meets you at the door, and you hug her tight, picking her up and waltzing her back into the house. mike is setting the dining table, greeting you with a sleepy smile and, "the queen has arrived."

you all sit down and eat, and it's another one of those moments where everything feels okay. the last 12 hours didn't matter when you were able to have this at the end of it.

you tell abby and mike about your day over spaghetti, spilling details about prideful parents and spiteful customers. abby laughs all throughout, asking questions about being a cashier. mike just listens, eyes and heart floating between the two of you.

you clear the table while mike goes to get ready for work, and a wash of dread passes over you. your brain knows what's happening next. you'll kiss him goodbye, clinging to his hoodie sleeve for a second longer than you should, and then you'll settle down with abby, bathing her and reading her to sleep. then you'll be alone. it will just be you and the screech of infomercials until midnight, and then you'll be off to sleep, snuggling into a pillow that smells like mike.

you push the feeling away, shaking your head and hands and doing just as you know. there's the kiss, the night routine with abby, and the moment you sit on the couch, surrounded by tv light and the croaking of cicadas.

mike doesn't text during his shift unless it's an emergency. it makes you sad, but you understand. security requires focus, and you require sleep.

for a while, this works. it's what you and mike have to do to make ends meet, and while you both think that it'll only get better with more time at it, it doesn't.

you still wake up alone and go through the same rhythm, but when mike comes in around 7:30, it's not 7:30 anymore. it's 7:39, then 7:45, then 7:58. the latest he's ever been, so late that you're not able to eat with him. he shrugs it off when you mention it, kissing your cheek and retreating to the bedroom to sleep.

you drop abby off as usual, and go to work. work. work. work.

mike starts missing your lunch break texts, sometimes dozing dangerously close to when abby's school lets out. while your class works, you bitterly stare at your text conversation. your unanswered "shaping america's future is kinda sick" message stares back at you until it's replaced by abby's school calling. your heart drops to your stomach as you step out of the room to take the call, answering the phone with, "is she okay?"

mike didn't pick her up. she's out at 2:30 and it's 3:30 now, and she's crying and scared because he didn't pick up the phone, and she always calls him first.

you leave work in a flurry, asking a fellow teacher to take over, and you speed to abby's school, not caring about tickets or police or anything. you only want to get her home.

mike is dashing out of the door when you pull up, wrenching a sobbing abby out of your backseat and clutching her close. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he breathes, smoothing her hair and looking up at you with regret etched into every feature on his face.

you try your best to hide your upset, ushering everyone inside before changing into your work clothes. you were going to be late, but you shake it off. abby was home and that was all that mattered.

"hey," mike reaches out to you when you're on your way out. his fingers graze their way down to your hand, and it makes you wish that you could stay home. "thanks for that. i've just been super tired lately and i overslept and---"

"it's okay, baby," you give him a tight lipped smile and a kiss on the knuckles. "just don't let it happen again."

it happens again. and again. and again. it happens so many times that abby starts to think mike is forgetting about her, and you don't know how to get that out of her head. she cries about it more and more with each time you have to pick her up. he stops running out to apologize, still asleep inside.

you rush into the bedroom. he's splayed out over the bed, snoring loudly with his arm hanging over the side. you find an orange pill bottle on his nightstand. an old ambien prescription.

you argue with him before work sometimes.

"what do you need ambien for?"

"i can't sleep."

"but every morning, you skip breakfast to sleep."

"i do fall asleep, but i started waking up out of it. i just take the ambien to help me fall again."

"what time do you take it?"

"i don't know, y/n."

"why are you lying to me?"

"i'm not."

"what time?" you cry, grasping at your chest. a sharp pains thud through your ribcage, and you literally sob. it feels like your heart is tearing in two. "you stare at times, mike. what time do you take the ambien?"

he doesn't answer you and he doesn't know why. it would be so easy to tell you that he takes it at 9 or 10, and that he believes he'll be able to wake himself up around 2 but he doesn't. he can’t sleep without the ambien. he needs it now because he kept himself up in the early days of this, mind toiling over their situation, the endless reassurance that this would work sending him into insomnia.

you leave when he doesn't answer, wiping at your watery eyes and runny nose.

you cashier as a shell of yourself. abby stops asking mike for homework help, and eventually he stops cooking dinner too, trading all that time in for extra sleep after picking her up. you have to explain the situation to your retail store manager, just in case mike forgets again, and start looking after abby more. mike only ever made time to spend with her on the weekends, content with awkward moments over lunch and low energy bickering.

the lunch break texts stop. the dinner texts stop.

he's dressed and ready to leave when you get home these days, prepared to exit as you enter. you don't know what to say as you face each other in the doorway, eyes focused on anything but each other. you don’t even kiss anymore.

"i think abby's asleep already."

you shake your head. "i think she's really sad. she hasn't been coming out of there like she used to. she misses you."

"i miss her too, of course. i'm just busy."

"all you do is work, mike," you deadpan, exhausted with him. you never thought you'd ever get to a point where you looked at mike, the sure love of your life, with disdain, but you felt it creep into you ever so slightly.

"yeah, i know. it fucking sucks, but it's what i have to do to keep abby."

you scoff, scooting past him to take your coat and bag off. "as if you're going to keep her by leaving her at school everyday." it's supposed to be under your breath, but the disdain creeps onto your tongue, bitter and raging, and you say it aloud, to his face.

his jaw clenches and his brown eyes burn, staring you down with an unrelenting severity. you hunch yourself over, dropping your head and sighing out, "mike, i'm sorry. i didn--"

he leaves without another word.

how it got to this, neither of you know. not even the weekends healed anymore. mike caught up on sleep, you caught up on grading, and in your downtime, you avoided each other. for him, it felt easier than being around you. you were irritable all the time, a quick fuse with any word he could think to speak.

for you, it seemed like it was what he wanted. time away from you, from abby, from everyone; time to be alone and recharge for the only thing he ever did, the only thing that was keeping his sister in his care.

you didn't even remember what his touch felt like, what he tasted like. the man that you loved had become but a memory, a ghost that passed through your plane. you’re able to imagine his fluffy hair, his perfect smile, his laugh, his rich smell, but none of it mattered. he didn’t feel like yours anymore.

you suppose it was the same for him, with you existing in the same space but only tangible to him some of the time. he would catch glimpses of your smile, laughing at something on your phone, or talking to abby, meet your eyes when you shuffled back to the bedroom from the bathroom, rimmed in red from crying for the last 30 minutes.

he starts sleeping on the couch, unable to even lay beside you.

mike does a lot of crying. a lot of screaming into his pillow, wondering why he fucks these things up so badly. you do the same, wondering why you stay in situations that hurt you.

this goes on for longer than you two would like, so long that you don't even celebrate your one-year anniversary.

the day passes without noise, mike sleeping and you working.

a prequel of sorts : x

THIS WAS SO FUCKING LONG MY BBBBBBBB OMG. i did NOT mean to go this deep in, i just felt SOOOOO MUCH! my little brain got sad ): i could go deeper into this too one day, breaking up moments into specific little blurbs or ficlets d: let me know if y'all even enjoyed this lmaooo off to write for Halloween lol

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt angst #fnaf angst #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf fic #faire’s mike schmidt <3 #this was painful #kind of tired so it may be ass but #it feels painful #imagine your relationship just falling to pieces 💔#i made this so long #whoops #faire is writing stuff #josh hutcherson

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annabelle--cane · 10 months

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I like the subtle world building implications in the differences between the usher foundation and the magnus institute. if the usher foundation and the magnus institute were meant to be direct parallels to each other, then the usher foundation would have been established in like the 1870s in boston or nyc, but no, it's in dc and was founded no earlier that 1955, and that gives me less "old respectable academia" vibes and more "insane reagan era project comissioned to weaponize the supernatural in the cold war that didn't work but was never officially shut down."

#tma #marina marvels at life #some types of statements that I think the usher foundation has:#stories about cults and churches that are all incredibly fucked up but only about 10% of them are actually paranormal #area 51 alien sightings (all of these are false and/or true but mundanely explicable)#lotta nuclear power ones that adelard dekker spent weeks of his finite mortal life poring over #bigfoot (these ones are real)#corruption statements about rats in nyc

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partycatty · 3 months

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based off of our lovely @igotcaged 's post here

older!johnny cage > can't get enough

johnny realizes just how much he adores you before a date night

notes: this is so fluffy i might throw up, also why are his boobs so big

[ masterlist ]

it was unlike the two of you to have a night off with a husband that's entire life is devoted to saving the world and making them smile at the same time. if it wasn't shinnok or a timeline disturbance, it was ninja mime or citizen cage. you worked in an office, a higher up that needed to be around or you swore the skyscraper's foundations would crumble. both of you held together your own worlds, but it was near valentine's day when you both get the opportunity to go home and get some rest.

it was cassie that ushered johnny out of his office with his bag full of belongings. she was tired of seeing her old man grovel and train like a military man, and wanted him to be a good husband to her step-parent, you. your own vice president insisted you go home after not getting the last few holidays with your family.

in johnny's typical hollywood style, he wanted to take you out on a date. usually, he was the type of man to just settle for something low key, like an at-home steak dinner or a walk in the park, but he missed you more than anything at the moment. so, he managed to convince you to wear something pretty, and he'd clean up all the same.

you pull and tug at the dress you settled on, a sleek beige dress that settled nicely around your ankles. so used to suit jackets and pencil skirts, you felt somewhat foreign.

johnny walks into the shared bedroom, tugging at his sleeves, but that all stopped when he got a good look at you.

"well god damn."

you twirl around to meet your husband's eyes. he cleaned up nicely too. a smooth pair of beige dress pants accompanying a brown button-up. his arms dropped to his sides as he admired you, and you could see in his eyes that he had fallen in love with you all over again. sure, you always dressed nicely, but johnny was reminded of how gorgeous you looked when you dolled yourself up, especially in the jewelry and dresses he had bought you over the years.

"kind of reminds you of our wedding day, doesn't it?" his voice is tender. you don't recall the last time he voice wasn't strained from spewing commands or taking business calls.

"that's probably the last time we dressed up like this," you reply teasingly, taking one of his arms in your hands and folding his sleeve for him, a task that he long abandoned since landing his gaze on you. "you remember that?"

"every day," his eyes are fixed on your small hands holding his large arm. he stands still, as if he'd startle you from moving. "i have our photo at the altar in my wallet. don't know if i ever told you that."

"you didn't," you grin down, buttoning his sleeve and patting his now bare forearm. "but i could have guessed."

as you reach for his other arm to fold his sleeve, his hand meets yours. with fluttering eyelashes, he places long, sweet kisses on each of your knuckles.

"i love you," he mutters into the back of your hand, placing another kiss and holding his lips there.

"you make me so happy," his hand twists your arm, giving him access to your wrist, where another kiss lands.

"okay, big guy," you giggle, trying to move away. "i love you too, but we'll be late."

johnny ignores your point and spins you around. he wraps one arm around your waist, trapping you against his front. you look in the mirror to determine his intentions, but his eyes are fixed on you. he holds your arm out for you and kisses the backside of your hand again. his mouth glides up, reaching your elbow.

"i see what's going on here," you smirk. "are you going all gomez on me?"

"let me have this," he mumbles again, kissing all up your upper arm until he reaches your bare shoulder, where he bites you playfully. of course, he doesn't bite hard enough for people to see as much as he'd love to.

"johnnyyy—" you whine-giggle out when his nose brushes against the flesh of your neck. "you're tickling me, don't be surprised if i kick you." johnny breathes in your perfume, rubbing the tip of his nose up and down your neck, all the while peppering kisses along the exposed skin. in between every kiss, there's a sweet phrase or two.

"sweet girl." your shoulder.

"my one and only." your collarbone.

"my wife." your jawline.

"i'm so lucky." your ear.

"my beloved." your cheek.

"you look so good." the corner of your lips.

having enough of his game, you twirl around and wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him in a firm but chaste kiss. when you pull away, he's grinning sleepily, and you giggle at your lipstick now transferred onto his lips.

"you might wanna wipe your mouth before we leave," you suggest with a laugh.

"why? not my shade?" johnny replies jokingly, leaning into the mirror to inspect the damage. "ah, you're right. it suits you better."

even after all these years, after everything he's been through, it still warms you inside that his youthful, loving side peeks its head around the corner at the best of times. you couldn't ask for a better husband.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk11 #marley writes ☆

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 5 months

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When The Clock Strikes Midnight.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - hi, my last post of the year, i just want to wish everyone reading this a very happy new year and that everything turns out alright, tpwk and stay safe!!

this is a pretty angsty piece i would say, as it covers topics of alcoholism where reader struggles with her alcohol, so please if this sort of thing triggers you in anyway, please do not read and if you do, please proceed with caution.

word count - 3.9k

in which, you and harry broke up just over a year ago, and have not seen each other since, but when your friend invites you to a new years eve party with all your close ones there, the last person you expected to see walk through the door was him.

The last place you saw yourself tonight was here.

Your best friend Maura had practically dragged you out of the confines of your apartment when she heard that you didn’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve, and insisted that you dress up and come along to the party her boyfriend Watson was throwing.

You tried to deny her nagging and told her that you were going to order a takeaway, most likely Chinese and facetime your mum like you did last year, and that would be that.

But no…she wasn’t having any of it.

So you chucked on a jumper, which was on the nicer side and paired it with a skirt and tights and your vans before applying a tiny bit of mascara and lipgloss and brushing your hair, before you were ushered out of the house into the Uber Maura had ordered whilst you were getting ready.

So now, here you were.

You find yourself in a corner of Watson's living room at the party, nursing a glass of coke as people swirl around you in a lively dance of laughter and chatter. The pulsating music fills the room, but you, lost in your own thoughts, wonder why you agreed to come in the first place.

Maura's insistence was hard to resist, but your reluctance lingers like a shadow.

Despite the energetic atmosphere, you're content to sip your non-alcoholic beverage and observe the whirlwind of festivities. Maura and Watson seem immersed in the revelry, blissfully unaware of your desire for a more tranquil evening.

The room's vibrant energy contrasts sharply with your subdued mood, as you contemplate the impending arrival of the new year with a sense of detachment.

Watson, with a hint of tipsiness in his step, ambles over to you in the corner of the living room. His usual laid-back demeanour shines through, but the warmth in his eyes intensifies as he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, you made it!" he exclaims, a wide grin on his face. Despite the slight wobble in his stance, you can't help but smile in response to his infectious enthusiasm.

Leaning in, Watson expresses genuine happiness that you decided to join the celebration.

"I'm so glad you're here, buddy. No one should spend New Year's Eve alone, right?" He punctuates his words with a friendly squeeze, and the camaraderie between you two, forged over the past six months since he began dating Maura, feels more like family than friendship.

In his slightly inebriated state, Watson plants a gentle kiss on the side of your head, a gesture that reflects the bond that has developed between you.

"You're like a little sister to me, you know that?" he chuckles, his words carrying a warmth that transcends the alcohol-induced haze. It's a testament to the solid foundation of your relationship, built on trust and camaraderie.

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, Watson decides it's time to shake off any lingering reservations you might have.

"Come on, let's hit the dance floor!" he declares, tugging you toward the centre of the room. The music's rhythm wraps around you both as Watson, with his signature charm, spins you into the lively dance.

Laughter and cheers surround you, and in this moment, you can't help but appreciate the unexpected joy that Watson has injected into your reluctant New Year's Eve.

As you sway to the music, Watson continues to share anecdotes and jokes, making the dance floor an extension of the bond you've formed. His boisterous laughter and the genuine joy in his expression erode any lingering doubts you had about attending. In the midst of the revelry, you realise that Watson's presence has transformed the night from an obligation into a shared celebration.

With each step and twirl, Watson's camaraderie becomes a comforting presence, and you find yourself immersed in the moment.

As you engage in conversation with Watson on the crowded dance floor, the doorbell unexpectedly rings, interrupting the lively atmosphere. Watson glances towards the entrance, a perplexed expression momentarily crossing his face.

"I'll be right back, just need to see who's at the door," he informs you, detaching from the dance momentarily.

Curiosity piqued, you nod and watch as Watson weaves through the festive crowd towards the entrance. The door swings open, and to your shock, your ex-boyfriend Harry steps into Watson's house.

They exchange greetings, and you can't help but wonder how they're connected. Watson glances your way, and you sense that he must have divulged your presence to Harry.

The room felt suffocating as you sat on Harry's sofa, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. The air crackled with an impending storm, and you could sense that something was about to shatter the fragile peace that had held your relationship together.

Harry's eyes, once filled with warmth and adoration, now held a distant sadness. His fingers nervously played with the edge of his shirt, betraying the turmoil within.

"We need t’talk," he finally uttered, the weight of those words settling in the room like a leaden silence.

You looked at him, anxiety clawing at your chest.

"What's going on, H?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

"I've been thinking a lot, and... I think we need t’take a break," he confessed, each word hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

The room seemed to tilt, the weight of those words crashing into you.

"A break? What do you mean?" Your voice wavered, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach.

Harry's eyes welled with tears as he struggled to articulate the pain that lingered in his heart. "I can't give y’what y’deserve. M’career, the constant traveling , I can't be the best boyfriend f’you. Y’deserve someone who can be there f’you, not someone who's always halfway across the world."

More like you can’t give him what he deserves, your a mess, A drunken mess who can’t be trusted around a glass of wine or a gin and tonic.

It was your fault that he had had enough of the relationship, he was sick of looking after a girlfriend who couldn’t even look after herself, you weren’t what he wanted anymore and who could blame him?

You didn’t even want yourself anymore.

Your eyes mirrored the pain in his, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"But I don't want someone else. I want you," you pleaded, your heart breaking with every passing second.

He reached out, fingers gently wiping away your tears, a tender ache etched across his features.

"M’know, and s’why this hurts so damn much. I love you, but I can't watch y’waiting f’me all the time, feeling lonely. Y’deserve more than that."

The room echoed with the silence of shattered dreams as you both sat there, wrapped in the agony of an impending separation.

"I thought we could make it work," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the heartache.

Harry's voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes mirroring the anguish in your own. "I thought so too, but I can't keep asking you t’wait f’a future that's uncertain. It's not fair t’you."

The weight of the impending break weighed on you both, and the room became a crucible of emotions.

"I can't believe this is happening," you uttered, your voice catching on a sob.

Harry pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feel of your presence.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered, the words a fragile admission of the pain etched across his heart.

As the room witnessed the unraveling of your shared dreams, the tears flowed freely, and the echoes of a love that once burned bright now flickered in the dimming light of heartbreak. The sofa, witness to your shared laughter and whispered confessions, now bore the weight of an anguished goodbye.

"I thought we were stronger than this," you choked out, your words a desperate plea for reassurance.

Harry's response was a strained whisper, heavy with regret. "Love isn't always enough, and that's the hardest part to accept."

Your heart skips a beat as Harry's eyes sweep the room, eventually locking onto you. The unexpected encounter catches you off guard, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. Unsure of how to react, you instinctively turn I’m away, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

you navigate through the crowded kitchen, the echoes of the past still haunting the recesses of your mind. The room, once a sanctuary, now pulsates with the vibrant energy of the New Year's Eve celebration. As you lean against the counter, you attempt to catch your breath, the atmosphere thick with the weight of unexpected emotions.

The room is a sea of faces, laughter, and clinking glasses, but in this moment, you feel a profound sense of isolation. The air is heavy with the unspoken tension that lingers after encountering Harry, and you find solace in the rhythmic pattern of your own breaths. Each inhale and exhale becomes a deliberate act, a quiet rebellion against the memories that threatened to resurface.

Your eyes inadvertently gravitate towards a bottle of vodka on the crowded kitchen counter, a silent temptation beckoning from its transparent confines. The memories of your past struggles with alcohol loom heavily, each incident etched into your consciousness like a haunting refrain. The room pulses with celebratory energy, yet the familiar lure of numbing the pain through a drink threatens to unravel your hard-fought sobriety.

The bottle stands as a silent witness to the battles you've waged, a tangible reminder of the coping mechanism you once clung to in moments of despair. The urge to drown the resurgence of emotions triggered by seeing Harry again intensifies, as if the vodka holds the promise of temporary relief from the tumult within. However, the echo of past hospital visits, the panicked calls from Maura during Harry's tours, and the aftermath of your own struggles remind you of the high cost that accompanies each sip.

The sterile hospital room bore witness to your feigned slumber as Harry and the doctor engaged in a conversation that would forever echo in your memory. Their voices, a discordant symphony of concern, cut through the antiseptic atmosphere.

"You need to understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. Styles. Her liver is under immense strain," the doctor explained, the weight of the diagnosis evident in their tone. "Excessive alcohol intake has brought her here before, and if it continues, we risk irreversible damage."

Harry's voice, tinged with a mixture of fear and frustration, joined the conversation. "What can we do t’make her stop? This can't be good f’her, and I can't bear to see her like this again."

The doctor, ever composed, responded with a professional calm. "Encouraging her to seek professional help is crucial. She needs intervention and support to address the root causes behind her drinking patterns. This goes beyond just a medical issue."

Your heart sank as you lay there, eavesdropping on the conversation that underscored the depth of your struggle.

"She's in a dangerous cycle, and we need to break it before it leads to irreversible consequences," the doctor continued, the gravity of their words sinking in.

Harry, struggling to comprehend the severity of the situation, pressed for guidance. "What should I say t’her? How can I help her understand the impact of her actions?"

The doctor's response held a note of empathy. "Express your concern without judgment. Encourage her to seek counseling or join support groups. It's crucial that she feels supported and understood during this process."

As the dialogue unfolded, you grappled with a mix of emotions – shame, guilt, and the daunting realization that your actions were not only affecting you but those who cared about you.

The familiar pull of an old coping mechanism clashes with the resolve you've built over the past year. Without much thought, you lift the bottle, contemplating the relief it promises, only to freeze as a voice interrupts your inner struggle.

"Don't you dare take a sip from that bottle."

The words, stern and commanding, cut through the haze of your thoughts. You recognize the voice instantly, and a mixture of surprise and apprehension washes over you. Slowly, you turn around to face him, the bottle held in your hand like a delicate secret.

Harry stands there, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.

"You've come too far t’let this be y’undoing," he states, his gaze unwavering. The air between you hangs heavy with unspoken emotions as you contemplate his unexpected intervention.

Resisting the urge to avoid his gaze, you decide to walk past him, hoping to escape the confrontation. However, his hand closes around your wrist, preventing your departure.

"Let it go," he implores, his eyes searching yours for a hint of understanding. The bottle dangles between you, a tangible symbol of the inner turmoil that threatens to resurface.

In the charged silence, Harry's grip on your wrist feels both restraining and grounding.

"Y’don't need this, and y’know it," he adds, his voice softening. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrors the complex history you share, the wounds of the past laid bare in this unexpected moment of confrontation.

Glancing at the clock, you note the relentless ticking, each second stretching out like an eternity. Twenty minutes until midnight, and the anticipation of a fresh start intensifies. The atmosphere feels stifling as you wrestle with conflicting emotions, your hand still in Harry's grip. The unspoken tension lingers, and you decide that the arrival of the new year will also signal your exit.

Jerking your hand away from Harry's hold, you feel a surge of frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"I can't do this anymore," you mutter, the anguished words hanging in the air between you. The clock's relentless countdown amplifies the urgency of the moment.

Turning to face him, you meet Harry's gaze with a steely resolve.

"I'm not a child. I can do what I want," you assert, the words carrying a weight that transcends the immediate situation. The bitterness in your voice mirrors the tumultuous emotions churning within.

Harry's expression shifts from concern to a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"This isn't about control, it's about caring," he argues, the lines of his forehead creasing with worry. The room feels smaller, the air thick with the unresolved tension of the past.

"I don't need your care," you snap, your tone cutting through the charged atmosphere. The proximity of midnight becomes both a countdown to liberation and a reminder of the constraints that linger. The resentment that simmers beneath your words reflects a deeper struggle against the shadows of a shared history.

You walk out of the kitchen, the bottle still in your hand, its cold surface a stark reminder of the internal struggle you've been wrestling with. Glancing down at it, you contemplate the temptation it holds. However, a determined sigh escapes your lips as you decide against taking that path. In search of solace, you spot Maura near the bathroom, engrossed in conversation with a friend.

As she notices you approaching, Maura ushers you over with a warm smile. The vodka bottle clinks softly, drawing her attention.

"You didn't, did you?" she asks, her eyes widening with concern. You hand her the bottle, and she gasps when she realizes its weight.

"I almost did," you admit, the honesty heavy in your words. "Seeing Harry after a year... it's just really hard, and I thought I needed something to take the edge off."

Maura's expression shifts from shock to a compassionate understanding. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, leading you away from the commotion.

"You don't need to have a drink to feel something, darling," she reassures, her voice a soothing balm. "Facing those emotions is tough, but numbing them won't make them disappear. You're stronger than you think."

The weight of her words resonates, and you find a sense of grounding in Maura's wisdom.

"I just... I didn't expect it to hit me this hard," you confess, the vulnerability of the moment laid bare.

Maura nods, her empathy evident. "Love has a way of lingering, especially when there's history. It's okay to feel, even if it's painful. You've come so far, and I know you can navigate this without resorting to old habits."

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, Maura's words serve as a reminder that facing the emotions head-on is a strength, not a weakness.

The night air in the back garden carries a crisp chill, providing a respite from the crowded and charged atmosphere indoors. With just five minutes until midnight, you find solace in the quietude of the outdoors. The rustling of leaves and the distant hum of laughter create a backdrop for contemplation as you seek to contain the swirl of thoughts within.

The faint glow of string lights casts a gentle illumination, revealing a mosaic of emotions etched on your face. The weight of the past, the encounter with Harry, and the echoes of previous struggles converge in this moment of reflection. The cool breeze becomes a metaphorical breath, allowing you to exhale the complexities that have unfolded throughout the night.

Despite the passage of time, you find that lingering feelings persist, stubbornly anchored in the recesses of your emotions. The garden, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights, becomes a backdrop for a bittersweet revelation – you still carry a flame for him.

However, self-awareness prevails, and you acknowledge the undeniable truth that echoes in the quiet of the night. The person you once were, entwined with Harry in a different chapter of your lives, no longer aligns with the person he seeks now. The journey of growth and self-discovery has shaped you both in divergent ways, leading to an understanding that the path forward must be traversed separately.

With a deep breath, you accept the inevitability of change and recognize that clinging to what once was will only hinder your individual paths.

A subtle clearing of the throat interrupts your contemplation in the garden, prompting you to turn. To your surprise, Harry stands there with two glasses of lemonade, his expression softening as he offers them to you.

"Been looking f’you," he says, a hint of concern in his voice.

You accept the lemonade with a nod, appreciating the gesture even as the complexity of emotions lingers in the air.

"Just needed some fresh air," you reply, your gaze momentarily dropping to the glass in your hands.

Harry takes a seat on the concrete step next to you, the night air carrying a blend of both familiarity and unspoken tension.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks, and you find yourself hesitating before reluctantly nodding. The silence that follows is palpable, laden with the echoes of a shared history.

"I never thought I'd see you again after everything," Harry admits, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. You sense a vulnerability in his tone, a shared acknowledgment of the complexities that led to your parting.

"Yeah, life takes unexpected turns," you respond, tracing the rim of your glass with your fingertips. The garden, once a haven for solitary reflection, transforms into an arena for the unspoken exchange between two people navigating the remnants of a connection.

Harry's gaze meets yours, and a soft smile plays on his lips. "I've missed this, y’know? Just talking like we used to."

The sentiment catches you off guard, and you muster a small smile in return. "Things change, Harry. We change."

Harry's admission hangs heavy in the air as he confesses,

"I've missed y’a lot. Every night before bed, you're all I think about." The vulnerability in his voice is evident, the weight of unspoken longing underscoring his words.

You take a moment, the weight of his confession settling in the quiet of the garden. With a sigh, you respond, "It was the right decision to take a break. I was a mess, and I wasn't what you wanted."

However, before you can elaborate, Harry interrupts, a furrow forming on his brow. "No, s’not why. I never once thought about breaking up with y’because of y’drinking problems. It was the constant leaving, the distance. I felt like I couldn't be the partner y’eeded."

His words catch you off guard, a mix of surprise and realization washing over you. The clarity in his confession adds a layer of complexity to the narrative you had constructed in your mind.

"I thought... I thought it was because of me," you admit, the vulnerability echoing in your own voice.

Harry reaches for your hand, a gesture that conveys both comfort and sincerity. "It wasn't about you. It was about me feeling like I couldn't be the best partner f’you. I should've communicated that better."

The garden, witness to the intimate exchange, becomes a space for newfound understanding. The dialogue unfolds, untangling the threads of misperception and unveiling the intricacies of the emotions that lingered beneath the surface. As the clock approaches midnight, the shared revelations become a poignant marker in the journey toward healing and clarity.

His thumb gently traces circles on the back of your hand as he continues, "I regret asking for that break. I didn't realize how much it would affect me, being without you. I've spent every night wondering if I made the right decision."

You meet his gaze, a mix of compassion and acceptance in your eyes. "H, it was the right decision for both of us. I was a mess back then, and I couldn't have given you what you needed. It wasn't just about the drinking; it was about me figuring myself out."

Hearing you call him by the familiar nickname of ‘H’ has his heart twitching beneath his rib cage, oh how he’s missed you calling him that.

He squeezes your hand, a silent acknowledgment of your words. "But not once did I think about ending things because of y’struggles. It was the constant coming and going, the uncertainty. I felt like I was leaving y’alone too often, and it wasn't fair t’you."

As the conversation deepens, the layers of misunderstanding peel away, revealing the raw authenticity beneath.

"I never wanted you t’feel like y’couldn't be yourself," Harry admits, a sincerity coloring his tone. "I should've communicated better, been more honest about how I was feeling."

It isn’t long before the people crowded inside the house start counting down from ten, only second away from being embraced by 2024.

“10…”

“9…”

Harry leans in close, his words a hushed confession, "I still love you."

“8…”

“7…”

Caught off guard, you turn to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes echoing the sentiments you thought were buried in the past. you find your voice, whispering amidst the cacophony, "I love you too."

“6…”

“5…”

The counting continues, a rhythmic backdrop to the shared revelation hanging in the air. In a moment of vulnerability, Harry's gaze lingers on yours.

“4…”

“3…”

And that’s when he musters up enough courage to ask for the first time in a year. "Can I kiss you?"

“2…”

“1…”

As the countdown approaches its climax, the world outside the window erupts in cheers.

In the final seconds, the clock striking midnight, Harry softly presses his lips against yours, a tender exchange that marks the inception of a new year and a rekindled connection, forged amidst the symphony of shared confessions and the promise of a fresh start.

And this all happened when the clock struck midnight.

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ohmeadows · 10 months

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my favorite detail about honkai star rail at the moment is how the destruction path leans on the tower tarot card (and by extension i think suggests some things about nanook):

so the tower card's associative meaning is of sudden & potentially disruptive change, revelation, and overthrowing (also: the element of fire). it visually evokes a sense of fear and terror, you're staring at a tower being destroyed, at people falling from great heights; it feels like a senseless destruction. but in tarot interpretation it's a destruction that is part of a longer journey: the major arcana tells a story where you go from the fool entering the world through all the archetypes, out of which the tower's destruction leads into the latter end of the major arcana of inspiration, healing, insight, completion.

essentially, yes, nanook is destruction, but now it comes with the implication of being a necessary one. you have to topple the complacent king to enact change. the system under which you have lived is rotten and must be destroyed. change may look scary from afar, especially when you see it as an upheaving split from what you think is a functional present. but change you must. something must be utterly destroyed to usher in a new era.

the foundation is about to crumble. supposed security undermined. life will never be the same again... and is that so bad? the aftermath will bring revelations from the ashes.

#honkai star rail #nanook #fandom meta thoughts #path of destruction having so many kids makes sense: the inheritors of the future we must usher in change for #blade and DHIL did some toppling of their own #or perhaps they will again...

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winterrrnight · 10 months

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make up

PAIRING: drew starkey x best friend!gn!reader

SUMMARY: you are skilled at make up, and when you're doing Drew's make up while sitting in his lap, you both feel emotions you aren't sure you have felt before.

WARNINGS: fluff, nothing else :)

EDITH SPEAKS: UGH I WISH I COULD DO MAKE UP! but I really cannot ahahahahaha, but in the fanfiction world all is possible ;)

I think the ending kind of sucks, but I really just wanted to write about that make up scene so that's done! Ignore any little grammatical/spelling errors.

Please like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading! Feedback is always appreciated 🌦️

UPDATE: part two is out now! read here

navigation || join my taglist || requests

You and your best friend Drew have been invited to one of your friend's birthday party. The theme of the birthday party is 'Euphoria', so everyone's outfits and make up looks have to be inspired by the show. You are super excited about it, because the aesthetics of the show are mesmerising and the idea of using glitter, and purple-blue eyeshadows makes you enthusiastic.

You are quite good at make up, having picked up at it at quite a younger age. Make up to you seems like painting, but this time a person is your canvas. On the other hand, Drew doesn't know anything about make up. At all. So naturally, you both decided that he will come over at your place atleast 2 hours before the party, so you both can get ready and leave together.

The party starts at 8 pm, and right at 6 pm, you hear your door bell ring. You open the door and let Drew in, who has come with a garment bag in his hand.

"We should get started on the make up, because we don't have enough time." You say, after you both have greeted each other and shared a hug. You take his hand and lead him to your room, ushering him to sit down on your bed as you gather your make up bags.

You pull out all the make up you will need and keep it on the bed for easy reach. "You okay with all of this?" You ask Drew, and he gives you a nod.

"I dont even know where all these go on my face," he says, laughing, "so yes, I think I'm okay. I trust you with this." You smile at his words. He tells you he's done his basic skincare routine: cleanser, moisturizer and sunscreen, so now you know you can start with the make up.

You take the primer and as you start layering it on his face, you realise how much you are having to bend, because you're standing in front of him and he's sitting on your bed, meaning you're completely towering over him.

When you are done applying the primer, you straighten your back up and let out a groan. Drew opens his eyes and looks at you with concern.

"You okay?" He asks, your hand now on your back.

"Yes, I'm fine," you say, looking around your room to look for a chair for you to sit down, but internally groaning again when you can't spot one.

"You know, you can, sit on my lap if you want to," Drew says, and you look at him with wide eyes.

"Oh no, its okay, I must have a chair somewhere in my living room, I'll get it, or I can just sit next to you on the bed-" You know there isn't much space on the bed; with your outfit, make up, Drew's outfit, your jewellery, and other little accessories spread around on it.

"No it's okay, I promise," he looks at you with reassuring eyes. You give him a slow nod, and sit down on his lap, your legs on either side. You don't put much weight on him, worrying he might find it a little heavy.

"You can sit down comfortably, i promise you aren't heavy." It's like he can hear your thoughts. You let your complete weight on him, and you see he's still smiling at you. You feel your heart rate quicken when his hands land on your waist and help you sit comfortably. You let out a deep inhale, and try to divert your complete focus to the make up which you need to be done within less than an hour.

You put on some foundation and concealer on his face, and start to blend it out with a beauty blender. At moments, you find yourself holding onto his shoulders for balance, and you take your hand off in just a second.

"Why are you so stiff? Relax," Drew laughs at you, his eyes closed with the unblended concealer still on his face.

He's right. Why are you so stiff? Why are you not able to relax and do what you're so experienced in? This kind of make up look never takes you this long, but your position on top of him, is making you feel emotions you didn't know you had for him.

You've been best friends with Drew as long as you can remember. He's been there for you through primary school, middle school, high school, and even when you both separated paths because you went to separate universities. He never failed to call you up almost everyday to check up on you and update you with everything that's been happening with him. Especially after he made acting his job and started getting attention, he has always taken you to film shoots in different places you never thought you'd get to explore before.

After spending so much time together, you never thought of him something more than a best friend. Why? You don't know. But you've also never ignored the fluttering in your heart each time your hand brushed his when you both reach out for the same thing at the same moment, or when he's doing a photo shoot and he looks at you and shoots you the most adorable smile. But you can never think of being something more. If you did try, you both will most probably fail, and all these years of curating a beautiful friendship so carefully will go down the gutter in a matter of seconds.

So you've always dug all these little feelings in you. No one needs to know about them. You both are perfectly fine as best friends. That's it.

Once you're done with the concealer, you start on the actual make up look. You choose a blush which will match Drew's skin tone really well, and start to layer it on a brush. Drew watches you carefully as you brush the make up brush on the palette.

You move a little closer to his face, the distance between you two being reduced to small magnitudes of inches, and start to brush the blush on his cheeks. His eyes instantly fall shut on the feeling of the soft bristles against his cheeks, an instant calm rushing in his veins. You, with your eyebrows furrowed, keep on brushing his cheeks as carefully as you can.

His cheeks are now subtly suffused with a champagne pink, and you decide to start with the eye shadow.

"Close your eyes for me," you mumble, but he doesn't need that notice. His eyes, already closed from feeling you so close to him, your heart so close to his, your skin occasionally touching his. He just hums to your words, and you start to apply the eyeshadow on his eyelids. You've never been this close to him. You notice every freckle, every scar, every beauty mark on him you've never seen before. He just became a whole lot more beautiful to you.

You want to stay this close forever. His body heat has warmed you up, and you're extremely comfortable in his lap. You slow down your movement with the eyeshadow, never wanting this moment to end.

When the eye make is done, you grab onto the silver glitter and apply it on his cheekbones, which accentuates them even more, and some on his eyelids which matches really well with the purple tints of the eyeshadow.

You get some last needed items: mascara and a lipgloss. You gently apply the mascara to his eyelashes, making sure not to poke him in the eye. You open the lipgloss and move impossibly close to him to apply it on his lips.

You gently drag the end of the applicator of the lip gloss across his lips, the gloss leaving a shine as you move it across. His lips, separated apart slightly, heave of little exhales as you are so close to him.

You just want to press your lips against his.

What? No you don't! Hes your best friend, nothing more. You cannot risk it all simply because you want to know if they taste just as sweet as they look.

You clear your throat as you're done with the lip gloss and move your face away from his. "It's done," you say with a contented smile as you look at your finished result.

Drew looks at you with a grin on his face. "How do I look?" He asks you. He knows he looks absolutely stunning. You did his make up, so yes, theres no way he doesn't look beautiful right now.

"I think you look great," you say with a cheeky smile, as you start to get off his lap, but his arms fixate around your waist and stop you from getting up.

"Don't get up, I loved having you sit on my lap," Drew says with a pout. You feel your cheeks heat up, but just giggle at his reply.

"But then we will get late for the party, and I still have to do my make up look," you say. No doubt you don't want to get off either, but you have to, you have no choice.

"Forget the party, lets just stay here and do something else," he pleads. His blue eyes pierce yours, which want nothing more than to just look at you forever.

"But then my make up look will go to waste! I did it for the party, you know," you humph. Forcing yourself against your will, you get off Drew's lap. You take your time to wear your outfit and finish with your makeup, and just five minutes before your decided leaving time, you both are completely ready.

You now stand in front each other, your faces gleaming each time light reflects on them. You did your own look quite matching to Drew's, the same purple hues and glitter splattered across your face.

"Wow," Drew whispers looking at you, as his arms find your waist again. You're beginning to get used to them being wrapped so firmly around you and softly pulling you closer to him.

You give Drew a smile and intertwine your hand with his, and you both go out of your house to go to the party.

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