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solarmorrigan · 1 year

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See, just because Steve lets Eddie and the kids play D&D at his house now doesn't mean he's really interested in the game, just the same as even though El and Max sometimes tag along, they're really there to hang out, not play. They each bring their own things to do, and one night El brings a ball of yarn and a shiny little metal hook and a vaguely rectangular yarn-thing that she focuses very hard on while the boys shout in the background.

Steve has no idea what she's doing; he'd say she's knitting, except he's almost certain that involves some kind of sticks, not a hook. But since he's not really doing anything himself, he sits down next to her and asks what she's up to.

"Joyce has been teaching me how to crochet. She says it will help with my hand-eye coordination." El holds up her project with a proud smile. "I am starting with a scarf."

It's not the world's most attractive scarf, but it's not like Steve could do better. He's still not entirely sure what crocheting is, to be perfectly honest. "Is that different from knitting?" he asks.

El nods gravely. "It is," she says, and takes to showing him how she loops the yarn over the hook and pulls it through the stitches in her scarf and adds a few more inches to the row she's working on.

When Steve's attention doesn't completely wane during her demonstration, she pulls a second ball of yarn out of her bag and presents it to Steve.

"Oh, I don't–" Steve tries to demur, but El is determined, and Steve has seen entire dimensions pale in the face of her determination.

This is how he finds himself crocheting a little chain of stitches with just his fingers, the same way Joyce had apparently started El off. El beams at him and returns to her own project, occasionally checking on his progress. The chain is a few feet long by the time everyone needs to be driven home, and Steve decides it actually hadn't been a bad way to pass the time. Kind of relaxing.

The next time everyone is over, El sits down with her scarf, and after a short while, Steve sits down next to her. He compliments how much longer the scarf has gotten (and it does seem like the shape has evened out a bit as she's been going along). She smiles and pulls another ball of yarn out of her bag. This time, she has an extra hook and seems intent on showing Steve what to do with it.

Almost involuntarily, Steve's attention flashes to the group clustered around the table, hesitating to take the yarn from El, and she frowns.

"Joyce says these types of skills are important for everyone to have," El says firmly, and, well– Steve's not really going to argue.

He learns how to crochet a chain with the hook. It feels odd in his hands at first—the shape too small, the metal a little too slick, the yarn not wrapping naturally around his fingers the way it does El's—but he gets the hang of it. When El is pleased with his progress, she shows him the stitch she's been using: a simple single crochet. It's tougher than it looks, and Steve understands immediately why El's scarf is so uneven; neither of them have ever done anything like this before.

Still, he doesn't hate it.

In fact, he really kind of enjoys it.

He enjoys it enough that he asks El to show him more the next time she's over. She's still new herself and is really only working with pretty much the same couple of stitches, but she proudly teaches him what she knows, and Steve picks it up as fast as she's able to lay it down.

Steve goes out and buys his own supplies, no longer content with mooching off of El's. He hadn't realized there were so many different kinds of yarn, and resigns himself to awkwardly asking one of the craft store employees what type might be best for beginners.

The employee—a woman about his mother’s age with a much warmer smile and far less judgement in her eyes—explains with great enthusiasm what all those different types of yarn might be used for, and how the size of the hook affects the outcome of the project, and shows him so many different pattern books his head spins. He realizes that she probably upsells him on a lot of shit, but he leaves with a few different sizes of hooks, some new yarn, and more excitement for a hobby than he's felt probably since high school.

El and Robin are the only ones who know about his new hobby, of course. It's not really that he's ashamed to tell the others, he just knows how teenage boys work and he's not keen on giving a bunch of fifteen-year-olds another reason to bully him. Maybe in a few months. In the meantime, he crochets at home while he's listening to the radio or watching TV, and he crochets at work during down times. Robin finds his newfound hobby morbidly fascinating, but vehemently denies any and all offers to teach her.

("I will find a way to damage myself with that hook and I think we both know that," she says. "It's just kind of wild to see you with a grandma hobby."

Steve threatens to tell El she called it that, and Robin shortly finds a new label for it.)

Fall rolls around and the air acquires a chill sometime in mid-October. Steve's been making practice scarves for a little while now (largely because he really only knows how to make rectangles at this point, but he doesn’t have the attention span for a whole blanket just yet), and he even considers wearing his least heinous attempt despite the fact he's never really wanted for good winter clothes. Then he notices Eddie.

Most of their little group has begun dressing appropriately for the weather, but Eddie doesn't do much more than add a pair of fingerless black gloves and maybe a heavier leather jacket to his ensemble. Steve's not even sure it's because he can't afford it – he's pretty sure it's because Eddie is committed to his aesthetic. Nancy had tried to force an extra scarf on him one day after a little cold snap, when they'd woken to frost on the ground (the scarf is blue, patterned with white snowflakes; it's actually Mike’s, but Mike is also refusing to wear it and Steve suspects Nancy doesn’t want to hold it, but also doesn’t want to get in trouble for letting Mike lose it), but Eddie had declined, insisting it doesn't match his vibe.

Steve can respect this. He himself has a certain aesthetic going on. However, he can also see that Eddie is definitely cold, and that just won't do.

He picks through the scarves and other various wooly things he's accumulated so far, but decides none of them would suit Eddie and, besides that, none of them are really warm enough. If he's going to make Eddie a scarf, it ought to be a good one.

So Steve sucks it up and heads into Melvald's one day when he knows Joyce will be on shift, hoping she won't be too busy for a quick chat.

When he catches her, Steve explains that El had shown him the basics of crocheting but that his ambitions have outgrown his skills and maybe if she isn't too busy sometime, Joyce would be willing to show him a little more?

Joyce, because she’s a saint, says she would be delighted, and invites Steve to come over on their next shared day off.

When he gets there, she tries to ask him who he's making the scarf for, and the best he manages is, "...someone."

Joyce bites down on a smile. "Someone?"

"It's a surprise," Steve finally declares.

"For everyone?"

"Yes."

Joyce bravely manages to not laugh at Steve and instead asks him what kind of scarf he thinks Someone would like.

Steve decides that it needs to be thick, but it should also be soft. It should also be textured, because Ed– because Someone really likes fiddling with things. He can't get too ambitious with colors or patterns, but he decides that black and grey stripes will be perfectly suitable.

(He doesn't kid himself into thinking that by the time their brainstorming session is over, Joyce hasn't figured out exactly who he's talking about, but she's kind enough not to say it out loud.)

Steve's always been good with repetition and patterns—it's probably one of the reasons he’d found crocheting so relaxing in the first place—and he picks up the new stitches with ease under Joyce's deft instruction. She sends him home with the practice piece he'd made with some of her scrap yarn, and after a quick stopover at the craft store on his way home (he briefly gets stuck between shades of grey, but eventually decides on the silvery one over the steely one), he's ready to begin.

He expects making the scarf to be tougher, but once he gets into the rhythm of it, he sails right through. It takes him less than a week (albeit devoting a few solid hours to it every day, possibly more on his days off) to end up with what is, if he may say so himself, a pretty fine scarf.

The challenge comes in actually giving it to Eddie.

Christmas would be an excellent excuse for presenting it to him, except that's a little over a month away, and Steve doesn't want Eddie to go cold until then. Instead, he takes to keeping the scarf in his glove compartment just in case the perfect occasion for giving Eddie a scarf arises.

And much to Steve's surprise, one actually does.

It's right after the first real snow, and Steve has insisted on driving to pick Eddie up so they can hang out (Steve has nightmares about Eddie's driving when road conditions are optimal, never mind when the roads may be icy). He can see Eddie shivering under his jacket, blowing warm air into his cupped hands (Steve wonders if he could learn how to crochet gloves at some point, too. Ones with full fingers), so he ever-so-casually gestures to the glove box and tells Eddie, "Hey, if you're cold, I've got an extra scarf in there."

He's possibly not as casual as he hopes he is (or maybe Eddie just sees through him, like he always seems to), because Eddie gives him a look. "You do, huh?"

"Yep."

Steve concentrates very hard on the road in order to avoid Eddie's eyes. It doesn't stop him from hearing the little laugh Eddie lets out before popping open the glove compartment.

"Oh," Eddie says quietly as he pulls the scarf out, likely having been expecting another castoff piece of outerwear. "This is... actually really nice."

For a moment, Steve can't help but glance over to see the way Eddie is fingering the crocheted ridges of the scarf, running a thumb over the bright silver stripes picked out of the black, and he immediately looks back up at the road.

"Yeah. You should– you can, uh. Keep it. If you want," he says, and wonders what happened to the days when he was smooth.

"No, man, this is, like, for real nice. I couldn't take this," Eddie says, though he's still holding the scarf in his lap.

Steve draws a breath in. "I mean, I was kind of hoping you would, since it's for you."

"Seriously?"

They have unfortunately arrived at Steve's house at this point, and there will be no avoiding the conversation now.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I, uh. Made it for you. So you should take it. Don't let my hard work go to waste, yeah?"

"You're shitting me," Eddie unfolds the scarf and holds it up in delighted scrutiny. "You made this?"

(Distantly, Steve appreciates that the emphasis isn't on "you made this?" Like Eddie doesn't immediately doubt he's capable, only that he's holding a handmade item at all.)

"Yeah. No big deal." Steve shrugs.

"You made this for me." Eddie looks at Steve, and it sounds like that had been meant as a question, though it comes out in flat uncertainty.

"Yeah. Just noticed you were cold, but you won't wear anything that doesn't match your aesthetic," Steve tries to tease, wiggling his fingers at Eddie's outfit, but Eddie doesn't say anything in return.

He doesn't say anything for just long enough that Steve gets insecure all over again, reaching hesitantly for the scarf.

"But, I mean, if that's weird, or whatever, you don't have to-"

"Nope. Fuck off, I'm wearing this forever." Eddie loops the scarf quickly around his neck and squeezes the ends in his hands. "Jesus, this is soft."

Steve grins. "I'm not sure it'll last forever, but I can make you another after than one wears out."

"You'd better," Eddie says, and he's grinning too. "So, what, you knit?"

Steve points a very serious finger into Eddie's face. "Crochet. There's a difference," he says sternly.

Then, because he can't help it, he bops the end of Eddie's nose before getting out of the car, leaving Eddie to scramble out behind him, laughing and calling him a dork as he goes.

(The kids, incidentally, don't tease Steve nearly as much as he'd thought they would when they find out.

This is possibly because they're more mature than he gave them credit for, but more likely it’s because El is standing beside him and daring them to say anything unfavorable about their shared hobby.

Mostly they just let it slide, though Dustin demands to know why Eddie got a scarf and he didn't. Then Lucas wants one, too, because Mike and Max have already received various bits of outerwear from El, and he's not about to be left out. And then Robin, of course, will want to know why Steve hasn’t made her anything, once she finds out that he’s making things for the kids.

Steve resigns himself to a busy winter spent under a pile of yarn.

It's not really a hardship.)

[Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

#steve & eleven #steddie #steve harrington #el hopper #eddie munson #stranger things #wanted something wintery before christmas hit #I'm sorry if something about the yarny aspect of this is wrong or awkward #I haven't crocheted in years let me live #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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illyrian-dreamer · 3 months

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And Then There Were None – Part 1

Azriel/fem!reader

Synopsis: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

Part 2>>>

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Death, blood, suggestions of miscarriage

Twigs snapped beneath your boots, your steps heavy with exhaustion as you stumbled through yet another town, as barren and deserted as the last one.

Exhaustion and dehydration weighed heavy, wisps of dust caking your skirts, your boots the only thing to disturb the rubble in days.

There was no concern for a carriage that might pull up behind, or a bossy merchant to yell at you to clear the path. While the ghosts of the life that once flourished echoed in closed shops and abandoned stalls, you stopped looking over your back days ago.

There were no plumes of smoke from chimneys, no distant chatter or laughter or cries. Safe from the occasional grunts or mews of abandoned cattle - there was not a single sign of life, and no human in sight for the past ten days.

A jarring cramp ripped from your abdomen, pulling you from delirium with urgency.

Water, food, bathe and sleep. That was why you were here.

You tried not to think about how quickly resources were depleting, even though you were sure you were the only one using them. Without people to treat water, the stagnant liquid became increasingly dangerous. And you couldn’t farm a vegetable to save your life, and had spent too long journeying to have tended to any crops.

You’d have to go further into the woods soon, find a fresh stream, perhaps hunt too. But you'd need strength for that, and you had just about run out.

At least it was spring, and at least the trees bloomed with fruit as you travelled from town to town, feet blistered and chapped. You cursed you parents for not teaching you formidable survival skills - fighting, hunting, even the ability to ride a gods damned horse would have been an incomparable luxury these past hellish days.

A clang of guilt, and frustration quickly churned to longing. Gods, you hoped they were alive. You would do anything to have them here, to journey this devastating isolation together, the little ones too. You prayed to the Mother for the umpteenth time that day that they were safe and well.

It was not a concern when you woke to an empty house almost a fortnight earlier. Your father was likely at the market, your mother hard at work at the tailor in town. Your siblings were hard to catch at this time of year, with school out of term and the warm spring air, they would spend each waking moment by the river if your parents let them.

It wasn't until you spotted your fathers wheelbarrow through the speckled glass of your kitchen window, held by rotting wood. Empty and unmoved, his tools lay flat on the ground, untouched since the day before. You could have sworn he told you he’d be at the market by dawn.

Scanning the room, your eyes flicked to the doorway where your mothers workbag lay untouched. Needles sat poked in balls of yarn as stray thread sprawled over leather - but an eery stillness sang to you at your parent’s tools.

Names and calls went unanswered, and after a quick search of the home you ran outside, urgent to ask your neighbours where they had gone, your heart fastening with every step.

Too frantic to observe the lack of movement and noise from your own street, you rapped on the door, waiting only a few seconds to push the rattling screen and forcing your way in.

Names went unanswered again, and it was instinct that steered you straight for the nursery. You halted at the sight of new born's empty crib, blankets rippled as if the babe was taken straight from it’s sleep.

Your calls turned frantic as you scoured each room, an upsetting, looming sensation creeping over your skin.

Bursting from the home, you shielded your eyes from the bright sun as you scanned the street with urgency. Your only greeting was a quiet breeze and snort of a horse left abandoned by a cart - as if it had stopped it's journey halfway through.

In a panicked haze, you searched the next home, and the next, and the next. The dizziness found you then.

Clearly there was an emergency of some kind. But you had been abandoned, left to sleep until midday amongst the quiet. The thought pained you.

More calls to anyone who might have stayed behind, yet still no answer. Your heart was a thunder in your ears.

Had the war finally reached you? Had your family fled in the dead of the night? You shook the thought from your head – they would have woken you, would have needed your help to escape with the youngens.

And then you were running – yelling, sprinting through the dusty streets, voice breaking as you dashed from home to home, shop to shop, calling, crying, pleading.

You were utterly alone. You had been left there, alone.

In a swarm of panic, you pressed a palm at your heart, willing yourself to calm. It was a dream, surely. You were not abandoned, only stuck in a nightmare, the kind that often found you as murmurs of Hybern’s army reaching human lands became louder.

In that dizzying thought, you willed yourself awake, forcing your eyes open to the walls of your dark and cramped room, to the noises as your siblings shouting and playing from downstairs, to the whistle of the kettle and the creak of the wood as your father came to wake you.

But the light was blinding, the sun as true as the your abandonment.

Beads of sweat that ran down your neck, a gnawing anxiousness building in your stomach as it heaved and cramped, nausea and panic churning to one.

Something truly terrible had happened.

And in that moment of utter disbelief, a stabbing pain ripped from your stomach, so great it forced a whimper from your throat.

As silent trickles of blood ran from your thighs to your knees, tracing your calves beneath the fabric of your skirt, you found a numbing sort of courage. Pushing your legs forward, you mindlessly heeded the road out of your home town, and on to the next.

People. You needed to find people.

————

Ten days, and still not a single sole in sight. Each home, each tavern, each market and farm left eerily untouched.

The silence was enough to drive you mad, if not besides the aide you so desperately sought. This was not your cycle - although the pains were familiar. You had known what you were, what this was.

Almost a fortnight, yet the blood still came. Slower now, spotting instead of trickles. You had stolen clothing from abandoned shops, food and water too. But you were distraught, moments away from folding into utter madness. And you were weak – very, very weak.

Water, food, a bath and rest. A list you repeated to yourself, your body begging to prioritise sleep with every step as you approached a farm at the town’s edge.

With a weak hand, you pushed past the gate to the yard, large rusty barrels sat open where a cow and her calf now drank. The water was murky with a distinct smell, but it would have to do. Tomorrow, you’d find fresh water tomorrow.

The trembling hand that dipped to the cool water hardly looked like your own. Dirt lay thick under your nails, your skin littered with cuts from the countless times you had shattered windows of stores and traders homes, scouring the stock for preserved goods and weapons.

Bringing the cool liquid to your lips, you ignored the taste of iron as you willed it to soothe your throat - hoarse from the endless calls that went unanswered.

Ears pricking at sudden growl behind you, you jerked at the site of a pack of dogs who approached on stealthy paws. Their eyes were hungry - flicking between you and the calf. Once loyal farming dogs you were sure, now abandoned by owners and left to fend for themselves. They had formed packs - clever things. While you were sure they couldn't kill you, you didn't have the strength to fight an infection if they got close enough to sink their teeth.

From your side, you unsheathed the hunting knife you had looted from a previous town. Swinging it with unpracticed skill, you shouted at the pack, your heart thundering as you waited for them to recline on hindered paws and leap.

They pack seemed to weigh you up, deciding the calf was an easier target. You fled inside the house before you could see it meet it’s end.

The home was neat, and you almost cried at the sight of a loaf of bread sitting atop the kitchen counters. Mould had attacked it’s edges, but you tore at it, fisting mouthfuls of the centre, dry crumbs coating your throat it was an effort not to choke.

Your stomach lurched, unhappy with the quality of the food and water, but you didn't care. You were on step closer to rest.

Another jarring cramp from your stomach, and you faltered, gripping at the wooden table as you trembled to keep yourself upright. This ailment, how much longer would you last? Sleep begged at you, your body moments from giving out. You’d have to forgo the bath, and prayed to the mother you’d find the strength for it in the morning.

Forcing yourself to the bedroom, swaying with each stumbled step, consciousness was already slipping as you collapsed on the bed, clothes and boots in tact.

————

It was a feverish sleep, your body doused in sweat as you stirred often, jolting awake in panics, phantom calls of your family mixed with the flap of wings, and the crunch of stone and rock under heavy boots.

Then a voice, voices – ones you were sure they were part of your slumber.

But as those footsteps got closer, you woke in a startle, your heart fastened as you blinked furiously.

Voices. Humans. People. Alive, well enough to talk.

You leapt from the bed, ignoring the spin of your head as you clambered to the window, peering behind sheer drapes to the street in front.

Your stomach sank. Lurched. Then sank again.

A large, demonic figure stalked for the home. Wings arched behind it’s head, it’s figure blackened by the leathers it bore, sword and knives strapped around.

And, wisps of some kind. Deadly, reaping magic.

Fae.

Fae had come.

Knees buckling, you stumbled back a few steps.

The world around you reeled as adrenaline coursed through. You would have just moments to prepare if you wanted a chance to survive.

Knife. Your hunting knife. Still strewn at your hip.

Grasping it’s hilt tightly with a trembling hand, you scanned the room for the best place to hide.

The cupboard was too obvious, and there was room under the bed - but there’d be not enough to swing your knife, only enough for them to drag you by the ankle…

The gentle click of the front door opening, and it took all you had not to whimper in panic.

Scrambling for the door as quietly as possible, you pressed your palm to your mouth, begging yourself not to cry as you pressed yourself behind the wood.

From what you could hear over the thunder of your heart, the steps of the fae were quiet despite it’s size.

“Anything in there?” a deep voice boomed from the street. You jolted at the volume. More than one, then.

There was no reply from the creature in the home, only the creak of the wood as it made it’s way through.

“Really, Azriel? Are we to check every home?” Female this time, impatience and ignorance laced in the somehow ancient voice.

No response again, instead a footstep, right by the door.

Something tickled your ankles then, and it was beyond you to stifle your compulsive scream.

Black furling wisps coated your boots.

And then the door opened.

The creature made it one step inside before you had aimed your knife for it’s heart.

A prepared, cool hand caught your wrist inches from it’s chest. Your bones crushing in it’s grasp, and you let out a yelp of pain.

It’s face - his face - was one of shock. “S-sorry,” he stuttered, dropping his grip all together.

You blinked back in shock, ignoring at the throb of your wrist as you snatched it back.

For a dumb moment, you stared at each other with equally wide eyes. The male didn't seem to know what to do.

“You’re human? How are you here, where-?"

The males sentence was clipped short as you drove the knife towards his chest again.

Quick as an asp, he caught you by the forearm this time, more gently too.

Hazel eyes scanned you, his features schooling as he called over his shoulder. “I’ve found someone.”

You were sure you looked mad, grunting with the effort to pull your arm from him, breaths ragged, eyes and hair wild. The male studied you as he might a rabid animal.

Behind him appeared an even taller male, his form more terrifying than the one that gripped you.

“Mother above,” the new one whispered, scanning you in the way the first one had.

“L-let go of me,” you rasped, pulling your arm back, tears stinging at the pain of you surely broken wrist began to swell.

It was a odd detail to note, the scars and ripples of the fae’s hand as he gently unfurled your fingers, prying the hunting knife from you before releasing his grip.

“Let me see,” the female’s voice piped from behind, the males struggling to fold their wings further, cramming into the room to let her through.

You faltered back on instinct, legs hitting the edge of the bed.

As the female broke through the males, harsh silver eyes scanned you up and down. She was half their height, a little shorter than you actually, but the depth of her gaze kept your hands by your side.

“Seems the Mother has spared one after all,” she muttered, nose crumpling at your scent.

Your answered with a scowl.

“What is your name?” it demanded.

“Amren,” the taller male warned, his eyes flicking back to you with softness.

You refused to answer. Couldn’t if you wanted to.

Amren sighed, casting her head sideways to the one with rippled hands. “She bleeds.”

“I know,” he answered, hazel eyes not breaking from you. You blushed, furious and humiliated.

He stepped around her then, the movement graceful and soft despite his size.

“You need aide.”

You gulped, unable to process his words. “L-leave me be,” you demanded, voice hoarse as you tried to create more distance between you and it.

He crouched in front of you then, leathers stretching against ripples of muscle. You noticed them then, jewels, saphires, humming from his body as if they were alive.

He followed your eyes curiously, before answering you with a soft smile.

“These are siphons,” he said plainly, giving one a friendly tap.

You snapped your eyes back to him, disgust forming your features. “You are here on behalf of Hybern?”

The female snorted from behind, earning a shove from the larger male beside her, his siphons glowing red.

The one in front of you studied you. “No, absolutely not.”

You scowled, not inclined to believe them.

“We come one behalf of our High Lord Rhysand, and High Lady Feyre. Rulers of the Night Court. Do you know of them?”

Feyre - the human women who had freed the fae from the grasp of their enemy. You knew the story, the heroic tale of a human women who gave her life for the male she loved. Had heard of her triumphs Under the Mountain, that she had been made into fae herself in exchange for her sacrifice.

“The-the curse breaker?”

A small smile cocked on both of the males faces.

“That’s right,” the one crouched in front answered. “She sent us to retrieve you.”

A panic surged within you. “Me?” you spat. Oh the ignorance of the fae, as if you were some pawn to pluck and place elsewhere.

Azriel frowned, eyes dancing as he realised the mistake in his words. “To help you, of course. There has been-"

"No-n-no. My family, they will seek for me-"

Azriel's brow pulled with softness, his tone falling flat. "We will search for them. Meanwhile, you must see a-"

“Where are the others?” Your voice was louder now, eyes dancing in panic, chest rising with fastening breaths. Had they taken them too? “The people, they've left, I don't know-"

“We are searching for others. You are… the first we have found.”

Your mind reeled. How could that be? You had searched by foot - but with those wings, and the strength and power of fae…

“WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE OTHER HUMANS?” the volume of your voice shocked even yourself, that strength, that demand from deep within your chest.

Azriel gave you a pained look, before standing to turn to his counterparts. “Amren, can you heal-?”

“I’m spent,” she cut off the male with a flick of her fingers. “Those canines out back were hardly enough to keep me going until sundown, so forget about healing. Unless you suggest I drink her blood, though I doubt she’d survive.”

Mother above.

You were too hazed to see the glare both of the males cut her.

“Then she will need to see a healer before we can continue.”

“She might refuse,” the larger one countered.

“If she’s smart, she won’t. She won't survive out here on her own,” Amren muttered, cleaning her nails as she leaned one on leg, checking her cat-like claws for flecks of blood.

They continued their mutter without once turning to you.

“There is no option here. I’ll take her to Velaris, and return once she’s safe.”

A shaking, blubbering anger grew within you, the creatures in front of you as ignorant and obnoxious as you had always been told fae are – to discuss your own fate as if you weren't in the room.

A killer instinct flared in you then, and you remembered the second knife you bore, hidden within your corsette. A pocket knife, a tool from your father to help pit and peel the fruit from his farm.

The oak handle was cool in your left hand, the right throbbing and limp. With the last remains of energy, you pushed up from the bed, swinging with all your strength - aiming for the blue-siphoned back.

In a graceful turn, the male caught your arm for the third time. You had to blink at the speed with which he stopped you.

Bracing for cruel, unforgiving anger, you were instead met with sympathetic eyes.

Loathing coiled within you.

“Release me,” you spat.

“I’m sorry to do this,” was all he said, and then pads of those rippled fingers were grasping your jaw, pressing to the pressure points of your neck with precision.

Grunting to fight his grasp, you didn’t struggle long before a ringing in your ear grew to defeating silence and the world tipped to black.

Part 2 >>> AN: HELLLOOO! And welcome to ATTWN - massive shout out to @kindasleepywriter for finding the perfect name for this series! I so so hoped you liked part 1. I edited it like a million times, still not 100% happy with it, but I think I just needed to get it out. Fair warning - this fic won't be light hearted, our reader is going to go through some really heavy stuff. I'll of course put my warnings ahead of each part, but please know I plan to explore some darker themes surrounding mental health etc. If you'd like to join the tag list for this fic, let me know in the comments! Always love hearing your feedback, and thank you so much for reading! <3 Nic

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spdrvyn · 3 months

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miguel and his sunshine human gf that loves to annoy the shit out of him and sometimes in order to stop her/calm her down he has to put her in an air jail 🤭

ardor and annoyance

miguel and reader who's a bundle of energy and joy. having to tame your late night rituals is no easy task, but it's one that he's always willing to take. what's more important than having your dear lover in bed with you?

pure fluff. reader can be seen as either civilian/spider. is it really one of my fics if i don't write about how much miguel hates himself even by just a little bit

dividers by @cafekitsune

What Miguel learned from being a leader, setting an example, being his mother's son, and serving as a hero was patience.

It was a value that he had slipped up on from time to time, more often with himself. If he ever found himself at wit's end with someone else, he would mope until it passed or wait to get some precious alone time and healthily expresses his emotions by making a mess of his quarters and breaking down until he'd get tired and just sleep it off, restarting this precious cycle.

Eventually though, he had begun to no longer exhaust himself by getting angry. Unless the entire multiverse was at stake (ahem), then he'd have to spring into action. But his main priority now is to fix the problem, get it over with, rinse, and repeat.

When you entered his life, he realized that there was more to his ridiculous routines, more than his self-destructive attitudes, and that true patience came with love and caring as well. Obviously, he's light years away from being content with himself, but you redirect him, navigating through when that dastardly cycle repeats, so that you can wash it away and make him anew.

Miguel isn't the only one that has his layers peeled back though, there's so much that he notices about you. That composed and mature persona that you set up for yourself, that has built good albeit only professional connections with the other spiders eases its way into a bubbly and joyful demeanor whenever you're around him.

It almost didn't make sense, Miguel just seemed like the kind of guy to not want to do that with, to not want to relax around. He couldn't even relax on his own, the thought that anyone could feel comfortable in their own skin around him was shoved into the back of his mind. That connection that he so painfully needs is put aside for prioritizing the safety of everyone everywhere else.

Your true nature is infectious, to his dismay. It's too difficult to avoid the care that you're so insistant on giving him, it started with working overtime, to enjoying working overtime, to going over to Miguel's place for work purposes, to going over to Miguel's place for non-work purposes to kissing him for the first time, and now you're dating.

The catch with Miguel having let loose around him was that all that conserved energy circulated around his apartment, whenever he got home from another long day at the Society, he'd climb into you doing five different things all at once. Reading, watching a show, watching a baking show, baking a cake, and texting.

It was hectic, nothing that he couldn't handle, but how you're not on the verge of collapsing probably deep into the trenches of the night concerned him. For slightly more selfish reasons, Miguel doesn't like not having you in bed with him. This wasn't as extreme as the missions he took up at work, but it was a mission nonetheless.

You're... Busy, Miguel doesn't know what with. He sees yarn, he sees cookie dough, he sees a laptop, tablet, phone, and headphones, and so many other trinkets that are buried under the pile that you've built on the kitchen counter. Your focus shifts between each individual station, and Miguel shifts closer and closer to you quietly.

You're occupied on the laptop, occasionally looking at the stove while you're doing so. Then returning to your yarn and now knitting needles? Before mixing the cookie dough even more and even liking the mixture off of the spoon, humming to yourself contently.

You don't even notice that Miguel is right behind you, until he secures you against his front and lifts you up with a squeal.

"Miguel!" You whine, squirming against his solid arms. Your feet swing in the air and you try to push his hands away from your midsection, but there's no use in trying to free yourself when it's with him anyway.

"Go to sleep. No más tonterías, cariño." His voice is fogged by sleep, as his grasp on you tightens. You turn slightly with what little space that you have and you can see his slumber muddled stature. Tousled hair, relaxed expression, eyes half-lidded, and he raises a brow at your staring. "What?"

"Nothing," you sigh, "I'll go to sleep, you just have to let me go."

Miguel shakes his head, rocking your swinging body from side to sidet to go along with it as well. "No, I don't trust you." There's a humorous fry to it, you accentuate the pout on your lips, and he laughs.

It takes a little while for you to convince him to put you down, you can't say this is the most uncomfortable position for you. Whenever you're around Miguel, you always wind up in his arms one way or another, but this time that principle is just being used against you. The conversation shifts, less about your captivity, more about Miguel's day, your day, anything new outside, anything new in Spider Society. The position you're in, the silky nature in his voice, it gets you groggy and Miguel can sense it.

He wins.

He handles you to the bed properly now, laying your once tireless form onto the comforter as he tucks you in. You don't even try objecting anymore, the stove is still on, the video on your laptop was probably still playing, and that knitting project will have to remain unfinished until tomorrow, but it was fine. You know that everything is fine when Miguel gets into bed with you, pressing his lips to the top of your head in one long kiss.

He wins this little dispute of yours, but you know that you've won at life knowing that your nights end like this, engulfed in his embrace, the sound of his breathing bringing you to a deep sleep as well.

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lieslab · 14 days

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Youtiful

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: You're feeling insecure about different things and your boyfriend is right there to make you feel better.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 4.2K

A/N: Requestee, I hope I did you right by this one. I think some of these make more sense than others, but I tried my best. For the rest of you that are reading my ongoing Felix siren AU, that's getting updated soon, and then the final request in my inbox will be posted and then we'll be up to date. So if you have a request, drop it in the inbox.

_ _ _

Chan:

When Chan came home from work, he expected you to greet him like you always did. He expected your smile and your sweet voice. He expected the twinkle in your eyes and the excitement that flowed through you as you practically skipped into his arms.

What he wasn’t expecting was your voice without the accent. He stared at you in shock as you greeted him. With his lips turning down into a frown, a similar frown found your face.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes scanned him. “Did something happen at work?” You couldn’t tell what was wrong and it was worrying you.

“Your voice,” he started.

“What about it?”

“Why are you talking like that? What happened to your accent?”

“My accent? Oh, right.” You stepped back and your fingers began to knot together. “Well, I’m trying to break it and stop doing it. I know the fans don’t like it, so I-”

“Don’t do that.”

“Huh?”

“Change yourself for the fans, don’t do that.”

“But I-”

“I don’t care what the fans think. You’re mine and I think your accent is cute. Don’t let them get to you, sweetheart. You have the cutest voice that I’ve ever heard.”

“But sometimes you don’t like it either,” you objected. “Remember how I say certain things and you laugh at me?”

“Aw, I’m not laughing at you in a bad way.” A grin lit up his face and he stepped closer. He gently cupped your cheeks. “I laugh because sometimes you pronounce things in a different way and I think it’s cute. You give me cuteness aggression sometimes.”

He gently cupped your cheeks and continued. “It makes me feel so happy. You get a little upset because I keep laughing and it’s adorable! I could listen to your accent all day. Plus, I have an accent too, remember?”

“Oh, right. I do love your accent and I would be upset if you tried to get rid of it.”

“Exactly! So go back to your accent and let me love you how you are. Look at you!” He cooed and gently squished your cheeks. “What a cutie pie!”

“Ew! Don’t call me that again!” The sound of your natural accent poked through and caused him to giggle. He squished your cheeks harder and his grin widened. Your cheeks went bright red as you tried to escape.

You could try all you wanted, but he wasn’t going to let go until he proved his point.

_ _ _

Minho:

“And then he hit me! Can you believe that?” His hands went up into the air and he sighed. “Kim Seungmin, that little shithead, hit me! I nearly threw him across the room.”

You hummed softly and continued to weave the yarn around your sticks. You had been crocheting for the past twenty minutes when Minho showed up and began to ramble. You didn’t mind it, but you hadn’t spoken once. You kept listening and nodding or occasionally humming.

When Minho finally realized it, he stared at you with a raised eyebrow. “Are you okay over there?” You nodded without a response. “Are you mad at me?”

You shook your head and continued. Your concentration didn’t leave the navy blue strand of yarn. You wrapped it around the hooks and continued making your scarf in peace.

Minho sighed, walked over to the couch beside you, and dropped down. He placed his head on your thigh and glanced up at you. Feeling the warmth, you looked over and your eyes met his.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?”

“Because I talk a lot and I figured you should do most of the talking this time.”

“Talk a lot?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that I talk a lot. I ramble a lot and it’s probably annoying for you. I’m listening, just so you’re aware. I can’t believe he hit you, that’s practically elder abuse.”

A quip of a smile began to appear on Minho’s face until you went back to crocheting without another word. He didn’t like that you thought you talked too much. He liked your rambles and loved listening to you.

“I don’t like it when you sit here quietly without speaking. It makes me feel like I’m talking to a statue. If I wanted to date a statue, I’d just go snog one at the art museum.”

You didn’t respond. You were briefly distracted by fixing the yarn that had tangled around the metal hooks. Your eyebrows furrowed while your fingers worked to unloop the near knot that was forming.

When you didn’t respond, Minho sat up. He leaned over to your ball of yarn on the ground and glanced at you. Your gaze was still set on the hooks. Without a word, he leaned down and gently grabbed the neatly wrapped ball.

You didn’t have time to react. With a manic giggle, he took off grabbing the ball of yarn. He instantly began to unravel it while he ran. Your jaw dropped in shock.

“Minho! Give it back!” You cried out as you stood up.

“Talk to me!”

“You jerk!”

You watched as he laughed and zig-zaged through the apartment unraveling it all. You weren’t mad, you were just shocked. It caught you so off guard, you weren’t sure how to react.

“I said talk to me! Speak! Do you want me to offer you a treat?”

You yelled as you chased him throughout the apartment. Curse words flew out of your mouth and he kept jumping onto furniture and leaping off of it.

By the time he collapsed, you were right beside him. Both of you were panting heavily and sheer sweat soaked your foreheads. After a few seconds, Minho finally spoke. “Have I ever said I love your voice?”

“You could have-” You sucked in a deep breath. “You could have just said that.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Good luck mustering up the strength after that workout.”

“Asshole.”

“Glad to hear your voice again, babe.”

_ _ _

Changbin:

Trigger warning: mentions of food, weight loss, calories, skipping a meal, and bingeing.

“Why aren’t you having a bowl of the delicious soup you made?” Changbin asked.

You were strung over the side of the couch and hanging upside down. Your hair hung down towards the floor and your arms dangled freely.

“Because.”

“Because is not a good enough answer.”

“Well you see,” you started, “I’m trying to lose weight.”

“Oh?”

“And before you throw a hissy fit, it’s one meal I’m missing. Don’t you dare make a big deal out of it. I know how many calories I’m supposed to have and all. I already talked to my doctor and I-”

“So…you’re skipping out on a meal for lower calories?”

“I want to make a specific dish for dinner, but it has a higher calorie count. I figure that if I skip this meal, I can eat more for dinner and then I-”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but are you sure that it won’t lead to a binge?”

“What happened to believing in me?”

“What happened to attainable goals?”

“This is attainable! Why can’t you believe in me for once?”

He walked over and plopped down beside you. “I always believe in you. Why do you need to lose weight anyway?”

“Because I don’t feel good about my body and I want to do better.”

“Promise you’re not going to go to super extreme lengths?”

“Yeah, but honestly-” Using your core muscles, you jerked yourself back upright. Your eyes found his. “I’m shocked that you’re not lecturing me.”

“Please believe that I would like to, but I’ve also cut meals for weight loss on some days. I trust that you’ll be careful with this and do it in a way that won’t damage your body. Just remember that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I know I don’t have to, but sometimes change is good, isn’t it?”

“I think it depends on the type of change and how it’s created.”

Your eyes wandered over to the soup. You spent a good chunk of time chopping up vegetables and beef for the vegetable soup. It was a little cooler outside and your stomach rumbled. You finally pulled your eyes away, trying to distract yourself.

“You know that you can have a small bowl, right? You can have a small bowl now and you can join my workout later. There’s a treadmill at the gym. I know you’re not a fan of lifting weights. You can look pretty and watch Binnie get big and strong.”

“That is so tempting.”

Changbin picked up his bowl, grabbed a spoonful of the soup, and began to loudly slurp it. Your glare instantly sent him into laughter. You huffed and got up.

“Where are you going?” He called after you.

“To get a small bowl of my soup. If you lied about the treadmills, I’m going to drop a weight on your foot.”

“You don’t even have the strength to pick up the amount I lift.”

“If there’s a will, there’s a way.”

_ _ _

Hyunjin:

For the third day in a row, you weren’t home when Hyunjin was home. He frowned and kicked off his shoes. He deposited his bag in your shared room and waited for you to get home.

Hours later, it was pitch black outside. You fumbled with the lock and your keys. Hyunjin was on the couch, scrolling through Instagram, when the jingling caught his attention. He was up within seconds and rushing towards the door.

When you finally got the door open, Hyunjin smiled softly at you. “Hi, baby.”

You stumbled forward and practically collapsed in his arms. Panicked, he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you standing. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m so tired.”

“I can’t believe your boss is making you stay over so late an-”

“I’m choosing to stay over later.”

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “What? Why? Baby, you’re barely getting enough sleep and you ar-”

“The extra money is good.”

“You are literally unraveling at the seams. You already have plenty of money.” He gently brushed your hair behind your ear. “You don’t need to earn more money.”

“I need more. People are speculating that I use you for your money. I have to show them that I-”

“Woah, woah, woah. First of all, that’s nobody’s business. Second of all, you don’t do that. You already make enough and you’re going to kill yourself if you keep this up. Your body isn’t meant to only sleep for four to five hours a night.”

“I need the money.” Your eyes slipped shut and you kept babbling half-awake. Hyunjin pulled you inside and shut the door behind you. “Just a little more,” you mumbled.

“Baby, you know I love you, right? I’m not going to let you keep pressing yourself like this. Thank goodness it’s Friday because you need some sleep.”

“I’m supposed to go back tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” He gently scooped your legs from beneath you and carried you bridal style. Your head fell onto his chest and you let out a sigh.

“That’s it, there you go. Don’t worry about work right now, just focus on my voice. I’m going to get you ready for bed and then we’re going to cuddle and go to sleep, okay?”

You let out a soft hum in agreement. In the bedroom, he slowly pulled you out of your work clothes and slipped your exhausted body into pajamas. You didn’t fight back against it as your head fell towards your chest.

When he was finished, he crawled into the bed beside you and tugged you closer. He pressed his lips to your temple, leaned over, and switched off the light. “Sleep tight, I love you.”

The only response he got was your soft snores. He chuckled and tugged you closer. As long as you were okay, he was happy.

_ _ _

Han:

“Okay, so I’ve got the newest anime and all of our favorite snacks. We’re going to order from your favorite restaurant later and have takeout for dinner.”

You were calm, cool, and collected as you laid out the plan. Han blinked in shock and glanced down at all the snacks you had brought. He wasn’t expecting this, you just showed up and announced you had a surprise in tow.

“Where are the gummies?” He asked.

Your face fell a little as you internally panicked. “Gummies? What gummies? Did I forget to pick up some? I didn’t know you liked those I-”

“The ones that you like? You said you got our favorite snacks. You always eat them first. They’re like the patties from SpongeBob, you love them!”

“Oh, those.”

“Couldn’t find them?”

“I didn’t want them.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, “just didn’t feel like it.”

“Oh?” He sat down on the couch beside you and watched as you put the movie on. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me. I feel like I’ve been spoiled.”

“I wanted to watch the new anime too because,” your voice raised in pitch, “it looked good.”

Your voice only changed like that when you lied. Han’s eyes narrowed at you and he glanced down at the snacks again. Something was off about your behavior, but he couldn’t place it.

“What?”

“Why are yo-”

“Oh!” You forced yourself to smile. “The show is already starting!” You shoved a pack of his favorite chips into his hand and turned your attention to the screen.

Half-way through the movie, Han noticed you weren’t paying attention. Your eyes were on the wall and you looked a little lost. Actually, you looked pretty sad.

After realizing it, Han grabbed the remote and paused the movie. The sudden silence grabbed your attention and you glanced over. Noticing the pause symbol in the corner of the screen, you looked at Han.

He was staring back at you with a look of confusion. Nerves began to bubble up in your gut, but you held it back. “Is something wrong?”

“I think something is wrong with you.”

“Why?”

“You’re acting off.”

“No, I’m not.”

He snapped his fingers together and glanced back down at the snacks. “That’s it! Where are all your favorite snacks? No wonder it looked so strange. The stuff you usually snack on isn’t here.”

“So?”

“You don’t even like anime movies!”

“That is no-” Your voice cracked and your eyes widened in shock. You cleared your throat and continued. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Why are you acting so differently? I don’t like it. Did something happen?”

When your bottom lip quivered, he crawled closer. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You’ve been distant,” you muttered weakly. “I thought you got tired of me. Maybe if I liked more of the things you liked, maybe you’d like me more and pay more attention.”

He felt like pure shit. He tugged you into his arms and rubbed your back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize it. The band is having a comeback and I’ve been stressed. I’m really sorry, I had no idea.”

“I love you for you and I don’t want you to change who you are. I love you and I love that we have our differences. It makes for good conversations and sometimes I like arguing and bickering with you about our dislikes.”

“These are gross,” you mumbled as you held up the pack of candy that you had been forcing yourself to eat.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yeah-huh!”

Han pounced on you and began to tickle the sides of your torso. You screeched and the bag went flying backwards. Candy littered the carpet, but neither of you cared. As you laughed and squirmed, a grin grew on his face.

He liked you for you and nobody was going to take that away from him.

_ _ _

Felix:

“Goodnight,” you mumbled as you climbed into bed beside Felix.

“Goodnight, honey.” His eyes were glued down to his Nintendo Switch. He was saving his game when a flash of white caught his eyes.

He glanced over with a raised eyebrow. You shifted further beneath the blankets to get comfortable. A white sock hat had slipped over your head. Confusion began to fill him as he watched you.

You let out a sigh and shut your eyes. Felix put away his device and slipped beneath the covers towards you. “Honey, why are you wearing a hat to bed?”

“My forehead is too big.”

“What?”

“My hairline is receding and you can’t see it now. You don’t have to look at my five-head this way. I’m saving your precious eyes from damage.”

“There is nothing wrong with yo-”

“Oh, you can say that now, but you haven’t seen what the last hairstyle I did looked like. More hair fell out and I’m fucked. I should get this hat super glued to my head.”

“That’s an awful idea, honey.”

“I’d be doing you a favor.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Yes, it can. I look like an old fuck! I’m still so young and yet it keeps falling out. I look like Megamind.”

“Well…Megamind is cute to some people.”

The scrunched up look on your face made him roll over and bury his face into the bed to stop from laughing. You playfully whacked his shoulder and spun around. Jerking the blanket around you tighter, you pulled away.

“Wait!” He cried out and pulled himself up. “Where are you going? No, no, no! Don’t do that! Don’t leave me! Baby, please, I’m sorry!” He rolled closer and wrapped his arms around your back.

“You’re being mean,” you mumbled.

“I know and I’m sorry. I wasn’t lying though. I’d love you even if you were bald. Do you know why it’s happening?”

“I don’t know, but I feel like a failure. Maybe it’s the dying and bleaching of my hair or maybe it’s genetics. Maybe I really am getting old.”

“No, you’re not getting old. I mean you are, but you’re making it sound like you’re ancient.”

��I feel like it.”

“How about this? Tomorrow I’ll talk to the stylist that does my hair. I’ll ask her if she can recommend something. If that doesn’t work, maybe we can try something else. Try not to worry too much. You’re still beautiful, I promise.”

“Seungmin would laugh at me and compare me to Chan.”

“But you’re not dating Seungmin, you’re dating me and I love you just the way you are.” He reached back, flipped off the light, slipped his hand down, and gently pulled off your hat.

“I can’t see you in the dark, but I know that can’t be too comfortable. Plus, it might pull on your hair and make it worse. Focus on my cuddles instead.”

“You’re like a koala.”

He laughed and curled his body tighter around yours. “Yeah, but you love me and my koala cuddles.”

“Always.”

_ _ _

Seungmin:

He didn’t mean to catch you in the bathroom, but he did. You smiled and then frowned. Your mouth contoured in another way and then you frowned again. Over and over it went and it happened.

“Hey you, what are you doing?” He stepped further into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around your waist. His chin rested on top of your head.

“Do I smile funny to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“A trio of girls asked me for a photo earlier since I’m your significant other. As they were walking away, one of them said that I smiled funny.”

“You look funny too.”

Hurt flashed in your eyes and Seungmin’s grip around you constricted. “Baby, I’m kidding. You know I love how you look and I love your smile.”

“My teeth could be straighter.”

“Don’t do that. Who cares? Plenty of people have crooked teeth. They make you unique and-”

“That didn’t make me feel any better.”

“I could always shove my tongue in your mouth via french kissing.”

“Seungmin!”

“If I’ve learned to like my smile, you have to learn to like yours. We have cute smiles and the next time I hear you say something bad, you can choke on my tongue.”

“When you put it like that, that’s disgusting.”

“And so is self-hatred. We’re hot and sexy and people wish they were us.” He stood up straighter, kept his arm around the front of your waist, and pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

He pulled up his camera and pointed it at the mirror. “Smile big for me, baby. I’m gonna send this to the group chat and remind the guys what they’re missing out on.”

_ _ _

I.N:

An eagle screech and a loud crash came from the kitchen. It jerked I.N out of the livestream that he was in. He quickly apologized to the fans, insisted he’d be back soon, and ended the live. Rushing into the kitchen, he called your name worriedly.

He stopped once he got in the kitchen. You were in tears and standing on top of the counter top. Your bare arms and legs were speckled bright red. He was worried he was bleeding until he realized that the scent of tomatoes hung in the air.

Glancing down, a jar of pasta sauce sat shattered all over the floor. It was everywhere too. It was on the floor and slathered the hardwood. It dotted the fridge and a large puddle mapped out in every direction.

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t reach the stupid sauce! I hate being short! I hate it!”

“Oh, you poor thing.” He walked around the mess and came over to you.

Since you reached adulthood, you’ve always been short for your age. Due to genetics, you barely made it past five feet. Everything was a struggle when you were short.

I.N naturally put things on the shelf and you couldn’t reach them. The two of you had a taller fridge and you could reach the bottom freezer just fine. The upper shelf that the milk and bottled drinks went on was another story.

When you went out with I.N on a busy day, you always had to cling tight to his hand. You were always afraid you’d get lost in the crowds. You hated being so short. In your eyes, there was nothing good about it.

“Are you injured?”

“My height has been injured since birth.”

“I’m being serious. Were you cut by the glass? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“I should sue my parents for emotional distress.”

“Come here, baby.” He carefully lifted you up and off the counter.

“You’re going to get sauce on you.”

“I don’t care. Let me get sauced up, I can always shower. Let’s go get you cleaned up and out of these tomato covered clothes.”

You felt like crying again. You were having one of those days where it felt like everything had been going wrong. Too many things had built up and this was your breaking point. Frustration and annoyance had built up and now you were left defeated.

“There’s nothing good about being short,” you mumbled.

“I don’t think that’s true. Just because you’re short, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. Changbin is short too, remember? A lot of the band is short and-”

“They’re all taller than me.”

“But for our group, we’re pretty short. You don’t think we get intimidated when we see our taller seniors? How about award ceremonies? Imagine talking to a reporter that’s multiple inches taller. I feel short sometimes too, but you know what?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to let your height define you. Sure, you might be short, but I bet tall people wish they were your size sometimes. When you’re super tall, you get noticed a lot.”

“But I could be average height.”

“And I’m glad you’re not. It makes it easier to find you in crowds. I’m always looking down and I’m forced to remember what your shoes look like. I get to notice things, like your clothes, that I might not pay too much attention to if you were taller.”

“Plus, you’re good at hide and seek. In cars, airplanes, and trains, you have more room to spread out because you’re shorter. It’s better than being taller and feeling like you have little room.”

“I guess I didn’t think of that.”

“Plus, you have a shorter range of motion. If you ever get violent with someone, you don’t have to hit very far. Taller people tend to have longer limbs.”

“I see your points.”

“I already know that you shop in the kids section for your jeans. Technically, you get to save money because that stuff is cheaper.”

“Oh, yeah!” You smiled. “How does it feel to pay full price for jeans?”

“It makes me feel broke afterwards.”

“You have so much money!”

“So? Doesn’t mean I like paying so much on a good pair of jeans! If you can complain about being short, I can complain about the price of jeans. They’re outrageous!”

He continued rambling on and on while leading you to the bathroom. By the time he got there, he was angry and out of breath. He put you down and huffed.

“Innie?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

He blinked and a smile began to fill his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, I love you too or whatever.”

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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mrvelocipede · 4 months

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I wish it would be less grey.

Yeah, January was pretty relentlessly gloomy, wasn't it?

And cold. I will put on my warm socks. …I wish I had some rainbow socks.

Hmm. We've looked at rainbow sock yarn, and it seems like it's never quite right.

Sometimes it's too scratchy. Also, rainbows should have pink! Even though real rainbows don't really have pink. But rainbow socks should.

What about this one?

No, the colors are too dark. It should be more pastel. But not TOO pastel.

You know, a number of years ago, I thought about a possible way of dyeing yarn into a gradient, and even built part of the necessary apparatus, but I've never managed to try it yet.

…

Ehh, what the hell, it looks like I have an afternoon free, if only some new crisis doesn't interrupt. And I still have some supplies left over from that time we tried yarn-dyeing the one summer. Sure, why not?

My gradient-dyeing method works! It's incredibly slow and fiddly, and certainly wouldn't scale up. But for an occasional one-off, it's pretty cool. I may be planning to go out at some point and get a larger diameter sonotube.

#knitting #socks #color #rainbows #this is the only thing in the past month that has worked the way it was supposed to #so I am perhaps unreasonably pleased about it #conversations with Daughter

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shalotttower · 5 months

Text

Fractalize (part 2)

Title: Fractalize Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: "You do this sometimes," he continues, tugging a bit harder. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago." Word count: 2100+ Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female) Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating, morbid pondering, morbid imagery, psychological manipulation, intrusive thoughts, non-con touching, non-con kiss. I start thinking that sad is probably my favourite genre to write at this point. Part 1 Part 3 is in question. I have some drafts, but not sure if it'll become anything.

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Your mother always smelled of fresh linen and something powdery, like her face cream which you tried once in secret. The fragrance held you mesmerized, and when the jar accidentally dropped from your hand, shattering into pieces, it lingered everywhere: on the bathroom tiles, in the cracks and narrow space under the sink. Her silent disappointment was so overpowering that you cleaned the mess three times.

That scent clung to her knitting needles too when she sat with yarn on her lap. It made way into your mind place, waiting for the most inappropriate of moments to resurface: she would show you how to knit, loop after loop, and eventually you were able to create your own tiny scarf.

Hideous, that's what it was.

But also the first thing you ever knitted, so you cherished it, not caring for the holes and loose threads. She called it pretty, mothers do lie like that.

"I was thinking," Chrollo begins. Clean plates are stacked next to a dish rack, ready to be dried. You help him sometimes with this mundane chore out of boredom or a faint allusion to the life you had.

"Mm."

When you stand so close, his shoulder occasionally touches yours, and a lump forms in your throat, a very unimportant physical aspect of your being that you've stopped paying attention to long ago. You swallow it away, like every single morning before putting on the same shirt for the eighth day in a row.

Dry and repeat.

"Is there anything specific you'd like to do today?"

You pick up another plate. How odd. A few months ago this question would've made you ecstatic. Not that there was a real chance to sway Chrollo's plans, but it was a gesture, the pretence that your input mattered, and you took everything from it, until it started tasting stale. A shy kind of feeling, misplaced and fragile, would bloom in your chest, and prompt you say something soft, silly and naive: 'maybe we can have a picnic?', 'I'd like a carrot cake', 'yes, I want to watch that period drama for the hundredth time.'

And he would agree sometimes. Or suggest his alternative instead, which turned out more often than not to be less favorable, but you accepted it because what else was there? In-between the walls decorated with expensive paintings, books you already read three times, between Chrollo who listened intently to every word and a faint buzz of some high-end place, you chose to take whatever you could.

It doesn't bother you anymore, going or not going. Doing nothing or doing something. Being with him in a room or being alone, even though the last one is more compelling. The initial excitement that came with having small choices has passed. You think sometimes that if you took a knitting needle and sunk it deep into your chest, the surface around it would start crumbling and bare a hollow cavity with just ribs and dusty spaces.

Chrollo's suggestions are very thought out. Aimed to convince you that this arrangement isn't that bad after all, but also aimed to bring him something from it, be it sitting uncomfortably close to you on a sofa or holding your hand the entire walk. His presence is stifling in more ways than one, and you've been choking, choking, choking on it for so long, that finally all those cracks running across your insides started to feel liberating.

"No," you say. "Not really. Anything you want is fine."

Chrollo's been asking this more often lately. What you want to eat and what you want to do. Even whether you want to go out sometimes (with him, of course, never alone). Perhaps he's trying to figure any new preference you might have. Or a part of him can sense this deterioration that's slow to set in, but once it does - it stays.

"Dear," there's a tone in his voice. It's not worry per se. Chrollo doesn't worry for you, he worries for that little world of his, made of forced interactions, silk bed sheets and fake domesticity, which you're a part of, an intricate cog he can keep closely tucked to his side. Sheltered, protected, cared for - these words don't fit. So you use other instead, like imprisoned, kept, thing. He likes to have them, from trinkets he steals to human beings - you. Maybe it comes from years of owning nothing at all, having nothing at all, and now the allure of having much and more is like second skin.

You've heard stories about children abandoned to their own devices. Those who were left to roam the streets, scavenge through trash and fight other kids for a half-eaten sandwich or a can of beans. You wonder if he was like that, with messy hair, bony limbs and a desperate need to own something that no one could take.

Bit by bit you slip.

That tone means he's sensing it already, that bit by bit you're trying to leave him behind.

Chrollo always catches up with things easily. From the way he grips your arms, you wonder if that's what he did just now, caught up.

"Yes?"

The dishes are all done, clean and sparkling. The sink shines too, almost mocking you with its perfectness - there's nothing to do anymore. Your mind space of fake wooden floors and wide windows is waiting to be occupied, but it would feel wrong to retreat there so soon. Chrollo will ask questions, and if you're not able to keep up, he'll notice too. He slides both palms down your skin, squeezing a tad harder at the elbows; and so you stare into the sink.

His hands aren't soft at all. They're a little dry from soap, callused around fingertips. How effortless it would be for him to break your bones, one by one, starting from the wrist, but that won't happen; no, all that comes from him is words whispered in your ear, caresses and cruelty wrapped in kindness - it sounds poetic when phrased this way.

Your reflection stares back from the stainless metal. She doesn't look bad. Chrollo takes good care of her, makes sure she eats balanced meals and drinks enough water. She looks alright, with shiny hair and healthy nails.

The eyes is what doesn't match this picture of okay-ness. Not empty. Not vacant. Just frozen in time and very, very still.

Chrollo presses closer until his chest is touching her shoulder blades. You wonder if he considers it a victory, this silent compliance. It's not acceptance really, because that should be accompanied by a sense of peace or fulfillment and none of the two are currently present. It's not even resignation - that requires energy to acknowledge defeat.

If neither of those, what is it then?

"You've been awfully quiet today."

A drop of water falls from the tap and slides down the drain.

"The whole week in fact," his thumb strokes her stomach through the fabric. Slow circles, up and down. Chrollo enjoys physical closeness so much that it should be surprising for someone like him - reserved, calm and collected - to thrive on such things, but you suppose when it comes to her there's an exception.

"Not that I mind it, but if something's bothering you, you know that I'm always ready to listen."

There is something bothering you actually. Many things. You want your cat back. You want him gone, away, to see your mother again and bake with her. Eat fresh pastries while listening to old songs on the radio and talk about silly things or whatever she liked to ponder over before you were swept off your feet like in those old fairy tales. You want your phone and accounts unlocked so you could message friends. You miss your grandmother with her apron, the way she laughed at corny jokes and told stories about her youth. You want many things that Chrollo would never agree on - you're well aware of that, that's why you keep them safely tucked away and rotting.

You also want him to stop pressing against your back, and this is far easier to achieve. Slowly you untuck yourself from between his body and the counter, then turn around. He watches your face calmly like always, with this unblinking gaze full of strange fixation; there are small lines in the corners of his eyes, barely noticeable ones. You count them - six in total, three for each eye.

Then you blink.

"I don't think there is anything."

"Really," Chrollo hums, playing with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder if he knows something you're not aware of him knowing. "You've spoken less than ten sentences in two days, yet there's nothing bothering you. I must say I don't believe that."

So this is how it's going to start. This is how the conversation begins, and it'll flow from here until Chrollo finds what he's searching for.

"I've been paying close attention."

You don't doubt it.

"And what did you notice?"

"Nothing pleasant," his finger finds a loose thread and wraps it around. The pull is light, as if testing whether it'll prompt you to move closer into his space. "Quite concerning things actually."

You don't budge an inch.

"You do this sometimes," he continues. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago. Or when you go over the same page until it's clear that I'm looking."

Chrollo's collarbone is a crisp line with a faint old scar; your attention skims over it to the sharp edges of his jaw. No smile today.

"And I wondered where you have been going."

He tugs a bit harder and the thread snaps.

It should've stunned you how fast everything crumbled - the imaginary wooden floors, Miss Whiskerton on your lap and the lizard, the wide windows - but no, it's surprisingly anti-climactic. Nothing breaks dramatically, just splits the middle, leaving you with cold kitchen tiles underneath your bare feet. You thought about this scenario - Chrollo cornering you, many times, and the words you would choose when he did, yet they fail to manifest and nothing fills the silence except a mute sensation of acknowledgement which settles over your head and shoulders. Your knees don't buckle. Your breath doesn't hitch, there is no shivering, and perhaps that's the most terrifying reaction of all.

So what, you think. And it's such a simple thought, plain and ordinary, so what.

Chrollo has his ways, but you have yours; they are slow and small, and squeeze you very tight. You can't comprehend this new expression on his face, haven't seen it before.

"My dear," he says in a quiet voice, so unlike his usual smooth, charming tone. "Broken thoughts and forlorn dreams can't fix what you want them to."

He taps your forehead, as if to engrave those words into the soft tissue of your brain. They slip away though, like running water.

"Wherever you choose to wander, there's not a single spot where I'm not right behind. Delusions don't suit you and it's simply sad to watch."

The kiss comes without warning; Chrollo doesn't bother to say anything else, just cups your face. It's warm and deep, a full-mouthed kiss that tastes faintly of tea you two drank during breakfast.

It's rot, you realize with a ten minute delay; and this slack mouth he's caressing isn't yours. There's a plant behind his shoulder, some small cactus with white needles sitting on a windowsill. The sunlight creates patterns on the glass, soft yellow circles and lines. They shift every passing second.

He's going to do this now, isn't he. Kiss you when you slip too deep as a way to break the pattern and remind that this is where you're supposed to be - with him. In the kitchen wearing a thin shirt above the knee, with cracks that spread across your insides, seeking for every small space they can fill. You'll grow older by his side, he'll bring you material pleasures to compensate for the lack of mental ones - books, clothes, jewelry, a pet if you decide to ask (you won't). Chrollo is going to kiss you often until age creeps onto your faces, and you'll watch each other turn old together.

The plant on the windowsill looks so dry.

"Dear."

He pulls back a few inches. You meet his eyes.

"Mm?"

You will let the rot dig under your nails and wait for it to eat away until his hands eventually become empty; rot is something to grab onto. It's slow to set, but spreads fast once does and never runs out of supply.

#hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter fanfic #yandere #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer x reader #shalott fanfiction

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m00nsbaby · 10 months

Text

Clumsy.

Marc Spector + Steven Grant x F! Reader. (Ft Jake Lockley) Next part to Sleepwalking. (Or "Already over" part 3.)

Final part. Clumsy II.

Tags & warnings. Sensitive themes, mentions of emotional distress, mentions of mental health, angst but not as bad as the other parts lol.

Word count. 3.2k

Summary.

I flew too close to the sun, Fell back to earth like a stone. I got too high on myself, Too young and stupid to tell. I was bound to make a mess of things, Mixin' fireworks and gasoline, Never meant to make you fall with me.

Your definitive breakup with Steven marked a point of no return for all three involved in the situation.

Marc had to force himself to learn to live without crossing a word with Steven, and his solitary life suddenly felt emptier than it had ever been. All of a sudden, it felt as if there was a void in his chest that nothing could fill, not alcohol, not Layla's occasional company, nor missions that put his life at risk.

Marc's biggest fear came true when he realized he had lost his routine completely. His life had taken that 360-degree turn he never wished for.

"Steven?"

"Mhm?" He didn't even raise his gaze from his book to look at him in the mirror's reflection in front of him; he simply turned the page slowly.

"Did you tidy-up?"

"No."

The only thing that broke the silence for a few seconds was Steven's page turn, while the other observed the apartment that seemed slightly tidier.

The topic wasn't discussed further. In fact, nothing else was talked about, and Marc silently observed, as he had for the past month, wondering if he was going crazy, if Steven was lying to him for the sake of it, or if his chronic depression was clouding half of what he did during the day.

That day, he didn't claim the couch; as it started to get dark, he chose to 'disappear' rather than spend another night listening to Steven's sobs as he clung to the scarf you had forgotten in his apartment, the one that no longer smelled like you.

If broken hearts had a scent, it would probably be what was impregnated in the yarn of it, Steven's tears mixed with his own cologne.

And a hint of whiskey, from the nights when Marc would steal the garment while asking himself over and over again, 'What have I done?'

The next day, to the surprise of neither of them, more things seemed to have changed during the night. Steven had woken up wrapped in his bed's covers, not on top of them, wearing his favorite pajamas, and your scarf neatly folded on the nearby piece of furniture.

More organized books took their place on the bookshelf where they belonged before Steven had started piling them up on the floor.

"Steven?"

"No." His head remained on the pillow, his eyes still closed. He was tired of answering Marc's questions, which, in his eyes, never made sense.

Who cared if a book was here or there? He didn't even remember what he had eaten for breakfast the day before, if he even had breakfast at all. With even less reason, he would remember if he got up in the middle of the night to rearrange things in the apartment.

Steven didn't take long to fall asleep again. The only slightly bearable aspect of this situation was that, for the first time in their lives, both Steven and Marc were starting to sleep more, enough hours at night and a few extra in the afternoons. It turns out life becomes more tolerable when you're not aware of what's happening around you.

Even counting the vivid dreams, the constant dissociation that was nothing new for them, and the lost time that could be used for anything other than sleeping.

You were... better, all things considered, as it had been exactly 26 days since your breakup with the person you would forever consider the love of your life.

Of course, you still cried at night… and sometimes in the afternoons, rarely in the mornings when the sudden realization of what had happened struck. But taking care of a pet proved enough to keep you distracted for most of the day. Thanks to your little ball of fur, you managed to get up in the mornings and took constant showers just to go out for walks with him.

The only contact you maintained with Steven was once a week when you sent him a photo of the kitten. You always picked the best one for him, and he patiently waited to ask you a thousand questions he knew wouldn't really have answers.

No matter how desperate he was to have you back, he would always respect your decision to want space. He'd sooner die than make you feel uncomfortable, and he genuinely preferred anything over risking the only contact he had with you. So, he never pushed much further, although he never forgot to make it clear how much he missed you.

He's beautiful! Looks so much like his mom. (You) How's he doing, apart from being really cute? How are you? I hope you're doing incredibly well because I'd hate it if you weren't. I miss you so much, and I know Marc does too. Do you think it's possible for us to talk one of these days? If not, I understand. It's not a problem for me to wait if you change your mind at any time. I'll always be waiting for you. ❤️ Have a great week.

Unfortunately, in every moment you assured yourself you were moving on from Steven (and maybe even Marc), you found yourself smiling at his messages, even when you weren't willing to reply.

Marc ended up losing his last remaining shreds of sanity when a month and a week had passed since he last saw you. He was doing his best to reassemble the pieces of his life that had fallen apart, but unfortunately, every time he tried to put a fragment back together, another seemed to crumble.

When Layla welcomed him, she didn't kiss his lips as usual, and mentally he thanked her for it. Physical contact with her hadn't felt the same for a while.

It's funny how at some point in his life he had found himself deeply in love with his wife's small but strong hands. Now, he could only think about how rough she felt touching him and how they didn't compare to your hands when you used to play with Steven's curls.

It was torturous realizing that there was nothing that didn't remind him of you.

"We need to talk," she said, turning her back to him. All Marc could see as he entered the apartment were her curls.

"What's going on?" He knew exactly what was going on, of course. He had been waiting for this for a while now.

"We can't go on like this, Marc."

In a horrible déjà vu, he could swear you had told him something similar, or maybe it was Steven, who was attentively observing the scene from the headspace.

"What do you mean, Lay?"

"You know what I'm talking about." It hurt him to realize his tears no longer had an effect on him. When did he stop loving her? "You're not the same after what happened."

The upside was that this was the most they had talked since they started their relationship, without shouting or either of them storming off.

"It's like you're not here. You come, we have sex, and then what?" There was that irritated look, filled with resentment that maybe he deserved. He had seen it in you, in Steven, and now in Layla.

Marc was so tired of fighting that he had no strength left to keep his pride up. He nodded silently and decided to take whatever she had to offer. Maybe receiving a bit of the pain he had distributed among different people would be enough to heal one of the million wounds inside him.

"Is it because of her, huh?"

'It's not about her, it's that I'm falling apart inside.' He thought.

After denying it for so long, he never thought that the first time he would acknowledge his feelings for you would be to Layla.

He nodded.

"You're broken, Marc." And he was, there was no denying it. "You're so shattered that you hurt everyone who tries to get close to you." If she only knew the pain he had caused Steven, she might turn the metaphorical knife she was stabbing him with. "You're going to end up alone, Marc Spector, completely alone."

When did she start hitting his chest accusingly? No idea. He had disassociated after hearing the word 'broken' from someone other than himself.

"Marc?" Steven's soft English accent called his attention from the other side of the room. His tear-filled eyes couldn't locate which reflection he was calling from. "Let's leave."

And that was another stab right in the heart. After all he had done to hurt Steven, was he still trying to protect him?

Maybe he really was the awful person life was trying to prove him he was.

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing that came out of his throat, his voice nearly inaudible due to the painful knot within.

Layla laughed at him, as was logical. How foolish he had been to think that saying sorry was enough to fix such a huge mistake.

"Let's leave." Steven's voice was so reassuring it gave him the strength to move his legs that seemed rooted to the ground.

"You understand that I'm breaking this up, right? I don't want you to come back here."

He felt like he was running out of breath when he nodded. He barely managed to clumsily leave the place; he was so confused. What hurt so much? As curious as it might sound, the breakup wasn't his main problem.

Maybe it was realizing everything he had caused through his mistakes, that everything could have been resolved if he hadn't been so stubborn.

The pain in his knees momentarily brought him back to reality. His body was giving up, and he could swear he was about to throw up in his now ex-partner's building. He didn't want to forcibly trigger a switch with Steven, but when the flashes of white and black appeared in front of his eyes, he knew it was better to just let it happen.

A week later, your hair was dripping as you rushed to open the apartment door, having just stepped out of the shower. You expected to find your upstairs neighbor, that sweet elderly lady who occasionally stopped by to ask for things like sugar or eggs. It was the highlight of your week, as it often resulted in desserts gifted to you a few hours later.

Ah, and she adored Sekhmet, who was already by the door acting as a second doorbell, eager for you to open up.

"You better not run off, silly," you said before swinging the door open.

You almost screamed curses until your lungs gave out when you found him on the other side. Holding a bouquet of yellow flowers and wearing black leather gloves you'd never seen before.

"Steven?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him, and almost immediately shook your head. He didn't have Steven Grant's perpetual shy or embarrassed expression.

Nor did he have Marc Spector's eternally furrowed brow, a look of constant stress. Although, right now, without any knowledge of what was going on, he was your best guess.

"Marc?" The only sound for several seconds was the purring of Sekhmet, rubbing against his legs repeatedly.

What a traitor.

He seemed just as surprised to see you, as if he hadn't been the one knocking on your door. You furrowed your brow when he offered his free hand.

"Jake." You took his hand to shake it. "Jake Lockley."

"Are you kidding?" That was all you said, not even annoyed or scared, just confused.

When he shook his head, you accepted that answer because you knew your boys well. Neither of them would joke about something like this. But what the hell was going on?

"Come in." You did your best to smile as you stepped aside to give him space when you noticed his intention was to enter your apartment.

"Ah, I… These are for you." He extended the flowers, and your chest tightened. It was like seeing Steven on your first date, but with an extra dose of confidence. "The yellow flowers are for an apology. They symbolize hope for a quick reconciliation."

You took the flowers in your hands and looked at them closely for a few seconds. They were beautiful.

"And why would you have to apologize to me, Jake Lockley?" You closed the door behind him. Being disoriented helped you take in this situation better because if it weren't for that, you'd probably be in the middle of a crisis.

You cleared your throat as you leaned your back against the apartment door. You studied him closely, and there was no doubt in your mind.

That wasn't Marc, and definitely not your Steven.

"Marc's foolishness," he commented. The yellow suited your complexion. He noticed when you brought the bouquet closer to smell it. When you closed your eyes and took a deep sigh Jake thought he fully understood why Marc and Steven's lives were now in pieces.

He would be too if he had lost you.

Thankfully, they had their protector, the one who didn't give up at the first obstacle, luckily for Marc since Steven seemed as persistent. And he seemed to have watched enough novelas to have the smooth talking of a 90s casanova.

His plan was trying his best, though, you were the first girl in Jake's life. And considering the circumstances, probably the only one.

"Marc is forgiven," you smiled with a weight on your chest as you placed the flowers on the central table in your small living room. The cat wouldn't leave Jake alone, and you knew it was because, to him, Jake was Steven, the one he missed so much. "When Steven and I…"

His gaze refocused on you. He wanted to let you know his full attention was fixed on you.

"Shouldn't you explain your presence first, Jake Lockley?" You questioned with that same smile that revealed how emotionally and physically exhausted you were. Still, he nodded, running his fingers through his curls to put them back in place.

An action that made you audibly swallow.

The hours passed quickly. It turned out that Jake spoke about everything that Marc and Steven seemed to keep to themselves. He knew very well that based on the memories of both boys, there was no one better than you to understand his situation.

You learned that Jake was a protector for both of them, and neither Marc nor Steven were aware of him until now. His priority was the two of them, and he knew you perfectly from both of their points of view.

It was surprising to you, but somehow comforting to know that there was someone to take care of Steven when you couldn't. Jake confirmed your theories that he was as hurt as you were by the breakup, that he missed you as much as you missed him.

Oh, and in the same vein, you understood that he had felt the need to take control more in the last few days. It seemed Marc wasn't in the best condition either. Ironically, you could believe everything Jake said, even though you had only known him for about three hours. But Marc remorseful? That part sounded like a fairytale to you.

"I'm here because I need…" He cleared his throat, his fingers playing with each other. A while ago, he had gotten rid of his gloves. "I would like to." He corrected himself. "I would like for you to give Marc a chance to talk to you, hermosa."

You wondered if he was trying to sweet-talk you or if the endearing nicknames rolled off his tongue so easily because he still shared a body with Steven and Marc.

"I can't do that right now, no, I hope you can understand why." You cleared your throat. Your nerves stood on edge when Jake got up to sit on the couch next to you.

He offered you his hand, and you looked at it doubtfully.

"Jake, no."

"Please."

Those stupid gigantic brown eyes were fixed on you, and beyond the expressions that differentiated Jake from others, all you saw was Steven's sweet gaze.

Your Steven.

You swallowed hard and reluctantly gave him your hand.

He cradled it between his palms.

"Marc is devastated." His fingers gently tightened around yours. "And don't get me started on Steven. I can see that you're not well either."

His voice was so soft. Velvety.

You allowed yourself to be fragile in front of him because how could you lie? You were breaking apart, and the loneliness, not having someone to tell every night how much you missed the love of your life, was killing you.

A pout formed on your lips slowly.

"Please, I need you to listen," he whispered as he leaned down to meet your sad, wounded gaze. "Would you do that for me? I'm begging you."

Your eyes were brimming with tears as you looked at him, for the third time, forced to face this awful situation. Once again, it was your responsibility to be reasonable and tolerant, to swallow your pride, and worse, trample your dignity.

For Marc, again.

"I can't. I won't."

He drew your hands closer and gently kissed them, your fingers, your knuckles, the back of your hand. All while maintaining eye contact.

"Hermosa? You don't have to do anything." You were breaking his heart. "Just listen to him, okay? Not now."

When you hesitated again, he knew he had to play a low blow,

his last card.

"For Steven, could you?"

With a sob, you nodded, and Jake didn't hesitate to encircle you with his arms, pressing you against his chest.

"Shhh, hermosa." You didn't have memories of yourself in this situation. You were usually the one offering comfort, not receiving it. It felt good, for once, to have support and companionship.

It didn't last long before you decided to regain your composure. With a red nose and teary eyes, you straightened up, and Jake let you go without protesting.

"Do they know you came?"

"I told you, they don't know about me, darling." He covered his hand with his jacket sleeve and wiped the tip of your nose. In any other situation, you would have refused and said that was gross, but at that moment, the gesture just made you smile childishly. "I'll call you, okay? So you and he can meet and… talk."

By this point, it seemed like a work arrangement, but you had no choice but to accept it. You nodded in silence and did your best to smile at Jake, who looked at you with compassion, although mentally you were confusing it with pity.

"I have to go; they think… they're sleeping." He elicited a very slight laugh from you. If you were confused, you didn't want to know what it was like for them. You just nodded and opened the door for him to leave.

You said goodbye with an almost awkward hug because while he wondered why his arms clung to you as if they were Steven's, you questioned whether this was just a formality for Jake. Whether he just wanted to go back to his normal life, and that's why he was doing this. Either way, you appreciated the gesture, or whatever it was. At least the company in the afternoon had been nice.

You had a lot to think about, clearly. Nothing was stopping you from ignoring Jake for the rest of your days and never clarifying the darned conversation he wanted you to have with Marc. However, deep down, you did want to lay everything out when it came to him.

Needless to say, you cried all night, confused, hurt, sad. Just like the previous nights, with Sekhmet in your arms, meowing because he missed the smell of Steven.

Just like you did.

i know i know this feels like we got nowhere but i have to get you ready for the end of this, ok?? from now on everything depends on marc so lol good luck for y'all

LOVE YOUUU thanks for following this thing that was supposed to have just one part lol the next one will finally be the end >:)

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crazylittlejester · 15 days

Text

the fandom has felt kinda quiet to me for a few days now (which might totally be my fault i dont think im using this app correctly) and i kinda feel like im standing with a group of people where everyones done talking and no one know what to say next so im gonna do what i do then too: Yap ‼️ (its my one talent)

if you’d like to yap with me feel free to hop in my ask box and say whatever you like, headcanons, theories, whatever, but for now here are some random little headcanons I have:

(disclaimer: my apologies for weird spelling errors or oddly autocorrected words im dyslexic lmao)

- Wild loves to do fun things with his hair! He loves braiding it up in new styles or putting pretty things in it or buying fun clips to keep it out of his face. Sometimes one of the others with shorter hair who can’t do their own fun hairstyles will ask Wild if they can do his, and he almost always says yes

- Legend is the most likely to buy little gifts for the others. He’s not as likely as the others to verbally say he cares, and he can come off as a bit standoffish, but he really does love the others and gifting them little things is how he shows it. He bought Sky a beautiful new carving knife once, he loves giving Wild earrings (and Wild is not above just poking new holes in his ears so he can wear more of them at once), he gave Warriors a new journal one time, etc.

- Four is a HUGE fan of rain at night. He loves the sound it makes on roofs, it’s calming to him. It’s less fun when he’s sleeping outside, but he just loves the sounds and smells of rain. Warriors does too, and the two of them have sat out in the rain together silently, just enjoying each other’s company

- Twilight loves the occasional pet as Wolfie, as long as the others still hold the same respect for his physical space they do when he’s a hylian. He loves hugs, he loves the occasional pet, and he loves bonking the top of his head into the backs of Warriors’s legs to trip him before he innocently runs off to Time and acts like he’s done nothing wrong in his life ever

- Sky wakes up every day and chooses peace. He chooses kindness and love, and he seems so very calm and sweet on the outside, but if someone dares to lay a finger on someone he cares about he will explode and there will be serious consequences. He’s genuinely a very loving person, but he does have a side of him that’s just full of rage that he occasionally unleashes on monsters that deserve it. He one time let a sliver of that anger loose at a monster that knocked Wild unconscious and the others stood their with their jaws open, and then of course Sky turned back around after he calmed himself down and looked at them all like “:3”

- Hyrule cuts his own hair and because it has a good amount of curl to it, it ends up looking fluffy and it’s hard to see exactly how uneven it is. When Legend found him just trimming his hair in the dark with a knife he was like “what the fuck” and ever since he’s at least tried to help Hyrule make his hair a LITTLE more even (its still an absolute mess, but it looks fine on him)

- Wind gets under stimulated a LOT, it’s hard for him to just stay in one place or walk super slow or not be doing something with his hands, so Warriors taught him how to finger knit so he can do that while he walks as a sort of mindless activity. He doesn’t really make anything in particular, and he ends up unraveling it at the end of the day so he can keep reusing the same ball of yarn, but it helps him stay with the group and it gives him something to do as they walk

- Time is the biggest prankster of the group and he gets away with it every single time, and Wind, Wild, and Hyrule often end up taking the blame for it. The only ones who know it’s really him are Warriors (though he never actually catches him in the act, he just knows) and Twilight, who’s seen him do it several times and had to swear his silence. He’s too scared that Time will be disappointed in him if he reveals who the true prankster is, but he does feel genuinely bad every time someone else gets yelled at for one of Time’s dumbass pranks. On their last day together Time does reveal it was him all along, and then he literally leaves and disappears before the others have a chance to yell at him for it. When he arrives at the ranch alone with tears in his eyes, laughing his ass off, Malon somehow knows EXACTLY what just happened

- Warriors is usually the one who helps mend the other heroes’s clothes. They all have SOME ability to sew (some of them are better than others, like Wild and Legend, and some of them refuse to fix the holes in their clothes until it gets so bad there’s no fixing it and they literally just have to buy another tunic, *cough* Wind), but more often than not Warriors gets asked to do it, and he does it gladly. He does a wonderful job every time, and sometimes he gets to embroider little patterns, which is a lot of fun for him. When he gets bored he’ll just do that on his own spare tunics

again feel free to come talk to me in my asks or add ur own headcanons to this post :) i like to yap and i’ll gladly yap with you if you send me things

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu time #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu wild #lu four #lu wind #lu headcanons #jes headcanons #jes talks

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somberauthor · 7 months

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Could you write some sleepover headcanons for the beta kids(homestuck) please?

I kinda based these off of me and my friends, so I hope its not too out of character!!

JOHN

Obviously in charge of the movies (much to everyones dismay).

He occasionally brings snacks too. (Snacks meaning full sized cakes that his father made.)

He is the one who usually stays quiet when discussing sleeping positions. He doesn't argue, or make it sexual when sleeping next to someone. He may make it awkward, but not sexual at all.

He'd wake up at the same time as rose would, so before anyone else.

ROSE

Her house is usually where they go for sleepovers, but if her mom is having an exceptionally rough night she'll make an excuse.

She has Kanaya make the pajamas, because everyone agreed it would be nice to have matching pajamas when they have sleep overs.

If there is an extra mattress, she'll insist she take it. She enjoys sleeping on separate beds, because she takes over the entire bed.

As stated with John, she and him wake up first. She usually goes to make food for everyone while John stays and wishes the two left good morning when they wake up.

JADE

She is usually the one who asked everyone if they wanna hang out. And she helps keep conversations going while John starts them.

She sleeps wildly, but doesnt know it. She can and will sleep on top of someone. (She also enjoys cuddling with whoever is nearest to her) ((in a non-romantic way of course)

She also brings stuff so they can have some activities to do. (Like beads, yarn, coloring books, and so on)

She wakes up last, and sleeps like a log. So once she's out she's out

DAVE

He's the one who gets the nitty gritty information. Like when they should arrive, when they'll leave, what they'll be doing, and all that jazz

He sleeps like a log. Not like he sleeps deeply, no, he sleeps without moving. He's scared everyone because of how still he is when sleeping.

He's the one with stories to tell when everyone wakes up, because his dreams can be fucking WILD.

He is pretty easy to wake up, so he wakes up at the sound and smell of Rose cooking.

Also, to everyone being so kind in my ask box thank you!! I teared up reading some of the compliments you guys gave me!

#ao3 #authors #headcanon #homestuck #homestuck x reader #john egbert #dave strider #rose lalonde #jade harley #john egbert x reader #dave strider x reader #rose lalonde x reader #jade harley x reader #reader isnt mentioned

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hunny-mustard104 · 1 month

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Todd Crochet Headcanons:

He learned when he was younger. It was something that he and his grandmother would do when they spent time together.

His older brother definitely made fun of him for it, but it was all in good fun.

He didn't work on anything while he was at Balincrest. He was too busy and was self-conscious after partaking in a traditionally 'female' craft.

He started back up again when he switched to Welton.

At first, he would only do it when Neil was out of the room, anxious as to what he would think.

He slowly started to work on projects with Neil in the room as the Society was getting started.

Neil was quite enamored with it. He loved to sit and watch Todd as he would crochet.

Todd doesn't really follow patterns. He finds them too limited and stressful. He will just make what he wants.

He likes to buy hand dyed yarn. Neil would hold the yarn between his arms while Todd rolled it into a ball.

Neil liked to recite lines with Todd while doing this.

Sometimes Todd would share a new poem idea with him.

Todd would stay up and work on a project as he waited for Neil to come back from rehearsal and tell him all about what happened.

Occasionally, Neil would return and just rest his head against Todd's shoulder as he crocheted in silence as a way to decompress after a long day.

#dead poets society #neil perry #todd anderson #dps #anderperry #i have been rolling up yarn for a while and thought of them #i am more of a knitting girl than i am a crochet girl #i might make some knitting hc for a different poet at some point

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roboticchibitan · 2 years

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I see a lot of memes about refusing to knit gauge swatches and they hurt my heart a little bit. Like. I get it I've been there. But you're actively working against your own interests. Please just knit a swatch.

@tattinglacework said in the tags of my post about yarn substitution that a gauge swatch is the knitting/crochet equivalent of "measure twice cut once" and I'm stealing it forever now because it's so true. I've had to frog weeks worth of work because I needed to go up two needle sizes and I didn't do a swatch. But it was better than having a finished shawl that was way too small to be useful.

And listen, eventually if you keep refusing to do swatches and being all "teehee I'm such a rebel" about it, you're going to come to a project that you're super excited about, really looking forward to, spend time planning, maybe even buy really nice yarn for it... and you hate the finished product and never use it. Which makes all that work a waste of time.

I know it seems like knitting a swatch is a waste of time but knitting for a week only to have to frog it all is more of a waste of time than the hour I would've spent knitting a swatch. Even with cobweb lace knitting where a proper gauge swatch takes several hours (I've spent 10 hours on a gauge swatch before and I am glad I did cuz it saved my ass), it's a looooot better to knit for several hours and know the next 100 hours will not have been in vain.

A swatch can also help you see whether you like how that yarn works up, and can give you an idea of how that yarn drapes and works up. This is important if you are knitting with a different fiber yarn than what the pattern calls for. Some fibers have a lot more stretch than others. Wool is nice and stretchy but silk is not. Cotton isn't very stretchy. Acrylic stretches and drapes differently than wool or cotton. A swatch will tell you if a fiber is suitable for a pattern.

Some pattern swatches are stockinette stitch and some are in pattern, and an in pattern swatch is going to tell you a LOT about how that yarn will work with that pattern. For example: I like to buy the occasional indie dyed yarn that's got pops of color and multiple colors per skein. But those yarns are hard to find patterns for because the color change/variegation is so quick that it ends up being very busy fabric. A gauge swatch in pattern will tell me if a pattern will show well or get lost in the variegation. Indie dyed yarn is expensive and I am poor so I want to make something I actually like, is the right size, and I will actually use because looking at it doesn't make me miserable.

I'm begging you, just make a swatch. At worst you've lost a little bit of time confirming your needle and yarn choices work for the pattern. At best, you're saving yourself from spending dozens of hours on something you'll never use because it didn't turn out the way you want, doesn't fit, and you hate looking at it now.

Also this is important and I've deeply regretted not doing it before: treat your finished swatch how you're going to treat the finished object. Block it if you're going to block the finished item and then unpin it and let it rest for a while (your swatch WILL lie to you if you do not) before taking any data from it. If you're not sure how a yarn is going to survive the wash, chuck your swatch in the washing machine to see! Better to felt a swatch than a pair of socks you just spent a week knitting.

I used to be very "no gauge swatch we die like men" so I Get It. I really do. But I have also been in the "didn't swatch, spent eighteen months and 3,000 beads on a project only to block it and have it be almost exactly a foot too small" boat and let me tell you that'll change you as a person. Just knit a swatch. It takes so much less time than being wrong does.

#please it's not hard #advice for new fiber artists #v's fiber arts tag #knitting #crochet

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bloodycyrano · 4 months

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I want to lore dump about my BG3 storyline and OCs so bad, but at the same time I don't want to release any information before it would come out in the future chapters of my fanfic, so to stave off the dark urge, here's.... 🥁🥁🥁

Team Tadpole doing sweet things for each other part 2!

Sometimes, when Astarion has trouble resting at night, Gale will stay up with him and play chess- They started with card games, but Astarion cheats like a fox. He still cheats at chess, but not as often.

Karlach probably notices when her comrades are in pain after battle, and will hug a sack of rocks until they heat up to make a sort of makeshift heating pad for sore muscles.- Bonus points, She'll borrow some scented oils from Halsin to add an element of aromatherapy.

Gale has 100% done talis card readings for Team tadpole when they deal with heavy emotional stuff, if only to help them find their path forward. Maybe he isn't the best at verbal comfort, but magic is one thing he knows he can use for at least some benefit.

I feel like Gale also notices when people aren't dealing well with things, and will purposefully annoy Durge so they have someone to pick on and hopefully feel a little better afterwards. They're definitely the sort of friends that pretend to hate each other, but are there when you need them. Durge definitely brings out his petty side, but its all in good fun. Usually.

While maybe they have a bit of a rocky relationship, I also believe Durge would indulge Gales special interests and let him ramble about things, because they know what it's like to have to shut up to make other people happy. I also feel like Gale would return the favor and deliberately ask about weird, macabre things so that Durge actually has an excuse to bring up topics that interest them.

Wyll has a knitting hobby. You probably wouldn't expect it, but he definitely does. And he's really really good at it, too. He uses every holiday as an excuse to gift people things like socks, scarves, mittens, etc. And I mean EVERY holiday. Earth day, valentines day, national owlbear day (Which is totally not something he made up as an excuse to give people their presents early), etc. The thing is, he notices when people complain about their socks getting worn from traveling, and gets random ideas for gifts at 3 AM, and then spends the rest of the night knitting. He has also been known to make cute little knitted outfits for the group pets in the winter, because he thought Scratch was getting cold.

Adding onto this, Lae'zel is the only person Wyll is willing to go to for a blunt and honest opinion on the gifts he makes before he gives them. Lae'zel doesn't take this lightly, either. While maybe she doesn't show it, she takes this very seriously and is somewhat honored that Wyll came to her instead of anyone else.

Shadowheart tends to replenish Wylls yarn reserve without telling him as well. She asks Lae’zel what colours he's run out of, and then sneak some extra spools into his pack. Wyll still doesn't know who's been doing it, but he's thankful nonetheless. And it's one thing the cleric and the gith can actually be somewhat peaceful about.

Durge doesn't take all of their kills lightly. When it comes to someone they actually respected, there's a ritual they perform afterward that they read about in Withers old temple. They'll grind bone and ash into ink and take time to write out the names of those they respected, and bury it with the bodies. As well as little offerings as well. It isn't a short process either.. Durge will spend the entire night locked in their caravan burning incense, praying their name to Jergal in hopes that the spirit will find rest, and doing little things in honor of the dead.- It isn't hard for team tadpole to figure out when Durge has taken the life of someone they held a genuine respect for, and will be careful not to disturb them, or leave bones or herbs/flowers on the steps of their caravan. Karlach and Astarion will occasionally come to check on them. While maybe it doesn't happen often, it does happen. Withers was particularly surprise to begin receiving prayers after all this time, but it strengthened a sort of bond between the two.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 durge #dark urge #gale dekarios #baldurs gate tav #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #karlach #scenarios #writing prompt #bg3 scenarios #bg3 withers #jergal

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cherrygummycandy · 1 year

Text

Rescue from the Rescue

A platonic! Puss-in-boots and Perrito x reader

Summary: Working as a helper at Mama Lunas isn't always easy, and unexpected things can happen. Though, you never though meeting a Spanish-speaking cat and a dog dressed as a cat would be one of those things.

(An: This request was orginally for a younger niece or nephew of Mama Luna, but I didn't want to make it too gender specific (and I couldn't for the love of me figure out how to make a realistic family tree for Luna) so I made the reader an occasional volunteer. Please enjoy!

🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛

Sweep. Sweep. Sweep. The scratchy sound of the broom rings out as your broom glides across the floor, as bits of fur, spare litter, and kibble are swept up into the dustpan. You hum a soft tune, swaying in turn to the beat. "Oh, Little Helper, come here!" Mama Luna's voice rings out across the brightly colored casa. "Coming, Miss Luna." You prop the broom up against the wall, grabbing the dustpan and dumping the contents in the nearby trashcan. 'Don't want any of the cats trudging through this and undoing my work.' You think, placing the now empty pan back by the broom.

You hurry through the house, tiptoeing across persians, shorthairs, and tabbies as you attempt not to step on any tails. You step into the living and sigh in relief, having dodged all the cats. Mama Luna sits in her rocking chair, knitting what appears to be yet another pair of cat mittens. "Oh, come here child." She waves you over, eyes not leaving the yarn project in front of her. "I'm planting a catnip bush out by the garden, would ya' mind tilling the soil?" She asks, stopping to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. You nod, but pause with a grimace when you see the plethora of cats napping atop her ratty grey hair. "Yeah, sure. Do you know where the garden supplies are?" She waves a hand over in the direction of the backdoor. "Just check the bag by the door." As you step away, slipping at the back door, you hear her call. "Thank ya', Little Helper! I'll make ya a real nice sweater for this. You giggle a little, and shake your head.

🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛

Stepping down the rickety steps of the porch, you enter the garden. Bright stone walls enclose the area, decked out with various hanging plants. The ground is carefully decorated with all sorts of colorful plants, from poinsettias to marigolds. You smile, remembering the first time you entered Mama Luna's garden, coming to ask for some Marigolds for your Dia De Los Muertos altar. Honestly, you have no idea she managed to keep this garden looking so nice before you came along, seeing as anytime you see her she's knitting or bathing cats.

Just as you begin looking for a trowl, your ears perk up at a nearby sound. "So, Pickles, what do you want to do today? I was thinking-" "WE are not going to do anything, Perrito. I am going to sun in el jardín." You watch in amazement as what appears to be a talking cat strolls into the garden, standing on two legs. Behind him follows a, cat? 'What is that thing?' You think, tilting your head in confusion. The scrawny creatures look less like a cat, and more like a rat in a feline costume. "Oh! Sunning, just like a real cat! I'll join you, maybe I can sun my belly." The little animal says. "Um, excuse me?" You say, stepping forward to make your princess known. The orange cat jumps in shock, dropping to stand on all-fours, while his companion lowers his head, and attempts to use his hood, which has a cat face poorly knitted on it. "Uh... meow?" The orange cat tries. You furrow your brows, before looking back toward the house in realisation.

"Oh, you're worried Mama Luna will hear you. I won't tell her anything, I promise." You place a hand on your chest and kneel down, reaching the orange tabby's height. "I'm Mama Luna's helper, I just stop by from time to time, helping her with chores and what not. And you are?" The cat hesitates, green eyes looking you over cautiously, before standing back on two legs and taking a dramtic bow. "I am known by many names, but you, pequeño ayudante, may call me Puss." You smile, amused. "But your tag says pick-" "I know what the tag says! That is simply the name given to me by the-" Puss shudders, and glances at the house. "Iady of the house." He finishes. As you nod, your attention is drawn to his friend behind him.

"Who's your friend, Puss?" You ask, looking at the strange sweatered animal. Puss sighs, gesturing weakly with a paw. "This is Perrito, and, he is not my friend." Puss explains, barley glancing at Perrito. "Perrito... the cat? That seems like an odd name." You feign confusion, slowly reaching for Perrito's hood. Suddenly, you flip it back, revealing the a small, scrappy looking dog. "A chihuaha?" You exclaim, as the dog yelps. "Oh! Please, please, please don't tell Mama Luna, I don't really go into the house, I live under the por-" Perrito goes on, frantically rambling about his living conditions under the porch. Puss scoffs, turning away from the dog and pressing a paw to his forehead. You, on the other hand, feel your smile drop at the pitiful little pup. "Hey, calm down, please?" You ask, putting your hands out in front of you. Perrito's rambling stops and he looks up at you. "I'm not gonna kick you out or anything, I promise. You're a stray, right?" He nods. "Look, I know Mama Luna probably wouldn't be to keen on keeping a dog, or letting a walk around talking and standing." You admit. Perrito and Puss watch, waiting for your next words. "But, I'm not Mama Luna, so I guess I'll have to let it slide." Puss smiles and nods with gratitude, while Perrito hops up in delight. "Oh wow! Can you believe it Puss? Now, I've gone from no friends, to two friends in one day!" Perrito exclaims, tail wagging back and forth.

"We aren't amigos, amigo." Puss retorts. "Look, I have to finish tilling the soil, Mama Luna wants some new plants going in over there." You point towards the northern end of the garden, to a small bare patch under a tree. "But, once I'm done, maybe you guys can tell me a bit about yourselves?" You suggest. "Wow, Okay! Hey, I'm really good at digging. I bet if I help, we can get done even quicker!" Perrito exclaims. Before you can even respond, he bounds over to the unused soil and begins to dig at a frantic pace. You chuckle to yourself, and look a Puss. "He's... a bit odd, no?" Puss says, tilting his head as he watches Perrito fall into a hole that he just dug. "I'll say. Y'know, I'm looking forward to learning more about you, Puss. It's not everyday I meet a talking cat." You say, looking to the ground sheepishly as you kick a pebble. "Well, it seems like Perrito could be at it for a while... why don't I just started with the story now, sí?"

🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛🗡💛

It's been several hours, much longer than you realize, since the three of you began to discuss your pasts. You were amazed to learn about the adventures of Puss. You couldn't imagine going through half the things he has. Not only that, but you didn't actually know cats had nine lives, you always assumed it was a myth. "So, I say to the man, 'That is the last time you'll cross Puss-in-boots!'" Puss exclaims, finishing a story. Perrito stands on his hind legs and claps, while you let out a loud cheer. You quickly cover your mouth to stifle the sound, realizing Mama Luna must be asleep. "Oh my god, w-what time is it?" You ask, looking up and realizing how dark it's gotten. "About 9:00, why?" Perrito asks. You hop up quickly, moving up the steps and towards the backdoor. "I need to pack up, I must've gotten carried away with your great story-telling puss." You compliment. Puss follows you in, but Perrito stops at the edge of the door. "Perrito, you sure you don't want to come in? Mama Luna's sight isn't what it used to be." You suggest Perrito smiles, but shakes his head. "Nah, I've got a cozy corner under the porch waiting for me, besides, the rats are probably expecting me back." He gives you a goodbye, and you smile sadly as the chihuaha scrambles under a lookse board of the porch, fall down under the porch with a 'pop'.

You hurry to begin the journey back home, tying your boots and avoiding cats as you grab your bag and coat. As you do a last minute chek, to ensure everything you need is with you, you see Puss out of the corner of your eye. He is stood leaning against the bottom of a bookshelf, seemingly conflicted. "Puss?" You ask softly. His head snaps up, and he looks at you. "Are you okay?" You ask. "Fine, just thinking is all." He says. You feel that there is something more, but simply turn away. As your hand moves to reach the door, he says one final thing.

"How often do you stop by?"

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 7 months

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Autumn with Foul Legacy HCs

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Genre: Fluff Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Warnings: Mentions of rain, thunder, and lightning

~ * ~ -Welcome to autumn!! That lovely season between summer and winter that keeps everything on track and in balance -Liyue is more of a temperate region, so often you can’t tell that summer has ended until autumn is already half over -But oh boy, when the weather changes, it CHANGES -One day it’s sunny and mild, the next day it’s pouring rain, you and Foul Legacy staring out the window in disbelief -He then nudges your shoulder, glancing from you to the rain and back again with a pleading expression. With a sigh you allow him to pull you back into bed, snuggling up to you with a happy chirp -Taking the first rainy autumn day off from work becomes a tradition for the two of you -And when it’s not pouring, walks outside the city are an absolute must! Liyue is a sight to behold in autumn, with the leaves turning vibrant colors and slowly falling from their branches- you and Legacy happily crunch many, many leaves underfoot, relishing the crispy crackling sound they make -It’s also harvest season, so there’s plenty of apples and other fruit growing from the trees for you to snack on -SPEAKING OF APPLES, you and Foul Legacy could harvest some to make cider, he is very enthusiastic when helping you!! Occasionally an apple will fall and bonk him on the head, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing at the chagrined trill he lets out -Warm drinks aplenty, especially during cooler days. You make tea, hot cocoa, the aforementioned cider- but not coffee. Never coffee. Have you ever seen an Abyss monster on caffeine? Do not give Foul Legacy coffee -You’ll curl up with these warm drinks together, cuddled under a blanket as you watch storms and wind from the safety of your home. Sometimes there’s thunder and lightning, and Legacy quickly hides under the covers and presses himself up to you with a slight shiver, but he slowly begins to purrs when you run your fingers through his hair, tense muscles loosening -The colder season also means thicker clothes, which means comfy sweaters!! You take great joy in wrapping yourself in cozy coats and scarves -Unfortunately shops don’t make sweaters in Legacy’s size, which he is very sad about :( So you decide to make one for him! It’s a deep blue color, made with yarn that has little silver threads in it so it glints when the fabric moves -He absolutely adores it, chittering in delight and running his claws delicately over the soft cloth before very carefully putting it on. Now he’s warm and comfy and so much better to lean your head against :) He treats that sweater like it’s made of gold -The nights also get chilly, so there’s a 95% chance you’ll end up with a moth in your arms and vice versa. Abyss creatures get cold (and lonely) too! -If you’re out for a walk and a particularly biting wind comes by, he’ll bury his face in your neck or put his claws against your warm stomach- he never admits how much he likes the startled shriek you let out -Occasionally it will start drizzling during your walk and you have to run home, getting to witness Legacy shaking out his wings and hissing in displeasure, pouting until you smile and give him a tight hug of reassurance -Autumn is the season of cooking and baking, and Foul Legacy LOVES peeking over your shoulder to see what delicious treat you’re working on. He’ll even dare to sneak a taste here and there, letting out low, rumbling laughs when you catch him in the act -You also make jam together!! There’s plenty of fresh berries growing, so you’ll pick some and preserve it in jars for the winter (Foul Legacy likes strawberry rhubarb) and the whole house smells DELICIOUS -He’ll keep any pretty leaves he sees and give them to you as a gift :) And if you press and save them, he’ll be so incredibly happy

-Of course, not everything is sunshine and rainbows- a lot of rainstorms and thunder, honestly. Some days you have to sneak out of bed before Foul Legacy’s even awake, leaving only a gentle kiss on his forehead as you head to work while it’s still dark and raining -Those days are hard, having to file reports and attend meetings with your shoes soaking wet and sleep still in your eyes, because everyone at your job always wants something -But it’s alright, you can handle it, because you know that there’s someone waiting for you at home, someone curled up on the couch and looking at the window to try and catch sight of your figure walking back -And the moment you open that door, you’re scooped into his embrace, your Foul Legacy’s arms snaking around you and giving you a tender hug. You hug him back as your heart warms, the first smile of the day creeping onto your face when he carries you to his blanket nest for snuggles, so you can feel warm and toasty and happy again on this dreary autumn day

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 11 days

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Shun the Light - Ch 10.5 - Full Moon part 2

Author's Notes: :')

Content Warnings: werewolf whumpee, vampire caretaker, injury, sprained ankle, bruises, cuts, exhaustion, cold, rain, implied nudity, emotional whump, guilt, angst with hopeful ending

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Dante searches and searches but finds nothing but some claw marks on trees and more blood. He feels stupid and reckless for looking at all; the creature that left was no longer Matteo, and cornering a wounded animal would be asking for trouble.

Why didn't he tell me?

The thought eats at him. Matteo knows what he is. Didn't he think Dante would understand, even just a little?

Suddenly a lot more things make sense - the shape Matteo was in when he arrived, why he had no clothes or belongings of his own, why he left home, why he was on the run. How in the week leading up to tonight he had been restless and anxious.

After several fruitless hours Dante returns home, but he can't relax. By now he's pretty much certain Matteo is a werewolf, which means by the morning he will be back to normal but hurt, alone, and god knows where.

As he paces and frets he can't help picturing Matteo's frightened face. He looks out the window again when he hears wind whistle through the trees. The scent of the other man's blood still lingers with him.

Dante soon heads back out, with shoes and an overcoat on this time. He has with him a ball of yellow yarn from Mrs. Townsend's craft cupboard.

Years of nightly walks means he knows the forest well. He follows the direction Matteo ran off in and finds a spot to begin, tying one end of the yarn around the trunk of a tree. Then he slowly walks back to the house, holding the yarn taut and unraveling it as he goes, stopping occasionally to loop it another tree. Creating a path home.

There is no guarantee Matteo will even find it. He could be miles away, too injured to move, or on another side of the woods entirely. He may not even want to come back. But if he does, the door will be unlocked.

Dante goes to the living room and gets settled at the piano to keep himself busy while he waits.

Morning arrives, but Matteo does not.

Dante retreats to his bedroom and leaves the door cracked so he can hear if someone enters. But after barely an hour he can't wait any longer. He bundles up in a sweater and the thick overcoat, jeans and boots, and heads outside.

A light drizzle softly patters all around. The sky is overcast and shows no sign of clearing. At the worst he'll feel a tingling discomfort, but compared to the burns he sustained a month ago that will seem like nothing.

A month ago. When he found me. When he saved me.

Dante slowly follows the path of bright string from tree to tree. He keeps his eyes on the ground in search of any sign of man or wolf. Clothes, fur, handprints, pawprints. Blood. Anything. But the rain has washed every trace away.

He continues until a familiar scent reaches him on a breeze. Dante lifts his head and there he is.

Matteo walks with a limp, taking each slow step gingerly. He faintly whimpers every time he puts pressure on a badly swollen right ankle, pausing often to lean against a tree for a moment's respite. His breathing is labored.

Most of Matteo's body has sustained scrapes and cuts from that tumble off the roof, but his left side is considerably worse. Bruising coats his entire left side from chest to upper thigh. His left arm hangs at an awkward angle and that shoulder, too, is swollen and bruised. Some slivers of glass remain embedded in his skin, the largest of them wedged deep into his bruised left hip.

The fingers of his right hand are weakly curled around the yellow yarn.

It's a miracle he's standing, let alone walking.

Dante walks toward him but the ongoing rain muffles his footsteps. Matteo doesn't look up and notice him until they're just a few yards apart.

Dante stops too.

The two men stare at each other.

Matteo's eyes are bloodshot. He's soaked to the bone, shivering in the rain without so much as a scrap left to shield him.

Then he drops his gaze and his face crumples. He begins to sob raggedly.

"I'm sorry, Dante. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I s-should have t-told you." He hiccups. "I didn't think I would still be here when it happened but then I was and I thought if I hid I wouldn't attack you - and you - you let me stay and I - oh, god, and I broke your window, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

A sudden shiver cuts off his rambling words.

Dante steps forward and removes his coat, slowly so as not to startle the fragile man before him. He holds it open.

"There is still a bed for you," Dante says softly, "If you want it."

Matteo stares at the offered coat with disbelief and longing.

"Really?"

Dante nods and moves closer still. When Matteo doesn't flinch away, he drapes the coat over his trembling shoulders.

Matteo sways on his feet but Dante is there to steady him with a hand on his chest and the other on his waist. Matteo puts an arm around Dante's shoulders and sags into him. He sighs with relief when he is able to take some weight off of his throbbing ankle.

"Thank you," he breathes. He leans his head against Dante's, his panting breaths warm against his cheek. Dante can feel the flutter of his unsteady pulse. "Thank you."

"Come on," Dante whispers. "You're almost there."

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