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moonstruckme · 3 months

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hey queen! i am humbly requesting some tasm!peter x plus sized!reader 🛐

maybe he was coming home from patrolling/being out as spidey and saw something in a window that reminded him of reader? like a knickknack or flowers or something like that? and he comes home and gives it to her and she’s all flustered and smitten 🤭

feel free to add your own spin to it or anything! i’m just in need of fluff and hugs from my boy 🫶🏻

Thanks for requesting lovely!

tasm!Peter Parker x plus size!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Peter knows he’s got other things he should be doing. He’s technically not done with the amount of time he likes to spend patrolling every day (plus there’s a serial burglar out there he should really be trying to catch), and if he’s not doing that he should be getting home to work on the research paper he’s got due tomorrow, and if he’s doing neither of those things Aunt May’s been begging him all week to dust the shelves she can’t reach. But when you open your door and he sees the look on your face, Peter knows he made the right decision neglecting all that shit.

“Hi!” Your voice lilts through the syllable, happiness coating it like honey.

“Hey,” Peter says back, immediately losing whatever advantage he had in the conversation. You’re surprised to see him, sure, but he’s surprised to see you like this. You’re still in your pajamas, evidently enjoying a day in, a large t-shirt and draw-string shorts that make you look all lazy and adorable and leave the delicate flesh of your thighs on display. Peter wants to bite them, but that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.

“Hey,” he says again, blinking to clear the haze from his brain. “I, uh, you said you like irises, right?”

“Yeah…” There’s a hesitant sort of question in your voice. You eye the small bunch of flowers in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Peter grins. “Who else, sweetheart?” He tacks on the endearment mostly to see you fluster. It’s a success; your arms come up to hug your torso as your cheeks dimple, smile half-suppressed.

He passes you the flowers before he can fluster too. The plastic wrap crinkles under your careful touch, and you glance between him and them like you can’t decide which to admire first.

“Thank you so much,” you say. “Did we…have something today?”

“No,” he laughs, hooking his thumb in the strap of his backpack. “No, you’re good. I was just in the neighborhood, and they made me think of you.”

Your eyes go all pretty-pleased at the comment, but you tilt your head curiously. “What do you have to do around here?”

Ah, the question he’d hoped you’d be too happy to ask. The truth is, Peter’s almost never in this neighborhood if not for you. Spiderman gets around, but there’s not usually as much going on here as in the rest of the city. He’d spotted the flowers at a stand he’d webbed a catcaller to on the lower east side, and then came over to your end of town to bring them to you. It was only, like, a ten minute swing. Much more efficient than the subway.

“Thrifting,” he says slowly. “I was, uh, just looking to update my closet a bit, and I know you’ve got a lot of good thrift stores around here.”

“Nice.” You smile, taking a little sniff of your irises. Their bright color makes your already exquisite face look even lovelier, and it’s such a perfect image Peter wishes he had his camera on him. “Can I see your finds?”

“No,” he replies. Too quickly, so he tries to look really put out to compensate for it. “No, I didn’t find anything. I’m…really picky about my clothes.”

“Oh.” Your eyes drop to his plain gray t-shirt and jeans, but thankfully you’re too nice to say anything.

“Right,” Peter blazes ahead, tugging on the straps of his backpack, “so I just wanted to bring you those, and I’ve actually got shelves to dust, so I’d better go…”

“Okay, thanks for the flowers,” you say. “They’re really pretty.”

“Yeah, I figured it must be hard being so pretty all by yourself,” he says, spinning around to walk backwards so he can see your reaction, “so I figured I’d get you a companion.”

You press your lips together, flushing and tilting your head downwards as if to hide it. “Thanks,” you almost whisper. Peter grins hugely.

You look up just as he’s turning back around, your focus narrowing on something behind him.

“Hold on a second.” Peter halts opediently, and you come outside, that t-shirt fluttering prettily around your hips. “Something’s falling out of your bag…”

He thinks to be nervous just before you pull the red and blue mask from the unzipped pocket of his backpack.

“What’s this?”

“That…” Peter’s nodding but he doesn’t know why. It’s some sort of automatic response, like he turns into a bobblehead under pressure. His mouth is void of saliva. “That’s a costume.”

Your eyebrows twitch together as one side of your mouth kicks up, like you’re not sure what to make of him. “You dress up as Spider-Man?”

The nodding turns to shaking weirdly seamlessly. “No! No, of course not, I’m an adult. It’s—it’s not for me.” You look at him expectantly. “I’m making it…for my nephew.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I didn’t know you had a nephew.”

“Really?” Peter hears his voice pitching higher, but he’s powerless to stop it. “I didn’t mention him? We’re pretty close—well, not that close. He lives…away. In Connecticut. But he wants a Spider-Man costume, and obviously he wants me to make it, because…I’m the guy for that stuff.”

You nod respectfully. “You are really good at sewing,” you say, and the look you’re giving him is so sweet it nearly takes his knees out from under him. “It’s nice of you to do that for him. You’re really thoughtful, Peter.”

You say it all soft and considerate, like it’s a secret you’re letting him in on, and Peter’s honestly worried for his heart health. He’s not sure it can take the strain of all this.

“Yeah, well, only for people I care about,” he says just as quietly.

You drop your gaze, smiling to yourself, and start tucking the mask back inside his backpack. “Your nephew must be a cool kid. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe if he comes to town sometime.” Which will be, you know, never. But hopefully by the time it gets suspicious you’ll know enough that he can come clean with you about that.

He hears the zipper close and turns before you can move away. Peter wants desperately to wrap his arms around you, feel the softness of your body pressed up against his, but he settles for taking your hand. At the look on your face when he smiles and gives it a squeeze, you would’ve died at the alternative.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Your lips part. “No problem,” you breathe.

He gives your hand one more press for good measure, letting his fingers drag across yours as he steps away. “See you Friday, yeah? For dinner?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “I’ll see you then.”

Peter shoots you one last grin over his shoulder, headed down the sidewalk. “Looking forward to it.”

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alkalinefrog · 10 months

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Hey Alka, I had a quick question for you (whenever you have the time to answer or even if you have the time), I've been taking some storyboard classes and with my illustration background, it's been hard to really find a good shorthand for characters to really get that anatomy/gesture looking right without it being too sketchy and unreadable.

How long did it take you to find your storyboard shorthand, and what exercises would you recommend to try to find it? I'm sure it just takes time and practice, I've been doing a lot more studies and gesture drawings (currently following along all the free Glenn Vilppu videos I can find on youtube) but I wanted to ask you as well because I am in love with how fluid your anatomy is, and how clear your storyboards read. And those hands my god you're a wizard!!!

Thanks a bunch, have a wonderful day!

Heya Secret, great to hear from ya! Well, what you don’t see online is how gross the rough stage of my boards can get LMFAO. Most of the boards I post are actually overly cleaned up because I'm just doing them for fun and can afford the time! I'm not really sure how long it took to develop my shorthand, I've never really enjoyed drawing detail to begin with, so when I decided to go into boarding I kinda just leaned into it!

I’ve covered a bunch of gesture drawing exercises already if you scroll through my advice tag, but ***once you have a good foundation*** here's some stuff you can try!

First you'll want to build up an arsenal of anatomy hacks you can always fallback on, particularly for complex parts of the body. The less time you spend on details, the more time you have to focus on the overall pose and storytelling. Aim to find ways to draw with as FEW lines as possible. If I had to make a list to streamline what to practice:

Head shapes - find the most efficient way to draw the front + 3/4 + side view in as few lines as possible (the challenge is still making them look structured with dimension)

Eyes - are SO important for expressions! Unless your project has characters with dot eyes, you're going to need to find a quick way to do the circle and iris in as few lines as possible. Make sure you can convey where they're looking

Hands - fists (you'll be drawing a lot of people holding poles), open palms at various angles, foreshortened fingers pointing at viewer, fingers making grabby motions----protips: 1) half the time all you need is a vague triangle/rectangle plus thumb sticking up and that's a hand 2) if the hand is relaxed, you probably don't need to draw the knuckles. Save some time!

Feet - just learn how to make sure they look like they're standing on the ground, and do some studies of what they look like when you're running. Otherwise you can usually get away with a vague shoe or boot shape (just add toe lines if they're not wearing any)

----everything else you'll practice as you go!

Jump from SUPER rough straight into clean boards to really force yourself to be economic. I've done each of these methods for work before:

Before you start boarding with a character, sketch them a few times with the intention of simplifying their design while keeping them recognizable:

You'd be surprised how little you need to recognize a character:

Depending on the scene, you can adjust how much detail you want to include:

Stay loose/more generalized with action, especially for the "inbetweens" between key poses. Clean up enough to communicate movement and make the character recognizable.

If the character's small on screen in a wide shot, edit out most details and focus on the silhouette

Save the detail work for character acting, when you really want to be specific with their expressions and gestures.

But outside of all that, be bold and fearless!! Everyone has that stage where their boards look like spaghetti! Boarding is like handwriting; you could have really shitty chicken scratch, but if you're writing beautiful poetry, who cares!

god I love drawing hands you don’t even know thank you so much!! Good luck dude!! You’ve more than got this!!

#my art #advice #ask #secretsivekept #you got this!#sorry this took a while! my mental health was in the pits for a solid couple weeks #getting better now though!#storyboards

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 months

Text

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 7

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, bit of smut.

Word Count: 4,813

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Chapter 7 has arrived. 😊 I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading, liking, commenting and reblogging this series! It means SO much! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Three and a half weeks later

“And these would be beside every tent?” Dean asked Brandy as he looked at the rough drawings she’d made of her latest idea.

She nodded. “Yeah, on the West side of every tent. It would mean families don’t have to come to Food Storage every few days for more rations, and once the deep snow comes that’s gonna be a huge benefit for folks. Plus it’s easier for people to plan ahead and stretch their food if they have two weeks worth of rations sitting outside their tent. I mean, it won’t work once spring comes, but that’s a problem for spring.”

Dean nodded. He looked at their builders, the group of half a dozen survivors that were tasked with providing new buildings and necessities as the camp required. They’d built the sheds earlier in the year, the chicken coop last summer and were currently finishing up a small barn for the cow.

“Is this gonna interfere with completing the barn?” He asked, nodding at Brandy’s drawings.

One of the women, he was pretty sure her name was Vanessa, shook her head. “No, we’ll be finished with the barn in a couple of days, and be able to get Lily settled for the winter all snug, and then move on to the food sheds.” She looked at the drawing again and shrugged. “They’re small enough that we should be able to get them all done within a few weeks?”

She looked to the rest of the builders who nodded their agreement.

Dean frowned. “Lily?”

Vanessa grinned. “Yeah, sorry that’s what the kids have dubbed our little cow. Y/N has them going to visit her once a week so Ralph can teach them about farming.” She said, referring to the old farmer who had helped to plant the winter vegetables.

Dean felt his stomach twist as it always did when someone brought up her name. But he just nodded. “Okay, good. Get started on the food sheds as soon as you’re able. The deep snow is gonna come in the next couple weeks. It’d be good to have them all done by then.”

They all gave a chorus of “Okay, Boss” or “Sure thing Boss” as they nodded and took their leave. They wrapped their scarves tight and pulled on their mittens. The deep snow may not have come yet, but the ground was layered in white, and winter was sharp and stinging in the late November air.

Brandy gathered up her drawings and was headed out when Dean called her back.

“Brandy?”

She turned back to him, an eyebrow raised in question. They'd never discussed their meeting in the cabin with Y/N, but he'd noticed a slightly colder demeanor from her lately.

And he knew why, of course.

Brandy had been one of the original dozen survivors who had built the camp together. She'd been an incredible asset from the beginning, and they probably wouldn't have survived without her planning and strategies for running the camp. He and the soldiers may have kept the survivors alive, but Brandy kept them living by organizing and planning for their food and shelter. She was an invaluable member of the camp.

But three weeks ago he'd treated her like a servant meant to do his bidding. He knew he owed her an apology, but it had been so long since he'd apologized for anything that it stuck in his throat.

Now she contemplated him, waiting for him to speak, and he just nodded. He pointed towards her drawings.

“This is a good idea.” He cleared his throat. “So, thanks.”

Brandy stared a moment longer before a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She nodded.

“No problem, Boss. That's what we're all here for, right?”

Dean just nodded and she lifted her scarf over her face and left the big cabin where Dean conducted most of his business these days, since it was warmer than his tent and could fit more people.

As he ran a hand over his face, the door opened again and most of his soldiers tromped inside. They were there to talk about security and possible threats, but Dean immediately looked at Johnston.

“Hey, did you tell her I want to see her?”

The thin man nodded vigorously. “Yes sir. I told her yesterday. Has…has she not come to see you yet?” He looked around the room as though Y/N might be hiding somewhere.

Dean shook his head. “No, she hasn't.” He pointed towards the door. “So why don't you go get her and tell her I expect to see her now.”

Johnston looked wary and as though he definitely didn't want to follow that order. But when Dean just stared him down, he turned and left quickly.

The rest of his soldiers began giving their reports about any problems they were having at the outposts, like equipment that needed repair or items that needed replenishing. But Dean was only half listening; his gaze kept straying to the door, waiting for Y/N to show.

Ten minutes later, Patrick was briefing him and Dean tried to focus on what he was saying.

“Williams has seen the group twice now, but -” Patrick cut himself off as Y/N and Johnston pushed through the door.

Y/N smiled at the soldiers as she came in. “Sorry to interrupt, but apparently I was summoned.”

She cut her glance to Dean and her smile turned brittle.

“I was told you needed to see me.”

“Yeah, since yesterday.” Dean responded, hardening his voice in an attempt to not seem desperate, especially in front of his soldiers.

“Sorry. Busy.” Was Y/N's curt reply. “What do you need?”

Dean took a deep breath. “I just wanted to know how you're -” he altered his words, “your school, or, uh, the school was going?”

Y/N paused for a moment before answering with a shrug.

“Fine.”

When it was clear that was all she was going to say, Dean scowled at her. “You wanna elaborate on that?”

She raised her chin a fraction. “Oh, I'm sorry, Boss, I don’t have anything else to say right now, but I’ll be sure to write out a full report for next week.”

Her eyes shot daggers that found their mark, bringing a pain to his chest that he felt a lot these days. He’d thought it might go away if he could talk to her, see her, but it was just worse with her there.

He shook his head. “That won't be necessary.” He said quietly.

“Anything else then, Sir?”

He'd never hated that moniker more. “No, that's it.”

She spun on her heel and walked out of the cabin. Silence reigned when she left. Dean waved at everyone else. “We'll finish this another time.” When they didn't immediately move, he made his voice a bit sharper.

“Dismissed.”

That got them moving and they all shuffled their way out the door - all except Risa. She closed the door behind her fellow soldiers and then turned back to face Dean.

He caught her eye and lifted his hands. “What?”

She shook her head slowly. “You're such an idiot.”

Dean dropped his hands and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna try that again?”

Risa shook her head as she walked back to him. “No, I said what I said.”

Dean gave her a look of annoyance as she reached him and leaned one hip on the table where he stood. She raised her hand to his cheek, her countenance softening.

“I really wanted to be the one.”

Dean scowled in confusion. “The one what?”

Risa pushed her fingers through his short hair. “The one to make you smile.” There was a long pause between them and Dean had no idea how to respond to that. She shook her head and stood up straight, dropping her hand. “But, it was obviously meant to be her.”

Dean scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You know I'm talking about Y/N.”

He gave a short burst of sarcastic, humorless laughter. “Yeah, right. You think Y/N's gonna make me smile? I've done nothing but pull my hair out since she got here, so ..” He trailed off and looked away from Risa's knowing gaze.

Risa nodded. “Yeah, cause you're an idiot.” She reiterated.

When he looked back at her, Risa was smiling softly and wistfully. “Apologize to her, idiot. Try to get back what you've nearly lost. She's pissed, don't get me wrong, it might take some real groveling on your part but,” she nodded, “she has a very kind heart, so she might forgive you. It's definitely worth a try.”

Dean stared at her for a moment before he looked down at the ground, conceding the truth in her words. “I don't know how to do it.”

Risa gave a gentle laugh. “You're a smart guy. Bet you'll figure it out.”

She put her hand on his cheek again, resting the other on his chest as she stood on tiptoe to reach his lips. She placed a light, lingering kiss there and then pulled away.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean felt a jolt of worry at the farewell. “You’re leaving? Am I losing a soldier?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, the soldier is staying. I'm saying goodbye to the woman I wanted to be for you. And the man that she…cared about a lot. I hope he lets himself be happy.”

Dean frowned, feeling the weight of her goodbye, with all of its disappointed hopes.

“Goodbye Risa.” He said, and knowing it wasn't enough, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her lips, light and brief. “Thank you…for being the woman you are.”

He thought he saw a glimmer of moisture in her eye, but she blinked it away quickly and pulled out from under his hands. She moved to the door in a few strides and, with one last smile thrown over her shoulder, she walked away.

***

That afternoon as the winter sun headed into the west, Dean made the decision to go talk to Y/N. This was ridiculous. They were a camp of less than 150 people, continuing to try and avoid each other was impractical.

He'd just go tell her that.

He walked to the school because she was usually still there this time of day. But when he got there, the schoolroom was empty. He looked around the space that he hadn't seen in over a month and had to shake his head.

What had been a cold empty shed not even three months ago was now a warm, inviting, cozy space. She'd had a little camp stove installed, and on the Northern wall, replacing the fall leaves that had been there, was a giant, beautifully sewn quilt. He recognized it as the same design as the one that hung in the big cabin.

Hannah, who was Ralph-the-farmer's wife, had made it out of old scraps of material. It took a long time to gather enough scraps for a whole quilt so he knew this quilt probably took her months of hard work. But of course she'd gifted it to Y/N and the school. That's what Y/N brought out in people - hard work and generosity.

The small wooden table in the room had four chairs around it now and he wondered where she'd snagged the other two chairs.

The kids’ blanket seating had been enhanced slightly with the addition of a few pillows, and on the western wall, beside the old map, two long, weathered planks of wood had been nailed in place to serve as bookshelves. The books he'd brought back had been placed lovingly on the shelves, not a single corner bent on any of them.

He sighed at the changes and felt a warmth flare to life in his heart. Y/N did this too - seeming to warm the spaces around her without trying.

He walked out of the schoolroom and was just starting to walk back to his tent when he heard high pitched giggles coming from the side of the school just seconds before three small bodies hurtled forward, chasing and grabbing on to one another - Emma and her two little friends. He couldn't remember their names.

When they all saw him, the laughter fell away and Emma's eyes got wide, fear and suspicion filling them instantly. It felt like a punch when he remembered the way she'd climbed up on the chair beside him that one time, shy acceptance in her expression as she asked him to read to her.

He hated that she was so scared of him; he had to try and fix that much, at least.

“Hi girls.” He said in what he hoped was a friendly sounding voice. Emma's friends nodded and waved at him slightly. But Emma stayed on high alert.

He looked at her two friends. “I need to talk to Emma, so you girls head on home now.”

They looked to Emma who looked more scared than ever. But she whispered goodbye to them and they ran off.

Dean got a bit closer to her and went down on his haunches. He took a second to think what to say to her.

“You know, you don't have to be scared of me.”

“I'm not.” Emma said quickly while her big blue eyes were shrouded in fear.

Dean nodded. “Okay, good because…” He struggled to find the words that would help. “Cause I thought maybe I scared you a bit before. When I, uh, needed to talk to your mom alone.”

Emma nodded, the suspicion growing in her gaze. “When you were mad at Mommy.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I wasn't mad.”

Emma gave him a look that said she didn't believe him and he conceded with a nod.

“Okay, I was a little…upset, but I was just…confused. Eventually everything got figured out.”

She didn't say anything, clearly still highly skeptical.

Dean took a deep breath and decided to just go for it. “Anyway, I didn't mean to scare you and I'm…sorry about it.” He cleared his throat. “And I promise not to scare you like that again. Okay?”

Emma stared at him for a long time and he kept hold of her earnest blue gaze throughout her scrutiny. Slowly a smile spread across her face.

“Okay.” She said, accepting him at his word. “Then can you come over again for supper tonight? I can read a bunch of words now, mommy taught me in the books. So, I could help you read the story this time.”

Dean shook his head at the speedy ways of forgiveness in a child's heart, and for the first time in more years than he could remember, a small smile turned up one side of his mouth.

He reached out to pat her cold cheek. “I'm not sure, kiddo. We'll have to wait and see.” Emma was about to argue the point but Dean stood up. “Now it's gonna be dark soon and it's way too cold for you to be out here without a scarf. Don't you have one?” He asked.

Emma nodded. “Yeah, but I don't like it. It itches.”

Dean hummed. “Ah, yeah wool does that sometimes.” He unwound his own scarf from around his neck.

“Here, I'll trade you.” He said as he wound the polyester scarf around her neck and up over her cheeks. “Now, you head home.”

Emma's eyes were bright and happy above her new scarf as she danced away, skipping through the light snow that blanketed the ground.

He watched her go for a moment before turning back to head home himself. But he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Y/N standing in the path with an arm full of wood. Silence reigned for nearly a full minute. Finally he reached forward to take the wood, but Y/N shook her head.

“No, I’m fine.” She nodded toward the school. “Just stocking up for tomorrow.”

“Right.”

More silence. Y/N’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke. “Thank you for the scarf. It’s been impossible to get her to wear one.”

He nodded and then realized something. “How long were you standing there?”

Y/N took a deep breath, answering on an exhale. “Since just before you promised my daughter not to scare the shit out of her again.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. “So, basically the whole time.”

“Yeah, basically.” She took a beat pause. “Thank you for that.”

Dean nodded. She walked towards the school again but before she could close the door and shut him out, Dean called to her, knowing his voice sounded desperate.

“I needed to believe it.”

Y/N turned in the doorway, a frown on her face. “Needed to believe what?”

He took a step closer, feeling choked by all the words he wanted to say that wouldn’t form properly in his mind. Y/N stared at him for a moment more before huffing slightly and walking into the schoolroom. He followed her inside, closing the door against the wind as she dropped the pile of wood into a metal bucket by the stove.

When she turned back to face him, she was scowling. “Dean, I don’t know what you want here. What do you want me to say?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want her to say anything. He wanted to say things, so many things. “No, nothing.” He croaked out.

She crossed her arms over her chest, bunching up her too big jacket. “Then what are you doing here?”

He took deep breaths in through his nose, pushing the words out through a closed throat. “I needed to believe it.” He said again, quieter this time.

“Believe what?” Y/N asked in frustration.

He stepped close to her and she took a step back before refusing to retreat. He gazed at her and wished more than anything that she really could just see inside his head so he wouldn’t have to try and get it out.

But he looked at the ground quickly and then back at her. His breathing was slightly labored and his voice was thin as he spoke. “You’re so dangerous to me, Y/N.”

He knew he said the wrong words when her forehead wrinkled into a deep frown and she nodded. “Because - I’m a psychic monster? Or because I’m a croat? Why exactly am I dangerous this time?”

“Because you’re you.” Dean answered loudly, speaking over the end of her question. He sighed in frustration; he was getting all of this wrong. He looked up to the heavens, as though they could possibly help him, and tried again, speaking softer.

“I needed to believe that you could control my mind or my…my feelings because…” He trailed off and looked at Y/N hoping she’d just know what he was saying and finish the sentence for him. But she was still just frowning in confusion.

“Because,” he continued, “my feelings when I'm around you are…dangerous. For me, I mean, they’re dangerous. Y/N I can’t…” He shook his head. “The way you look at the world? And the way you change how I see it too? It’s so fucking dangerous.”

He waved his hand, trying to encompass everything. “This world is ugly and shitty, and fucking ended! We literally lived through the end of the world, and now all that’s left is this - this dark, violent, bullshit reality.”

He shook his head and his voice was filled with awe. “Yet somehow you move through it like this,” again he struggled for the words to describe her, “like some kind of lighthouse, like a refuge for every cold, lost thing. And I - “

He cut himself off, not sure he was making any sense. But Y/N had stopped frowning and was now just contemplating him.

He shrugged. “And when I’m around you, I feel warmer than I’ve felt in years, brighter.” He shook his head and moved away from her, embarrassed by his confession and knowing he wasn't saying it right.

He stared at the map as he spoke. “So, I needed to believe that the feelings weren’t real, that you’d just forced me to feel that way. Because if the feelings and thoughts you bring out of me are real?” His shoulders slumped. “God, I’m so fucked.”

He felt Y/N come up to stand just behind him on his right, but he stayed staring at the map as she spoke.

“Why? What’s so dangerous about warmth and light?”

His voice was barely audible as he answered slowly. “Because they bring hope. And hope is a lie. It’s a lie I believed for a long time, a lie I clung to. The lie of possibilities, of family, of good conquering evil. And when the lie was revealed and the world fell apart, the truth almost killed me.”

After a moment he turned to face her and felt his heart skip as he saw her expression of sadness and the tears that sparkled in her eyes, even in the growing dusk.

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek and thumbed away a tear as it fell over her bottom lashes. “And Y/N, if I allow myself to hope again, and it gets crushed by the world again…” He shook his head. “I won’t survive it, I know I won’t.”

He took a step closer to her and felt her warmth penetrating his cold bones. She grabbed his free hand and held it in both of hers as he dropped his other hand from her cheek.

“Or…” she said, her voice filled with conviction, “or we can both hope, both fight, and both win. Even if we never get big wins, the little ones still count. And they add up. Every day we’re here alive is a win. Every time we smile at someone and they smile back is a win. Every time the sun shines so bright you have to close your eyes, every time we hear Emma giggle, every time our stomachs are full, every time we do something to make our home here better - every small thing adds up to big wins.”

Dean shook his head. He knew that trying to resist the pull of her light and life was pointless; she’d been pulling him out of the dark, and changing his plans since the moment she’d come into his life.

He used their connected hands to pull her tight against him and watched heat enter her beautiful, red-ringed eyes.

He bent his head, but before his lips touched hers, he whispered words that came much easier now. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For all of it. I’m so sorry.”

Another tear fell down her cheek and she smiled and bit her lip. “If I say you’re forgiven will you kiss me?”

He pretended to mull it over and then nodded. “Yes, I think that’s fair.”

In the dusky twilight around them he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers; his arms tightened around her as she moaned softly.

He was definitely counting that sound as a win.

***

Over the next month Dean resumed his dinners with Y/N, the difference being that he was there nearly every night, and he’d stopped pretending to himself that he didn’t relish every moment with her and Emma.

Over the evenings spent together, Emma had warmed more and more to him so that now she ran to meet him every time he walked through their tent flap, holding her arms up so he’d pick her up and toss her up into the air, catching her in a swooping motion as she came down. It made Y/N gasp every time, but Emma squealed with delight. He’d set her down and she’d grab his hand, nearly three times the size of hers, and pull him over to the table.

He’d take off his heavy canvas jacket within the relative warmth of the tent, and drape it over Emma’s shoulders, making her giggle as she drowned inside it.

They’d sit around the table and share the day's events, though Emma usually did the majority of the talking. It always brought a mixture of feelings when he listened to her bubbly, excited stories. It made him happy and terrified at the same time. She was so precious he couldn’t help but smile, an expression that was becoming easier for him as the days went by. But also, his chest felt tight and he could feel terror creep in as the darkness whispered a warning, telling him that he couldn’t possibly keep her safe. He’d lose her, and Y/N too.

Sometimes that thought woke him from a deep sleep and made him shake and sweat. It was proving incredibly difficult to make all his fears go away. But as soon as he saw Y/N’s smile the next day, it felt easier.

In fact it was becoming increasingly difficult to go home at all, to leave her warm cozy tent and return to his dismal gray one. But they were trying to be careful and move slowly in deference to Emma. They didn’t want her to feel confused or unsure of things now that she finally seemed so at ease.

So they hid their kisses and their caresses until after Emma was sleeping, at which point they’d usually try and brave the cold long enough to enjoy some alone time, even if it was encumbered by bulky jackets and scarves. They never had enough time, but they’d managed slightly more satisfactory make out sessions in the empty school and in Dean’s tent. But they were always too rushed and things had to end too quickly.

Dean ached for her more and more every day.

One evening in mid December, the air was much milder than usual; the day had been unseasonably warm and the night held on to a trace of it. Dean had Y/N pressed up against the side of the thick canvas tent, sucking on the soft skin just below her ear. As her breath caught and she angled her head so that he had better access, he was practically vibrating with how badly he needed to feel her.

As he breathed into her mouth, he slowly unzipped her jeans, letting her tell him no if she wanted. But she just nodded and bit her lip.

He watched her face as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of the leggings she wore as an extra layer against the cold, and then down into her panties. He desperately tried to stifle the moan that wanted to escape as he felt how soaking wet she was for him.

“Goddamn.” He whispered roughly as he slid two fingers inside her, rubbing his thumb against her little bundle of nerves and making her bite harder into her lip to keep quiet. He decided to help her out and closed his mouth over hers, swallowing up her small moans.

He pushed in and out of her body, his cock hardening as she gripped his forearm where it disappeared into her pants while her cunt clenched tight around his fingers. He passed his fingers over her sweet spot a couple of times and she fell over the edge. She broke off their kiss to bury a scream in his neck, muffling it with his thick collar.

As she came down she clung to him, her hot breaths creating puffs of white in the cold air. She moved her hand to cup his hard on through his jeans and was just reaching for his zipper when they suddenly heard Cas’ voice inside the tent.

“Emma, where is your mother and Dean?”

Dean groaned. What the fuck? Y/N squeaked slightly and pulled her hand back, making him absolutely throb with need. He was gonna slaughter his best friend.

They were quickly righting their clothing when Emma's voice reached them, and it didn’t really sound like she’d been sleeping.

“They’re outside the tent, kissing each other.”

Y/N’s eyes got huge and round and Dean stifled a snorted laugh behind his palm while she slapped his bicep.

“It’s not funny. Jesus, we’re gonna traumatize her!” She said in a horrified whisper.

Suddenly Cas’ head poked around the side of the tent and he frowned. “Are you finished kissing?”

Y/N buried her head in Dean’s chest and Dean scowled at the angel. “Well, we sure as hell are now.”

Cas nodded, completely ignoring Dean’s frustration. “Good. You need to come inside. I have incredible news.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “What news, Cas?”

The angel’s smile was surprising in its rarity and it made Dean raise an eyebrow.

“I know why Y/N isn’t a psychic.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

#endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean winchester smut #endverse!dean series #endverse!dean fan fiction #dean winchester #dean x reader

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orderforbrian · 1 year

Text

Day 6 - Time Travel for @jonmartinweek!

im late again but only bc i drew waayyy too much for this lol - i couldnt help it tho i really love those kid-centric aus where jon and martin's future kids come visit their s1 selves - they're just full of so many cute moments and little jokes 🤭 i'm also just a sucker for anything jmart kid related. plus watching s1 jon and martin, who have budged hardly an inch past absolute loathing, grapple with the fact they not only get married in the future but have KIDS too is soooooooo good 😆they get to talking and realize "oh god you really are my ideal partner ohno OHHH NOO"

[Start ID: Multiple images of Jon and Martin from The Magnus Archives as well as their future children for an AU. Jon is a thin Persian man with dark, curly hair streaked with grey and rectangular glasses. Martin is a fat, mixed Polish/Korean man with dark brown, wavy hair, browline glasses, and a beauty mark by his lip. 1st image: Jon and Martin are sitting at a wedding table decorated with flowers, a plate with half eaten cake, and a green napkin. Jon is wearing a white shirt with a dark green bowtie, his hair is slicked back into a low bun with some styled stray hairs. His black suit jacket covers the chair behind him. He has light beard and a gold column earring. Martin is wearing a white shirt with a dark blue bowtie, his hair is styled back as well and he wears a gold diamond drop earring. They sit side by side, noses almost touching - Jon smiles wholesomely at Martin, holding up a coupe glass of champagne, and Martin smiles back with his eyes closed, left hand resting around the base of his own coupe glass. Jon's left hand sits on top of Martin's, each hand has a gold band on the ring finger. The drawing looks like a polaroid, Jon's handwriting at the bottom says "Jonathan and Martin Blackwood-Sims. June 27th, 2023." Martin has placed a red heart sticker and written "J+M" in blue marker on the photo. 2nd image: Jon and Martin are older and pose with their children on their backs. Their children, Mina and Jules, have dark, curly hair like Jon's, Mina has a beauty mark by his right eye and Jules has one on her left lower cheek. In this image Mina has her hair tied back into two pigtails and is smiling with one tooth gone. She wears overalls with a scalloped shirt, a sensory bracelet on her right wrist, and sneakers. She is riding on Martin's back, gripping his shirt with one hand and lifting up the other one behind his head, laughing loudly. Martin side eyes her with mirth, his hair is more choppy and down past his shoulders, he has a patchy beard, and wears a simple lined shirt. In this image, Jules has her hair tied back into a ponytail and is wearing a t-shirt, jean shorts and sneakers with a star on them. She sticks her tongue out towards the camera and winks one eye, both her arms are laced around Jon's neck. Jon's hair is past his ears and he has a fully grown mustache and beard, he wears a collared short sleeve shirt. Underneath ths photo Jon writes "Picnic after 2nd year primary. Mina (7) Jules (8)." Martin has drawn a yellow sun and written in blue marker "too old!!" and a crying face. 3rd image: Mina and Jules (off frame) hold up multiple photographs to younger Jon and Martin (season 1). Martin is wearing a collared shirt and his hair is side parted, cut just past his ears. Jon has his hair slicked back aside from a couple large curls at the front and wears a suit jacket, collared shirt, tie, and vest. Martin and Jon stare down at the photos with flustered surprise, confusion, and disbelief, both blushing. Martin pinches one of the photos with his right hand. Jon holds his glasses in his right hand.

4th image is a 7 panel comic. Mina and Jules both wear glasses and school uniforms with a backpack, Mina wearing a tie and vest, her hair done in two braids, and Jules wearing a collared shirt and tie, her hair in a bob with two clips. 1st panel: Jules outstretches her hand while looking angry at Mina who is looking away with a huff. "We would've gotten here way sooner if you didn't have to stop and pet that dumb dog!!". 2nd panel: Jon crosses his arms and sneers at Martin, who is looking unimpressed and annoyed and holding a tea mug. "They get that from you...". 3rd panel: Mina points at Jules and retorts "Well if you weren't so impatient we wouldn't have gotten caught, stupid!!". 4th panel: Martin lifts up the tea mug to take a sip and shoots back to Jon, who frowns, "They get that from you...". 5th panel: Mina and Jules yell at each other with closed eyes and hunched shoulders, "UGH!!! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ARGUING WITH ME!!!". 6th panel: A simplified drawing of Jon and Martin, one speech bubble connecting both of them saying "They get that from you". 7th panel: Jon and Martin whip around and stare at each other with offended anger, saying "ME?!".

5th image is of Mina and Jules in full color. They have the same descriptions as in the comic, the school uniform is a purple gray, the skirts plaid. Mina wears a green colored sensory bracelet and Jules wears a blue colored one. Mina has a nervous frown, a couple sweat marks coming off her head, while Jules smiles with quiet confidence, a couple gold sparkles by her head. They hold hands in the middle, Jules is slightly taller than Mina. Above Mina are the following words: Mina (Mia) *younger sibling *a bit shy *fave color is green *loves when Dad does her hair. Above Jules are the following words: Julia (Jules) *older (by 11 months) *more adventurous *fave color is blue *loves when Baba buys her ice cream. End ID.]

#jmart #jonmartin #teaholding #jonmartinweek2023 #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #order up! art tag #jmart kids #time travel au #kid au #the magnus archives #tma

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uchihaharlot · 4 months

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I didn't mean to break their hearts, I was just curious, srry!😭😭 (but Itachi's one was kinda funny-)

But anyway, now I'm wondering about how they would react if they found out that you can draw really cool and beautiful.

(I'm an artist, so😎)

Nonny 🥹🥹

That put me in an really good mood; lol. That was way too fun to write; maybe I can one day write a super angsty break up (but I love them too much!!!).

I love all artists 😭😭😭 Painters, writers — digital or paper. Anything that expresses the inner workings of someone’s mind and the fact that they can manifest it to reality is so so so beautiful. I hope I’ve secretly seen your art, I’d probably simp over it. Always simp over art. 😂😂🥹🥹

N/SFW; very cute Uchiha men adoring your artwork! 🥹🥹🥹 (ooc Madara??); Simpy Obito; …Scandalous Shisui; abnormally observant Itachi 😂 suggestive themes rolled out the further I got. For some reason, I just had to. (P.s. I should not be allowed to write when tired??? Half of this was done while my eyes rolled shut in bed).

Madara:

It’s not everyday that Madara is blown like a leaf in the wind. When you mentioned being a patron of the arts, he thought maybe the art of battle?? Didn’t expect your weapon to be a paint brush with some acrylic paint. Thought it was some weird jutsu infused shit.

And then you just had to go above and beyond and do a portrait of him for his birthday!!!!! It’s hung on the living room center wall so that it’s the first thing anyone sees! Honestly, this man is a brute, but your art envokes his softer side! A side that he hasn’t been in touch with for…well, a long time.

Makes sure that everyone and I mean, everyone, is aware of your talent! Still, he tries to find the side hussle in it, soliciting customers for you and all. 😭😭 Will trash talk the chalk art children make on the sidewalk, which ‘…that’s not nice, they’re children..’ you say. He shrugs, nobody is as good as you.

Obito:

Finds out and tries to ‘secretly’ commission you lmao. Makes it totally obvious too, his handwriting is shit and eveeeerrryyyyone knows who Tobi really is…. Plus how can you even begin without discussing what he wants done!! Duh, Obito! Unfortunately for him, you are more interested in drawing matters of the flesh. He’ll only show his chest, nothing more.

‘That’s fine.’ You shrug, and get to work. Obito, however, does not have the resolve to sit still! It’s frustrating to no end, but alas, after what seems an eternity— its done. Sort of. Still much to add, but the basics are there and you’ll work better when he’s not asking how does it look every twenty minutes.

Eventually you do finish this beautiful piece of him, and Obito cries. You made his scars tolerable and beautiful with your mind’s creativity, he feels less self conscious about them, only a little.

Shisui:

Is the least normal about it when he discovered your sketchbook — more like snatched and played keep away. Had to fight him for it, literally. Will ask you to paint/draw him naked…many times lol and you respectfully say no... Not that he likes people to see him naked (ok maybe a little?) but he secretly hopes it might happen one day. It would be a private thing for the two of you, cause he wants that ass.

And when you do cave to his whim, just to satiate him. He’s nervous lmao. Had this oh so macho man idea of rocking a hard on but Shisui simply maintains his usual semi. It’s nice though, you make sure it’s extremely detailed..as he asked for.

But, ‘(y/n)… this is chibbi!!!’ Lol, jokes on Shisui!! He didn’t say how to draw his pp.

Itachi:

Is the most normal about it. Though he still will praise you every time you finish a piece and show him, he is still massively impressed. How does your wrist not get tired? …maybe this is why your hand jobs are so good. 😈 Just watching you try a new technique (pointillism, which is my favorite style) makes his wrist hurt. Enjoys when you ask him for ideas! He has lots of them! Mostly…obscure and derelict landscapes though.

Would not be opposed to having his portrait done, but it’s really not his style. He is disciplined enough to sit still but doesn’t see the value in it. Not until the final product is revealed, does he truly understand how important this piece was. You’ve captured his personality in a new light.

#madara headcanons #obito headcanons #shisui headcanons #itachi headcanons #madara x reader #obito x reader #shisui x reader #itachi x reader #madara uchiha #obito uchiha #shisui uchiha #itachi uchiha #uchiha clan #uchiha family #uchiha headcanons

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cherryslyce · 1 year

Text

The Avarice Files (II) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead.

— Chapter Synopsis: Your adventures at Rosier Estate bring more than you could have anticipated.

Part I / Part III / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant. A few words short of 4k words.

Time travel was a dizzying prospect to articulate, and an even more disorienting concept to actually experience. Your eyes are squeezed shut, stinging as the rapid rewinding of time causes your surroundings to rapidly blur and warp in a plethora of colors.

You surrendered any attempt to count the seconds that passed, and it isn’t until you feel a gloved hand on your shoulder that you reluctantly peel your eyes open.

Looking to your side, you clear your throat as Regulus continues to peer at you. “Oh, uh, thanks.”

Regulus merely grunts before deftly removing the thin chain from around his neck, head swiveling around to survey the environment as you recollect yourself. The absence of dark tiles startles you into following Regulus’ movements, vision thrumming with faint stars as you do so.

Instead of the long tunnel-esque hallway you were familiar with, you were both greeted by clinically white walls and smooth concrete flooring. “I wasn’t aware this sector was a fairly new extension.” You hum, tucking the time turner under your robe collar.

The bare hallway practically glows as it splinters toward an equally bare doorway, a thick black tarp draping across the wide aperture.

“Can we apparate?” Regulus’ gruff voice draws your eyes toward him, blinking slowly as you unconsciously compare the shade of his mask to the snowy white of the walls.

Nodding, you hum and quickly divert your gaze, “Since this was just recently constructed, I’m sure we can. Present day—no, but that’s due to its close proximity to the artifacts room.”

Regulus draws his wand from his concealed wrist holster, microscopically swiveling it by his side as he turns to you, “You’re right.” Ward detection spell. You almost want to facepalm as you realize that you could have done the same. Clearly, the shock of Regulus’ existence above the grave was still wearing on your concentration.

Shifting your weight to one foot, you hum absentmindedly, “The time turner has a cool down. Plus we’ll need to head back after we retrieve the file. No use in carrying such a valuable item with us the whole time.”

“Cool down?” Regulus intones.

“Should be about half a day after every round trip.” You confirm, keeping your eyes locked to the end of the hallway.

Regulus nods in consideration before falling into silence again.

“Ah, have you been to Rosier Estate by any chance?” You ask, dropping the folders in your hands into the woven bag slung over your shoulder.

The masked man before you nods and juts his elbow out imperceptibly, eyes glazing over with an indecipherable sheen. You swiftly clasp his elbow, filing away your curiosity as your mind kicks into gear.

The tug and spiraling of apparition tangles with your stomach as you’re graced with a familiar pit of anticipation. Once you land, you first hear the rustling of leaves, the bristling chimes fluttering through the air around you.

Detaching yourself from Regulus, you take a step to the side as you admire the forest around you, the aroma of pine and soil lulling you into tranquility.

“How nice.” You hum, throwing your head back as you gaze through the verdant curtains of dancing leaves and toward the stormy sky.

“The manor is nearby. We’ll have to get a little closer to the wards.” Regulus says, poking your shoulder with the edge of the folder to get your full attention.

Softly tugging the item into your hands, you splay the folder open for the both of you to look at.

File 0100: Clyde Rosier. 06/18/1958.

Brief: Retrieve the lost file of Archadiem inside Rosier Estate’s study during the patrimony ball. Leave no witnesses.

Location: Rosier Estate. Bournemouth, England

“Shit.” You hiss out, a groan bubbling in your throat as you reread the curt note. “There’s going to be a fuck ton of people there. How inconvenient.”

“It’ll be fine.” Regulus grunts, thumbing at the edge of the paper as he grips his wand tightly.

You click your tongue before gently retracting the folder and tucking it away into your bag. “Right. Nothing a few Obliviate’s and Imperio’s can’t fix.”

Regulus draws back a little and gazes at you with slightly widened eyes, as if he was really seeing you for the first time. You raise your eyebrows and grin lightly, “Should I be offended that you’re so shocked? We’re in the same line of work. Kind of.”

“It’s just difficult.” He mumbles, eyes now sinking back to their usual blank look.

“Hm?” You muse, spinning your wand around your fingers.

Regulus looks away into the distance before he speaks again. “How does time travel work?”

“Ah, it’s quite a convoluted concept.” You start, scratching your nails gently against your bicep as you attempt to articulate your next words, “We can go back to the past, obviously, but we aren’t able to jump forward to a time where we have yet to experience. In terms of avoiding a complete implosion of our timeline, we have to avoid people that either know us, or will come to know us in their future… er, our present?” You shoot a playful look at him at your next words, “And definitely no killing either.”

“Shame.” Regulus breathes out lowly.

You huff out in amusement and raise an eyebrow at him. “Alright, we should head on over now. I can disarm the security wards just long enough for us to cross.”

“Someone might notice.” Regulus supplies, yet his tone indicated no stress over the matter.

“It’s the house elves you should be worrying about. I’m sure they’ll notice us snooping around.” Your words are tinted with an edge of concentration as Regulus begins to pace through the forest floor with you on his tail.

Regulus’ hood shifts side-to-side ever so slightly as he watches your surroundings. “The elves will be in the kitchen preparing the food.”

“Oh?” Your echo is laden with curiosity as you silently prod him to explain.

“Lord Rosier is not keen on having them wander while he has guests over.” Regulus mutters with firm certainty.

Your inquisitive gaze only sharpens at his words, but you concede at the explanation, not wanting to push the man further and risk shattering any semblance of ease he held toward you. “Sounds good. Do you know where the office is then?”

Regulus hums in confirmation before slowing in his tracks, slightly ducking behind one of the trees and reaching an arm back to gesture for you to do the same. Following the man’s lead, you step further into the shade and peer into the bright clearing. Somehow, your riveting conversation with Regulus lasted long enough for him to trace a path to the side of the lavish estate.

There are a few people milling at the entrance of the manor, all layered with tailored formal wear that reeked of obscene wealth. You and Regulus are a few yards away from the edge of the luscious garden, the sway of tulip beds mottling the expanse of the view in front of you.

Unfortunately, your initial plan of sneaking in seems to flush away as an increasing amount of people pour onto the property. The sudden twitch of Regulus’ fingers tells you that he agreed with your assessment.

“Damn, I think I left my spare polyjuice potion vials back at home. I got too eager.” You curse yourself quietly, mentally kicking yourself for being so careless. Regulus glances over his shoulder at you before digging into the pocket of his cloak, the faint clacking of glass spurring a hum of disbelief to escape your mouth. “No way, Black.”

“Stay here. Lift the wards on my cue.” Without another word, the man softly thrusts the two vials toward you and slinks away to Merlin knows where.

“Wait, Regulus! What cue—” You fiddle with the glass cylinders as the man disappears from your sight. Shaking your head, you can only huff out an exasperated sigh. “Unbelievable.”

Craning your head around, you try to pinpoint Regulus’ swift figure, only catching glimpses of his robe through the treeline. He rounds toward the back of the manor much to your confusion, but as you squint for a few moments, you see two figures slowly trekking toward Regulus’ direction.

Regulus’ mask peeks from the side of a thick tree and darts in your direction, and you’re thrusted into high alert as you see him lift and shake his wand between two fingers. Suppressing an eyeroll, you deftly swing your wand out from your side and aim at the air above the garden, murmuring a complex interception charm at the intangible barrier.

Your magic darts out in a sharp strike, permeating across the bubble of interwoven ward charms, gnawing away at the webs of magic and causing it to flicker before seemingly melting away. Luckily, the temporary dismantling of the wards lasts long enough for Regulus to enact his plan.

Leaning your body weight against the tree beside you, you watch in wonder as a shadow shoots out from the treeline and stupefies both individuals back-to-back. Tapping your foot against a bulb of root beneath your shoe, you patiently wait as you see Regulus haul both of the figures over his shoulders like sacks of potatoes before exiting the scene just as quickly as he arrived.

You feel your charm wane before dissipating, and it's enough for you to shoot a cautious look toward the arriving guests, none of whom seem to notice any changes. Just as you turn back around, you nearly feel your heart stop as Regulus’ masked face fills your vision.

“Merlin almighty, Regulus!” You wheeze out. “A word of warning next time, please.”

The man ignores your near fatal scare and drops both of the figures down onto the ground, crouching to pluck a strand of hair from them both. Approaching the crumpled figures, you uncork the vials before handing them to Regulus, already dreading having to change into their stuffy outfits.

“Who the bloody hell are these two anyway?” You wonder aloud, watching as Regulus hands one of the vials back to you.

Regulus blinks before glancing down at them. “They were speaking in Italian.”

“Possible business partners of Rosier’s, then?” You offer, accepting the vial being extended to you. As you finish throwing back the concoction, a bright glimmer catches your eyes. “And a couple.”

Regulus freezes at this and picks up the limp hand with the lustrous diamond ring in an almost disbelieving motion. You bite back a chuckle and shake your head, feeling your body curling and morphing to match the one by your feet. “I guess it could be worse.” Regulus peers up at this, and you smile down at him, “We could have been stuck with the Malfoy’s.”

“I suppose you’re right.” A breathy sound tangles into the air, and at first you’re immediately put on guard as your eyes fly around to track the source of the sound, but as a few more moments pass, you’re struck with the realization that Regulus just laughed.

You feel your lips part in shock. Except, they’re not your lips. They feel taut and unbearably foreign on your face. A sigh leaves your mouth as you realize that the transformation was complete, leaving you rooted to the ground in a haze of disorientation as you become acquainted with your new limbs.

Shaking your head to snap from your stupor, you raise an eyebrow at Regulus, “You just laughed.”

“Hm.” Regulus’ gloved hand reaches up to cup the chin of his mask, his other hand bringing up the potion to his face.

You spin around before Regulus can lift the mask off, opting to admire the colorful garden to occupy yourself. “You should laugh more, I’ve always liked your laugh.”

Regulus does not dignify your comment with a response, not that you expected him to, but you feel him tap your knee to get you to turn back around.

The man busies himself with stripping your victims of their clothing, pointedly not glancing at you when you drop to your knees to do the same. You both work quietly, only giving the occasional grunt or sigh when a button or zipper gets stuck.

After you peel off the necessary articles of clothing from your… person, leaving them in their underdressings, you mutely trek behind a few trees to swap clothing, raising your eyes upward so as to not peek at your new body.

By the time you make your way back to Regulus, clothes bundled haphazardously in your hands, he is already finished changing, deciding to throw his robe over one of the limp bodies.

Regulus raises his gaze to you as you draw closer, moving to pick up the remainder of his clothes and his mask. You both shove the clothing into the woven bag, maintaining a comfortable silence all the while. After you both finish, you shove the bag into a dark hollow in one of the weighty trees.

“I’ll move them farther out.” Regulus drones, voice still painfully stoic even in his new flesh disguise. You nod and clear your throat, tapping into your years of incognito experience to try and dredge up some semblance of a respectable Italian accent.

Regulus hauls both of the bodies over his shoulders again, briskly pacing away as you smooth out your outfit, admiring the heavy satin fabric and intricate threading.

“You ready?” Regulus’ voice rings into the small clearing, and you shoot him an assured smile.

“Gotta work on the accent, Black. The voice doesn’t match the face very much.” Your accent slips off your tongue smoothly, causing Regulus to raise his eyebrow at you.

The teasing spurs an oh-so-elegant eyeroll from him as he trudges toward you. “Like this?” The faint Italian lilt of his voice is admittedly, quite believable, and you’re left to mimic his eyeroll as you beckon him forward.

“Let’s just hope that Rosier is too busy to approach us.” You mutter, lifting your wand to disable the wards again.

Regulus remains behind you as you execute the task, humming when he senses the barrier flickering ever so slightly. “Let me do the talking if he does.”

“Sure, boss.” You huff sarcastically, quickly passing into the garden before your charm disappears. “He’s going to be on his toes about the wards. Wavering twice in such a short period of time is no accident.”

“Don’t worry. He’s not the observant type.” Regulus says, crouching down behind a dense patch of shrubs.

You follow suit and turn to him, “Are you seriously implying that he’s an ignoramus?”

“Yes.” He deadpans, a sliver of disdain melting into his tone. “Now, we’ll slip in and split up.”

Nodding, you catch onto his plan. “Right, and we’ll both be too busy to stop for chats because we’ll be looking for each other.”

“Good. Exactly.” He praises with a hum, stretching up from his position to survey the area. “Rosier will be making his toast soon. We need to be there so it won’t seem suspicious.”

“How do you know?” You question quietly, walking by Regulus’ side as you both hurry toward the entrance.

“I grew up going to these kinds of events.” He huffs, offering his arm as you both near the towering wooden doors.

Hooking your arm in his, you plaster on a flat expression and square your shoulders, immediately reverting into work-mode. You both climb up the stone stairs, not even flinching when the doors swing open as you both reach the last step.

The aroma of baked bread and pear wafts towards you as you both breach the threshold, the light chattering buzzing through the air gradually increasing in volume as you both drift into the clusters of milling wizards in the ballroom.

“Look who made it.” An unctuous voice cuts over from your left, and you and Regulus swivel over to see an older couple approaching you both. “We were starting to worry.” The older woman muses, a thin smile stretching across her face.

“We decided to get some air.” Regulus greets, an amicable lip turn twisting at his face.

You nod along and tighten your hold on Regulus’ arm. “The tulips are wonderful this time of year, after all.”

The woman hums in agreement, eyes glinting sharply under the light. Her husband chuckles softly and draws his flute of champagne closer to his chest as he finally speaks up, “You’re not wrong. Well, we’re glad you’re both here now. Such a shame that Pierre is no longer with us, but Clyde will do well.”

Regulus hums and feigns dolefulness at his words, “Yes, what a shame. Pardon us, Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass, we were hoping to grab some refreshments ourselves before Lord Rosier’s appearance.”

The older man—Lord Greengrass, gives a small ah of understanding before inclining his head. “Of course, Signor Pacelli. We must get together one of these days for dinner.”

“It would be our pleasure.” Regulus agrees, offering a pleasant smile to the two before gently tugging you away. You shoot the couple a small smile before spinning on your heel to follow him, letting out a small sigh.

“How’d you know?” You murmur, eyes slowing in their rapid survey.

Regulus hums and his voice drops as he replies, “The perks of pureblood playdates. The Greengrass’ are familiar faces.”

Luckily, neither of you are stopped again and you’re able to amble towards the champagne table without pause. Just as you pick up one of the glasses, a light ringing fills the air and draws your attention to the center of the room.

The crowd disperses into a vague ring shape to surround the source of the noise: a copper-haired man tapping a spoon against his champagne flute.

“Clyde.” Regulus mutters just loud enough for you to hear. You hum in understanding and turn fully to the man as he begins to speak.

“Everyone, thank you for gathering here at my estate on this lovely day. I am grateful to not only be able to honor my late father alongside his most trusted acquaintances, but to also be given the privilege to inherit the title of Lord Rosier.” The lithe man runs his gaze over every occupant in the room as he pauses. “Trust that I will be diligent in my duty to protect our traditions and culture, we must never surrender our fight for the greater purpose.”

His last statement seems to birth a quiet excitement amongst the crowd as people positively beam at his words, sharing small glances that oozed of complete assent and zealoustry. The topic of blood purity seemed to be the cream of the crop to everyone surrounding you.

A stern looking man steps forward from his spot in the circle and raises his glass, eyes gleaming with approval as a wicked smile settles on his face. “To Lord Rosier.” His voice rumbles across the room followed by intonations of similar endorsement.

You feel Regulus tense up beside you as he sees the man, arm snapping stiff for a few moments before you feel him forcefully relax his muscles. Biting your tongue, you suppress the urge to look at Regulus as you both mimic the crowd’s movements, a nauseating wave wracking through your body as you see the avaricious look on Rosier’s face.

Bloody psycho.

“I am truly honored. Now, please enjoy your time here!” Rosier inclines his head before motioning for the gettogether to resume, immediately moving to speak with who you recognized to be the Malfoy’s. Abraxas and… dear Merlin, a baby-faced Lucius.

Biting back a snicker, you pat Regulus’ forearm as you bring your drink back to your side. “Lucius is quite adorable.”

Regulus discreetly glances over and you see his eyes light up in mirth, quietly muttering into his drink as he tries to loosen up. “Merlin, who would have thought.”

“Are you alright though?” You whisper before taking a sip from your own glass, refraining from looking toward the stern man as you frown.

He nods quickly, before ducking down to your ear. “Later.” He carefully surveys your surroundings before continuing, “I’m going to go to the office. Second floor, west wing.”

You nod smally and slowly slip your arm from his, “Be careful.”

“Come up in five.” He mutters, grabbing another glass of champagne before slinking away into the crowd of people.

You slowly down your glass before also grabbing another one, trying your best to hide your discomfort with the overwhelming environment. A few more seconds pass before you begin to weave through the crowd, intentionally wading around groups in rapt conversation in hopes of fading into the background.

After pointedly ignoring straying eyes, you begin to adopt the composure of someone on a mission to find something, which you suppose works out since it was the literal dilemma you were facing. Your eyes feign search as they glide over people’s heads, a minute frown plastering itself on your lips as you pretend to seek Regulus out.

The charade remains intact for a few minutes until you’re up the staircase and rounding the corner, your huff of contained relief finding residence in the desolate hallway. Muffling your footsteps, you arduously navigate through the maze of hallways and windows.

Just as you go to reach for your wand, deciding to use a tracking spell, a pair of heavy footsteps echo from ahead of you. Slipping your hand away from your concealed holster, you compose yourself just in time to see a sinewy man turn the corner in front of you.

Swallowing roughly, you relax your expression into one of light surprise as he makes eye contact with you. His cobalt eyes widen imperceptibly before a saccharine smile curls at his lips.

Closing the distance between you, he hums as you smile back at him. “There you are, dove. I noticed you were gone earlier. I suppose now is an opportune time. My missus is with Clyde right now, but let’s be quick.”

He goes to hug your body closer to his, and you instinctively tense up at the approach, mind whirling on overdrive as you stiffly reciprocate his movements. The embrace has your skin prickling while a suffocating air befalls on the hallway. Pulling back from the unknown man’s hold, you clear your throat as his face leans towards yours. “Not in the hallway. Anyone can walk by.”

Your voice is even and poised, the complete antithesis to the panic stinging at your nerves.

The man chuckles and runs a hand through his hair as he nods. “Sure. Let’s head to Clyde’s drinking parlor then. He won’t mind.” His eyes scan your face and the look is enough to spur the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up.

A—completely fake, coy smile dances on your lips as you nod back. “Well, lead the way then.”

Fuck. An affair with some mystery man. You were beginning to wish that you had downed seven glasses of alcohol instead.

You both pass by a couple more doors before the man is deftly pushing one open, gesturing for you to go in first. The room was nothing if not exceedingly opulent. Suspended above the two plush lounge chairs is a glittering chandelier embellished with blinding crystals and ivory candles. The far wall stretched out into a makeshift bar with shelves stacked ceiling-high with decanters and waxed-dipped wine bottles. A sturdy glass table is sprouted in between the two lounge chairs, housing a single transparent ashtray.

Before you can drown in your reverie of the room, you hear the mystery man clear his throat from behind you.

Turning on your heel, your small grin washes away as your heart stutters to a stop as you see his wand pointed at your head.

He gives you a flinty smile that flashes too many of his teeth, eyes wide with cold curiosity as he steps towards you. “Now that we have some privacy. Mind telling me who the hell you are?”

TAGLIST: @tomo-tofu @night-fall-moon @darkenwolfie @eliz-eia @justkiyomi @idkwimdahyd @googie-jeon @littleshadow17 @doux-ange @moni-cah @valsarchives @that-bitch-bri @tiana76 @jsjcue @younmey @novella12nite @littlefrogiefairy @rainfell-m @user2772636

#regulus black #regulus black imagine #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black imagines #regulus black deserved better #regulus black x reader #regulus black series #regulus black angst #regulus black fluff #regulus black x y/n #regulus black scenario #harry potter series #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter #the noble house of black

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foolstower · 1 year

Text

Pomegranates & Brunch

Elliot x reader (Stardew valley)

A/n: obsessed with the dew rn

Pomegranates.

A peculiar little fruit that you didn't much care for until you moved to Stardew valley. Cracking one open you could see it's ruby red seeds gleam under the sunlight. Maybe he'll come by today. He'll ask, how are you? With a smile. His voice carries with the wind and draws your attention each time. You try to say something different each day. Hoping one of the topics will keep him around longer than usual. But it's always ends the same.

You give him a pomegranate. Like you have everyday this fall.

Picking two more pomegranates from the tree, you gingerly place them in the woven basket you were using to harvest all of your produce today.

It's been two seasons since you moved to the valley and you never would have guessed that the tree growing on your property would bear such beautiful fruit. When you first got here you noticed this tree was one of the few well kept things on the property. You soon found out that one of the valleys locals had been making trips out to the farm since he'd moved here. He said it was the only place close that he could get pomegranates anymore, so he'd come out and make sure the tree was doing ok. He came by when you moved in to ask if he could buy the fruits from you since you'd be living there from now on. You'd told him not to worry about it, he was more than welcome to stop by in the fall and take as many as he wanted, it could be a way of thanking him for keeping it healthy for so long.

but it was only half the truth. You were mesmerized from the moment you met him. He can take whatever he wants.

Continuing on to the barns, you promptly gave you're cows some amaranth you had stored away and a pat on the head. Then you made your way over to the coops to gathered eggs. Maybe you'll make breakfast this morning? Fresh eggs didn't sound so bad with a side of toast and some bacon. Your stomach started growling just thinking about it. That's what happens when you skip breakfast in favor of brunch to get things done early. You tried to ignore the slightly queezy feeling in your gut and continued on. The plan was to make a trip to Pierre's for some more pumpkin seeds before you notice a ginger head at the entrance of your farm.

You started your slow trek towards him, basket heavier now that it contained more items and the heat was sweltering. He looked more casual today, in a beige knitted sweater and jeans. His demeanor seemed more lax too. Did something good happen?

The breeze felt amazing once you made it to the steps of your home. Elliot met you there and you both took a seat together. You placed the basket down next to you and couldn't stop the yawn that released now that you'd finally relaxed.

"You look absolutely exhausted. Are you alright?" He asked, concern laced in every word. You turned to face him, and smiled. He was right, you were in fact extremely tired. The only thing keeping you going was a coffee break you had an hour ago.

"I'll be ok. I skipped breakfast this morning, but I was actually about to go inside soon and cook up something." You said. You looked at the eggs and milk in your basket and briefly fantasized about what kind of omelette you could make. When you looked back at Elliot he was staring at the basket too seemingly deep in thought. You quirked a brow. What's he thinking about?

"If its ok.. will you allow me to cook for you today?" The offer floated around in the air for a minute while you triple checked if you heard that right. "Listen, I know I mostly use these hands for writing but I'd like to think I'm a pretty good cook too." He said confidently. "Plus you've been a pleasure to be around since you got here. Let me thank you." He added, voice borderlining a teaseing tone. You blushed at that but more at the fact that he would be coming into your house. You can't remember if it was clean. Did you wash the dishes? How could he cook if the dishes are dirty... Oh well if anything you can just clean as he cooks. Plus how could you pass up a home cooked meal from the man of your dreams?

"Ok! I think I would like that actually." You say finally convinced. Standing up from your spot on the steps, you make your way toward the door. You leave the watering can next to the porch and pick up the basket. "Sorry if my place is a mess." You half mumbled as you grabbed the door knob and opened it up.

"Algae literally grows on my floorboards y/n."

"Touche."

Upon entering your home you noticed that the dishes were in fact dirty but it wasn't a mountain by any means. There were still clean pans and other utensils to be able to cook effectively.

"You have a very welcoming home, it's definitely yours." He admired, observing the various pieces of art on the wall and potted plants scattered around every possible area. It was cute.

"Thank you. I've always loved these things and didn't know I would find so many gems in the Valley." You fondly think of the traveling merchant. She's introduced you to so many things since being here.

"I wish I would've known, there's so many things I've seen that would fit perfectly in here." He thought back to all the things hes seen that's reminded him of you since meeting. You're so nice and he's been wanting to return the favor for all the gift you've given him. "Sorry I got sidetracked, two fridges? Which one should I use?" He questioned.

"I keep most things in the big fridge but if you need something else check the mini fridge." You told him as you picked up the sponge near the sink and lathered it up with soap. Turning on the faucet you started washing the spoons and forks. Elliot came up to the right of you and after a few clicks from the gas stove, it lit up. He placed a pan on top of the burner and then started to gather his ingredients from the fridge. He already looked handsome without trying but seeing him in the coziness of your home, cooking for you, made him undeniably more attractive.

You looked back at the dishes in your hands and started washing the plates. Thoughts of what it'd be like to have him in your life doing this everyday danced through your head. A soft grin sat comfortably on your face. You could hear the soft clinks of a metal fork hitting the bottom of a glass bowl as he stired eggs, milk and other seasoning into the mix. You didn't notice that he had tied his hair back into a loose ponytail and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow.

You put away the last dish and dried your hands. The kitchen was starting to smell delicious as he chopped up some spinach to put in the omelette that he had cooking in one of the skillets. Bacon was now sizzling on a second pan and a loaf of bread sitting to the side to get toasted later. You put on some coffee and grabbed two red cups from your pantry. After waiting about a ten minutes, poured two cups and placed them at the kitchen table and took a seat. A book sat on the table that Elliot had given you a few weeks ago. When you had first gotten 'Camellia Station' you were non-stop reading but as summer ended and fall began you had gotten too busy to wrap it up. Taking a sip of the coffee, you grabbed it and opened it up to where you had left off. There were only a few more chapters until the end.

It wasn't long before a plate was gracefully placed in front of you. An omelette that took up half of the dish, a few pieces of bacon, and two pieces of toast with butter spread on top. Green leaves were mixed into a soft fluffy yellow, freshly shredded cheese oozed from the center. You closed the book and sat it back in its place.

"Wow Elliot... This looks amazing!" You cheered. Your stomach started growling on cue as Elliot sat down in the seat opposite of you. A soft pink coated his cheeks at the compliment making you gush on the inside.

"It's not a problem at all, I hope it tastes as good as it looks." He nervously chuckled. He'd never really cooked for others since moving here. With no kitchen in his cabin and no one to really cook for there was never a need to go out of his way to do something like that. But after all you've helped him with he hoped that it came out at least ok.

You cut into the omelette a took the first bite. His hopes came true. The omelette was perfectly cooked, seasoned, and the cheese melted perfectly. You would dare say this is the best damned omelette you've ever had.

Elliot was pleased with what he saw. The look of pure satisfaction on your face was all the thanks he needed to be able to dig into his own omelette. His wasn't as perfect as yours was, considering his was the practice trial before making the the other one. It was still just as good however.

Though Elliot wasn't lying when he said he was making this breakfast to thank you for hanging out with him, he was also here to thank you for something else. Within the time span of knowing you he'd never experienced such a rush of creativity. Before he knew it he'd written a whole book by the end of summer. That very same book was now being recognized worldwide and he thought he should come clean about how exactly he got the idea for this novel.

"That was so goooood." You sighed looking at the empty plate Infront of you. Your stomach that used to be churning was now full and you felt like you had enough energy to power you into tomorrow.

Elliot chuckled softly and took a sip of his coffee before sitting it back down on the table. "Thank you, I'm glad it was to your liking." He glanced at his also empty plate as you picked them both up and took them to the sink. He debated how he should even bring the topic up. So many ways he could say this but none of them sounded right for you.

"Elliot, you ok? You seem deep in thought." You prodded. He had an elbow on the table with his cheek resting on the back of his fingers. His brows were knitted together but relaxed once his gaze landed on you.

"Im fine but if I'm being honest I did come here with other intentions." He said his olive green eyes stared at you for a second before continuing. "I need to confess something to you." He admitted.

Taking your place back in your seat, you gave him a questioning look. A confession?

"Oh? What about?" You said trying to hide the nervousness in your throat.

"Well, you've been a great inspiration to me, and I did come over today to thank you but not just for hanging out with me." He said gesturing to the book sitting on the center of the table. "Camellia station. It's a book I always had a general idea about. I knew how I wanted it to go but I never knew how to take it there." He said picking it up from the center of the table. "it actually wasn't until the beginning of this year that I was able to find the motivation to write it..... It was when I met you." He stated, Absolutely loving the scarlet that coated your cheeks at that last bit.

"When you met me?" The only thing on your mind.

"Yes, I met you and your presence brought a wave of complex feelings that helped me write this novel." He confirmed. He flipped to a page in the book and read one of the paragraphs aloud.

"Gozman had never met someone quite like Clara before. She had a certain allure that had her on his mind night and day. She was a hard worker with a kind soul and took time out of her busy life to always chat with him when he travelled. He doubt she knew considering she was a busy woman. But whenever he'd book his flights he'd always try and book her's. She brightened up his life a little and he found himself wanting to be around her more and more each passing moment." He read to you. His voice was soothing and deep. You stared on in wonder. Confused on where this was going but liking it none the less. This is the longest he's stayed around before and you don't mind one bit.

He closed the book and held it in his hands, reminiscing all the other lines he wrote with you in the back of his mind. His muse, you were a drop of fresh water that allowed his creative soul to blossom again. In his mind he would never be able to really make up for just how much you've truly helped him.

"You were the one on my mind when I wrote that paragraph. When I think of you, I get unusually creative. You've really helped me open up more as a writer and describe things in a way I never have before." He said. "I'm sorry if this is coming on too strong but I think you know what I'm trying to say. Don't you y/n?" He said taking your hand in his, he gently rubbed the top of your knuckles. This definitely wasn't his plan when he came over but here was no backing out now.

"Do I know what you're trying to say?" You asked. Half a tease and also genuine. Now was not the time to make any wrong assumptions. But how wrong could the assumption be when he's rubbing comforting circles into your acheing hand? He smiled.

"It means I like you. I haven't known you for even a year, yet you've inspired one of my greatest works. You're charming and I can't help but feel invigorated when you're around." He gave you're hand a comforting squeeze as you stared at him in disbelief. "I didn't come here with a bouquet but I would be honored if you'd be mine." He finishes looking up at you.

You're a mess. You don't know what to say, not that you don't accept his confession but how do you react to that? You're heart was racing so fast that the adrenaline was making you shake a bit. This made Elliot look at you with a bit of worry. Maybe he did come on too strong?

"I-im sorry I didn't mean to-"

"I love you!!" You blurted out. Immediately you covered your mouth you can't believe you just did that but you saw how worried he looked and that was the quickest way you could think to dissolve those fears. He looked at you shocked, not even he expected such a bold proclamation from you. You quickly gathered yourself and continued. "I think I knew I liked you too when I started obsessively harvesting pomegranates to give to you. I didn't know how else to convey my feelings for you, but knew you loved these fruits so I took extra care of the tree and harvested it's fruit everyday." You said finally confessing your feelings to him as well. You both relaxed. You stood up and headed to the woven basket where the pomegranates you picked this morning still rested and picked out the biggest one of the two. You made your way back and stood in front on Elliot, offering him the fruit.

"I don't have a bouquet either. But you can take this pomegranate from me again today, as a sign of my affection for you. Like it always has been." You softly stated to him. He took it from your hand and softly set it on the table next to the book before standing up and holding your hands, his right hand trailed up your arm to cradle your face.

"I love you too, my skills with words are unmatched but I can't think of any ways to properly tell you thank you enough." His hand gently slid down your cheek slightly and his thumb traced over your lips. "Allow me to show you?" He whispered. You answered by closing the gap. Your lips melted together like they belonged to each other. Your hands made it up to his chest and his made their way to your hips. He gave them a firm squeeze and backed you up against the table. A soft sound escaped the back of your throat and he lifted you onto the table. your arms were wrapped around his neck and he had a hand still on your hip and the other on your thigh when you finally broke the kiss. You both sighed trying to catch your breathes. Red dusted both of your faces, he definitely wasn't going home anytime soon.

"You're gonna stay and cook dinner too right? I can make it worth your while." You said hand coming down to trail suggestive circles on his chest. He blushed but softly laughed.

"Anything for you my dear, anything you want."

#stardew valley #stardew fanfic #stardew elliott #x reader #elliot x reader #stardew farmer #stardew x reader #stardew valley x reader #elliot stardew valley

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stratossphere · 1 year

Text

coffee | v.v

you and ville are still sleepy.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, taking pictures, fluff :)

word count: 3.2k

a/n: for @spectralstormcloud 🫶🏻

tags: @asskickedbygirl @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @kissofdawn666 @brandons-wife @valos-venus-doom @ghoulishguns @4377666

— —

It was early. Well, not super early, but you and Ville had done your best to stay up later than 11:30 the night before, so it felt early with the sun shining way too brightly through every window in the room as you came back in where you had left to retrieve two cups of coffee. Ville was still laying in bed where you'd left him, and you smiled softly at the bleary look on his face as he opened his eyes once he heard you coming in.

"Morning, sunshine." You teased as you rounded your side of the bed, amused by the sight of Ville trying futilely to block the sun out of his face with a lazy hand. He huffed out a large sigh before drawing himself to sit up in bed just as you sat down next to him, taking his coffee cup when you offered it gingerly over out of fear that he would sleepily drop it right in his lap.

"Good morning." He said groggily, leaning over to give you a quick kiss and then breaking away to take a large sip of his coffee as he leaned back against the headboard. "Thank you, love."

"Mhm." You hummed, reaching out to brush a hand through his unruly hair where he'd been sleeping with the blanket half over his head all night. He leaned into your touch slightly, his sleep-mussed strands not responding much to your attempts to tame them as he clearly tried to blink himself awake. You moved to relax next to him against the headboard so that your shoulders were touching, resting your head beside his. "You wanna do something today?"

"...get groceries." He said after a second, nodding decisively before taking another large sip of his coffee and then setting the mug on his nightstand. You rolled your eyes.

"We finally have a day off at the same time, and all you want to do is get groceries?" You mused, trying not to spill your coffee down your chin as he dropped his head heavily to rest on your shoulder. He chuckled softly, grabbing your free hand and lacing your fingers together before bringing your knuckles to his lips.

"You're better at it then I am." He supplied simply, biting at your skin just slightly before he suddenly yawned. "Let's go back to sleep."

"I just brought you coffee. Drink that." You knew that if you let Ville go back to sleep, he'd be out for another four hours into the mid-afternoon, and you didn't know if you were going to be able to stand three out of those four hours lying trapped underneath him with his snoring in your ear while you waited for him to wake the hell up. Plus, he always drooled all over your shoulder, and then liked to wake up and pretend like it couldn't have possibly been him.

"But you were so warm." He complained, turning on his side and fitting his head right in the crook of your neck where you were still fully sitting up in bed so that you could drink your coffee. "I'm still tired."

"Fine. You can go back to sleep, and I'll go grocery shopping." You were teasing, because you knew that there was no way you'd ever be able to leave him wrapped up in bed alone long enough to get anything done, but he didn't know that. He groaned.

"No. I need you." As he spoke, he pressed warm kisses to your neck, sucking just barely as he inhaled against your skin at the same time. You smiled softly at the whiny tone of his voice, finally reaching out to set your almost-gone cup of coffee down on your nightstand before you let yourself fall victim to his warm embrace.

"We have to go grocery shopping, baby. If we eat takeout for another night, you're going to die of a sodium overdose." You tried to hold your ground on the matter as he leeched his arms back around you and pulled you down further under the covers with him, but he was making it hard. Especially when he began to rub his hand up your leg.

"If it means you'll stay in this bed, I'm fine with dying." He said dramatically in response, his eyes closing with a hint of a grin on his lips as you ran your hand through his still-messy hair again. You then pressed a soft kiss to his lips, aiming just to give him a better kiss than the peck you'd greeted him with but instead getting pulled in by his hand suddenly cupping the back of your head.

The kiss was slow, and you smiled just barely as his tongue brushed against your bottom lip while his hand continued to rub at your bare leg. You knew he was trying to convince you not to get up, but it's not like you would've done so even if he hadn't been kissing you hungrily. As you kissed, he gently took your hand from his hair before beginning to push it between the two of you, pressing it right over where he was getting hard as he opened his eyes to look at you. You fully smiled then.

"I thought you were tired." You teased, rubbing your hand over his hard-on through the material of his boxer briefs and savoring the sound of his raspy groan at the feeling. There was a spark in his eye, and he only dipped down to suck at your neck again.

"You just smell so good. I can't help myself." He mumbled, rolling his hips into your hand slightly as he began to suck a little harder at your skin. You knew he was leaving hickeys for his own personal amusement, but you were too enraptured by the feeling to stop him.

"Are you sure you'll be able to stay awake?" You used your free hand to poke your fingers into his neck, pulling a laugh out of him as he pulled away from your throat.

"Yes! I swear." He insisted, trying not to grin as he pulled you in for another kiss. The kiss would've been deep, but he couldn't stop smiling against your lips as he gently pulled your hand away from between his legs before his fingers were finding the waistband of your underwear. "Have some faith in this old man."

"You're not old." You said dryly, rolling your eyes as you helped him get your underwear down and off your legs from under the covers. He blew out a scoff despite the fact that you were still pressing kisses to his lips, looking defiant to your statement.

"Yes I am. I'm practically of dying age." Here he was with his girlfriend almost completely naked in his bed (he was already working your shirt over your head as he spoke), and he was whining about dying. Figures. You fully laughed then, reaching back up to cup the back of his head softly after he'd peeled your shirt off.

"And yet I still want to have sex with you. Who would've thought." You crooned, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek as he finally fumbled to get his short boxer briefs down and off. "Stop talking about dying."

"Ok. Fine. I'll be good." He promised, licking strongly into your kiss when your lips found his again just as he pulled your leg gently over his hip. "Mm. You're so warm."

"I love you." You said softly, your breath catching just slightly when you felt him rub the head of his cock through your pussy and over your clit. His lip drew between his teeth as he did so, and only after he pushed into you slowly was he able to breathe out a response.

"I love you too. So fucking much." He spoke over the sound of your soft moan at the feeling of his cock sliding deep into you, the slow stretching making your head spin as your forehead dropped onto his shoulder.

As he gently began to roll his hips into you, he slid a hand up your back to hold you flush against him, moving at the same time your hand moved to his shoulder blade as your nails dug into his skin just barely. His low groan made your heartbeat pick up in your chest, your whole body reacting to the sound you wish you could've made your ringtone as his hand that was still holding your leg up tightened on your thigh.

His pace was slow and drawn-out, but you felt like you had no air in your lungs regardless as you whined with every brush of his cock against your sweet spot. He was barely even trying, and yet there you were falling apart in his arms.

You lifted your head to kiss him again, your hand that wasn't on his shoulder sliding up to his head to pull at his messy hair gently as he kissed you lazily. His breath tasted like nothing but coffee this early in the morning, and you couldn't help but smile at the domesticity of it all. When he felt you smiling against his lips, he broke the kiss to let his eyes slowly open again just as he exhaled shakily when you lifted your leg a little higher to allow him to hit deeper inside of you.

"What're you smiling about?" He asked after a second of regaining his breath, nipping gently at your lip as he held your gaze with soft eyes. You kissed him again, stronger this time as you tried to capture his essence through his mouth. It never felt like you could get enough of the man you needed more than anything in this world no matter how hard you tried.

"How good you taste." You managed to breathe out in response, your voice coming out strained and shaky as he began to speed up his pace just slightly. He chuckled at that, his eyes struggling to stay open as his eyebrows drew together with the soft groans that followed his laughter.

You were starting to get close, and his arm tight around you with his hands on you wasn't doing anything but bringing you closer, but you wanted more. Thankfully, he seemed to be getting to the same point, because after a while he rolled onto his back, his arm around you pulling you right along with him until you were straddling him while he continued to fuck up into you.

"Fuck. You feel so good, baby." You whined as you began to ride him in tune with his thrusts, his hands only encouraging you to move where they had cemented at your hips. His cock was now impossibly deep inside of you, and you were starting to lose control over the volume of your voice as you moaned with every simultaneous roll of both of your hips.

"I know, my love. I can feel your pretty pussy squeezing me." He cooed, letting you pull his hands from your hips up to rest over your tits. You wanted to feel his hands on you in any and every way you possibly could, and he didn't seem to mind. His thumbs rubbed torturously slow over your nipples and he held your gaze directly, the piercing green of his irises making you melt under his stare despite the soft adoration in his eyes. No matter how many times you'd looked into those eyes in your lifetime, your body would never learn to react normally at the sight of them. "Don't stop. You're gonna make me cum."

As he spoke, one of his hands moved away from your chest to reach over blindly towards the nightstand, and you watched in confusion momentarily before you felt your skin heat up considerably when you watched his fingers finally land on what he was looking for.

His phone.

"You’re so fucking beautiful." He murmured as he held up his phone. He continued to rub his thumb over your nipple and drag his nail over it as he put a little more force behind the roll of his hips to fuck his cock fully into your g-spot, the click of his phone camera going off with each of his thrusts. Your eyes were squeezed shut where you could no longer hold them open due to the ecstasy rolling through every single nerve in your body in continuous waves, but you could still hear his soft vocal encouragements as you ground down on his cock.

"I'm not gonna last." You gasped, trying to hold back as best as you could because you wanted him to cum with you but feeling close to failing miserably. You heard the soft sound of the phone being thrown to the other side of the bed, and you opened your eyes a split-second before his arms were both around you and he was pulling you back down on him until he could kiss you again.

"Me neither." He groaned, arms holding you so tightly that all you could do was take it where the strong slide of his cock in you was starting to get sloppy as he got closer and closer to his climax. "Inside?"

"Yes. Please." Your words came out a lot more desperate than you had been intending to allow, but you were too fucked-out to care, so all you did was let your cheek fall against his as you cried out where your voice was starting to go hoarse.

It only took a few more pointed slams of his hips before you were coming undone, your legs shaking at either side of his hips where you were still straddling him as his arms around you essentially held you together on top of him. You had lost all control that had been used to hold yourself up, but all that did was allow for him to fuck deeper inside of you before he was cumming too, his voice raising more than a couple pitches as his muscles tensed underneath you.

"Oh...fuck. Fuck, yeah." He was breathless as he continued to thrust shallowly into you, his grip relaxing on you slightly where it had been impossibly tight. One of his hands slid down your spine to squeeze your ass absentmindedly, his head nuzzling against yours while you continued to shake on top of him. "Feel okay?"

"Amazing." You finally hummed hoarsely, lifting your head to give him a satiated smile as your hair just barely started to fall in his face. He snorted as you began to press kisses to his face, squirming slightly when your lips reached the sensitive spot just under his ear.

"Good. Now we can go back to sleep." He said with satisfaction, his face drawing into a slight wince that mirrored yours as he gently pulled out of you. You let out a morose sigh as he gently moved you off of him so that he could get up and out of bed, in turn making him look back at you. "What's wrong?"

"It's cold now." You complained as he grabbed a couple of tissues out of the box sitting on the dresser. "Can you bring me clothes?"

When he agreed and went to grab your shirt (which was actually borrowed from him) off the floor where he'd tossed it after taking it off (your underwear were still abandoned in the sheets somewhere), you instead pointed to his other shirt that he'd been wearing the night before. Which was also on the floor.

"I wanna wear yours." What was the point of having a significant other if you weren't allowed to share clothes freely? Hell, you were pretty sure you'd caught Ville wearing your shirts on a few rare occasions. His eyebrows furrowed.

"This is my shirt." He said, holding up the shirt he'd already retrieved from the floor in confusion to show you the Type O Negative decal on the breast. You shook your head with a coy grin.

"I want it to smell like you." At your words, he only stared at you for a second before just grinning and shaking his head as he bent down to retrieve his more-recently-used shirt for you. You were staring hard as you then watched him pull his underwear back on.

"I think when they said 'love makes you do crazy things', they just meant you." He teased as he came back to sit on the bed next to you before gently drawing your legs apart to clean you up, his head dipping so that he could kiss your knee as he did so. You couldn't help but smile, pushing stray curls of his hair out of his face.

"Well, I think it makes you do crazy things like avoid groceries for a week straight so that you never have to leave the bed." Two could play that game. Especially when your side of the argument included an embarrassing amount of delivery charges. He tossed the tissues in the trash before handing you his shirt so that he could fish your underwear out of the bed.

"So I've been told." He replied simply, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he shoved his arm deep under the covers and felt around until he came up victorious with your missing underwear. "I'm going to make it up to you. I'll cook you something."

"You? Are going to cook something?" No offense to your lovely boyfriend, but this was coming from the person who, as mentioned before, avoided buying any real food like the plague, and often used his stovetop as a collection table for his bills as opposed to...literally anything else. He seemed unphased by your tone as he pulled your underwear back on for you.

"Why not? I'll improvise, and if you get food poisoning, then I'll just get to take care of you." He said confidently as he clambered over you to get back into bed while you put his shirt on, barely giving you a second after you’d pulled it over your head before he was immediately pulling you into him. "Or. if you'd rather...I can just have you for dinner."

"God. You make it so hard to decide." You said dramatically, watching with fond eyes as he yawned deeply. He was blinking slowly, and you knew he was barely holding on before he crashed out due to the body heat you were currently sharing. However, he lifted his head up just enough to give you one last kiss, his lips soft against yours before he dropped his head back to where his face was pushed in the crook of your neck and his arms were holding you both tightly together. You were enveloped in the smell of his cologne, both from his shirt and from his skin, so you weren't much further off from falling right back asleep with him.

"You'll hold my hand in the store, right?" He mumbled out after a second, his hand suddenly fumbling out against you before he located your hand and then laced your fingers together. You breathed out a laugh.

"Yeah. I will." You reassured, pressing a kiss to his temple as he relaxed again once he had a tight grip on your hand. He hummed.

"Good. Love you."

"I love you too."

#ville valo #ville valo smut #ville valo x reader #ville valo fic #ville hermanni valo #HIM #his infernal majesty #jackass #jackass movie #jackass imagine #jackass mtv

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tomorrowusa · 3 months

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In 2016 we had But Her Emails. In 2024 we have Biden Is Too Old. The sources of these two lines haven't changed: the flailing GOP with an assist by bothsiderist news media.

Yes, it's the same old distraction technique to draw attention away from the leader of the Republican Party who is an adjudicated sex offender who just lost a gigantic lawsuit based on his past use of fraud.

It's time to push back and aggressively. And successful messaging is repetitious messaging – get used to repeating things if you wish to cut through the noise.

But the main thing is not to freak out and to play offense instead of being defensive. For example: Why are so few people on our side bringing up Trump's unhealthy lifestyle? Drinking 12 Diet Cokes® a day and copious chomping of double cheeseburgers wouldn't be recommended for somebody half his age. And what kind of drugs is he being prescribed?

[A]ll of the #BidenTooOld coverage is about as new and revelatory as #ButHerEmails. If nothing else, it proves that a scandal holding that the president forgets things is always going to go down smoother than a scandal in which a special counsel flagrantly violated a long-standing Justice Department practice and protocol not to “criticize uncharged conduct.” As Sullivan was quick to point out, CNN and the New York Times and every U.S. corporate media entity and its cousin jumped onto the bandwagon. [ ... ] Perhaps one way to navigate yourself through this seemingly insoluble morass would be to ask yourself why Biden, who is stipulated #Old, has managed to helm the most successful presidency in modern history. Booming economy, eye-popping jobs reports, first gun violence reduction bill in decades, $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan plus COVID relief, Inflation Reduction Act, infrastructure prioritized, judges seated. Pick your metric—there have been a lot of wins. And the reason this old man who sometimes forgets things like dates has gotten all this done? He has, for the most part, surrounded himself with experts, genuine scientists, respected economists, and effective governmental actors and advisers. Governance is not an action film. There is no minute-to-minute psychodrama involving someone in a tight black T-shirt mincing along the outdoor ledge of a skyscraper, ninja-kicking his lonely way down to the stairwell, where he karate-chops the well-armed baddies and then commando crawls his way into an empty vault with the glass chest where the nuclear reactor sits. No. Despite our fascination with the Great Man theory of American lawmaking, the presidency is an office that largely turns on superb staffing, visionary planning, deft political negotiation, and artful execution. Joe Biden doesn’t actually have to remember every single detail himself—he has to use his judgment to employ and empower a large contingent of skilled experts to execute upon their agreed-upon vision. If you are unconvinced, the best evidence that we keep falling for Great Man fantasy propaganda is the unmitigated failure of the first Donald Trump presidency. Here we had a self-described loner literally trumpeting his I-alone-can-fix-it worldview, all embodied in Great Man megalomania. He managed to accomplish virtually nothing: Almost none of his promises for single-handed economic revitalization, world domination, or intrepid urban crime-solving panned out. His great dreams were either strangled in infancy by staffers or halted by courts. And whether you believe that this happened because Donald Trump surrounded himself with incompetent yes men or steely adults in the room, both versions serve to offer proof of concept: Donald Trump accomplished close to nothing because the people around him were either too inept to put his vision into practice or too skillful at blocking him to allow him to put his vision into practice. Put another way, if you or anyone you know finds themselves reacting to the Biden Is Old revelations with the thought that, sure, Donald Trump is a 91-indictments-richer, adjudicated sexual abuser, defamer, liar, violator of national security, self-enriching, fascist-boosting insurrectionist, but it’s OK because he will surround himself with people who might check those impulses—well, doesn’t it rather intuitively make more sense to instead vote for the highly effective, internationally respected, but yes, sometimes forgetty guy who is surrounded by people with day planners?

A president is a lot closer to being a CEO than a superhero. And when it does come to being businesslike, Trump has declared bankruptcy six times – approximately six more times than Biden. Trump's business "skills" lean heavily towards fraud, deceit, and bullying.

The real reason we all keep falling for Great Man horse race stories is because they are good for fueling fantasies of all-powerful big daddy presidents who control every tiny aspect of governance in their tiny wee hands. If that is your jam, well, it would make sense to vote for the only candidate who believes in the same dream. If it’s not, the question is reducible to rather simple stakes: Do you want the Big Daddy who surrounds himself with sycophants and nutters and people with shared last names, or the one who surrounds himself with competence and expertise? This doesn’t seem, on balance, like a really tricky call. Do we prefer presidents who can backflip and ninja-kick their way to total world dominion? Perhaps. To my knowledge, nobody ever made a Tom Cruise movie about listening and learning and compromising. But if you still believe governance to be a sober and serious enterprise, vote like the alternative is chilling, because it is.

Trump flatters himself as a "stable genius". But it is Biden who brought stable governance back to the US. Being a constantly ranting gasbag is not an indicator of competence.

Very little attention is being paid to psychological age. Trump is just 42 months chronologically younger than Biden, but Trump acts like a toddler who is not yet 42 months old.

Parents with kids who were constantly having temper tantrums and being frequently disruptive would consider taking those kids to a child psychologist. Being a disruptive narcissist in his late 70s does not make Trump seem youthful but instead more like a case study for arrested development as a toddler.

#but her emails!#the age issue #joe biden #maturity #donald trump #trump's temper tantrums #trump's immaturity #trump's narcissism #trump's artrested development #trump's unknown prescription drugs #trump is an adjudicated sex offender #trump is mentally unfit to be president #vote blue no matter who #election 2024

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enderlaithdraws · 10 months

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Crumb, Ranboo, Wilbur, and Charlie in the zombie apocalypses pt.1 w.i.p.

And a look into the creative process :D I'm giving this concept the title of "Zombie Apocalypse with The Crew"

Ranboo has a pistol (you can kinda see it on his right side) but his weapon of choice is a metal bat and a bowie knife. He calls it "The WACK N STAB"

I'm very proud of my nails into the crumbverses. Also I'm thinking about maybe the crew has a 5th member who is a doll or something of the sort. Just so they can joke around and keep high moral.

You can see that he is wearing no armor but some cloth and duct tape arm guards and goggles. In my mind the apocalypse happened before there was ample time to react. Meaning that the gear they have is mostly fast makeshift items from common objects. Any extra things like the guns each person has or extra apparel is from looting.

Also... Jorts <3

I'd say that at some point Charlie got lost and when he started following any human voice he could hear, he ended up right behind Ranboo. Who, instinctively stabbed what they thought was a zombie. mans took an L and a flesh wound.

The batchette is an idea from Instructables on Pinterest. I saw it while getting inspo and I could hear Charlie half screaming "Oh. my. gorshes... guys this power drill has given me a gift from God! BEHOLD... THE BATCHETTE!!!" Original image linked to this picture if you wanna get a better idea of what it looks like.

Wilbur! I feel the need to change face shape a bit to better represent him. Basically everything on him has a story. What he was wearing at the initial invasion and start of the apocalypse was a white button up shirt and black pants. He was on his way to meet with a tour manager in a café but chaos is unleashed before he can. Later on traded out some looted boots for his dress shoes. And looted the harness which he uses to hold items against his body and keep them from noisily bouncing around in a bag or pocket. At some point he gets stuck in a house in the country side that has been nearly untouched. But he knows it's only a matter of time before he is found by his predators. He has no way of communicating to the group and needs to fend for himself as long as it takes to reconnect. Which could be months. For that reason he finds an undershirt so he can unbutton his dress shirt and have more mobility. He takes down a large curtain and uses it to wrap around his legs as armor. (Think about it, its hard to bite or stab through a thick curtain.) And just cuts his pants so that it doesn't encumber him. (He doesn't take them off because the curtains are only covering his legs. Plus pockets are good for survival)

Once he's done with the curtain he finds some metal roller skate knee pads to help hold them in place and realizes that the curtain rod would make a decent weapon. Continuously looting the house he finds four kitchen knifes and some ninja stars in a bedroom (likely belonging to the family edgy teen) then attaches them using a hand held blow torch from the garage.

When the night comes he is barricaded in a top bedroom and there are zombies pounding on the door. It is a moonless, pitch black night and the little bit of light points out the glimmer of a golden cross necklace atop a bedside table. While he is no man of God. He can use all the help he can get. And continues to wear it even when he is safe. Not in a religious way, but in an idea that there is a greater good out there. And the world will be reborn again... someday.

rando in the back: *sniffs and wipes a singular tear from his eye* tHat is sO beUtIfUL..

So yeah that's it for now. I hope you enjoyed this sneak peak and if you have any ideas or wanna join in lemme know! While I am doing this for fun I would love it others could enjoy it too. So if you like it or think your friends/viewers would, then please Reblog. :D but what ever you do, have a good day!

BACK TO DRAWING AAAAAAAAAAAAA

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redwolf17 · 6 months

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Cake-pocalypse: Return of the Frosting-ing

Some of you may recall I've mentioned being busy with a cake-pocalypse. Well, here's the end result. I made both of these cakes, from scratch, for my parents' 50th anniversary party last weekend. Now that it's over, I thought it'd be fun to do a post about it, because while there's tons of popular baking shows, it's not a topic everyone necessarily knows about.

So, what goes into making cake for approximately 100 people?

Step 1) Baking the wedding cakes

A) The tiered cake was based on a photo of my parents' original wedding cake. To replicate it, I needed four tiers of vanilla cake, which meant eight layers of cake, two for each tier.

Fun fact: I learned how to bake from my mom, who is a talented home baker. I made my first cake by myself at age 9, and then gradually expanded my skills through years of practice. And when I say my mom is talented, I mean it; she's made wedding cakes for at least half a dozen friends and family over the years. It was only right that I use my mom's favorite wedding cake recipe for the batter; I think I ended up using 6 batches to make all the tiers, plus 2 dozen cupcakes to use up extra batter.

B) Once the cakes had cooled, I wrapped them in plastic wrap and put them in the freezer overnight. This firms up the cake's "crumb" or structure, making it easier to work with. By this point, it was late Sunday night; baking the cakes had taken almost all day. What with work and errands, I didn't resume work on the cakes until Thursday night. After partially thawing the cakes, I leveled each one by cutting off the tops where the cake had domed. This is a crucial step to make sure the cakes will stack properly; you don't want them tilting or toppling over.

C) Now that the cakes are leveled, they need their base coat of frosting. I used SO MUCH buttercream for these cakes CRY The trick is to frost them while they're still cold from the freezer, so the crumbs don't get into the frosting as much. Even so, every cake needed two coats of frosting, first the crumb coat, then, after a trip back to the freezer to set the frosting, a second coat to hide the crumbs stuck in the first coat. At this point, I was done (for now) with the wedding cakes, because I was NOT going to try to transport a completed four tier cake, which meant I couldn't stack/decorate them until the day of the party.

Step 2) Making the sheet cake

A) My entire day Saturday was spent baking, and it began with making the 12x18 chocolate sheetcake. It took three batches of cake batter; my favorite chocolate cake recipe is from Sally's Baking Addiction. I used the sour cream version, which is sturdier and thus would hopefully travel better.

B) Once the cake was baked, it took a loooong time to cool. You NEVER frost a warm cake, because the icing will melt and make a huge mess. Side note, this cream cheese frosting recipe is the best I've ever seen, and the coffee version I made by adding espresso powder turned out delicious.

C) After carefully chilling the cake in the fridge (it barely fit), I covered the entire cake with a chocolate glaze. The combination of chocolate cake + coffee cream cheese frosting + glaze comes from the Yule logs my mom makes every year, and which my dad and the rest of my family really love.

D) I draw a lot of practice grids and decoration ideas when I was first planning the cakes. I ended up deciding to do a pattern of frosting swirls with espresso beans, plus piping the message in the center. Since it is VERY hard to fix fuck ups, I practiced my calligraphy and my balloons on a piece of parchment paper before I put a piping bag anywhere near the cake. Once the buttercream had set, I painted it with a mixture of edible gold-colored pearl dust and vodka. Amazing stuff, a friend who has a home bakery recommended it. It was around 1am when the chocolate cake was done, and went back in the fridge to keep safe until the next day.

Step 3) Piping roses

While the chocolate cake was baking and cooling, it was time to work on decorations for the wedding cake. Buttercream roses are a pain in the ass, but since the original cake had them, this cake needed them too. Bless my niece, who served as my assistant for about 3 hours. My initial attempts at dyeing the frosting came out way too garish, but she tweaked them into the lovely shades of crimson and green you see here. She also held the flower nail so I could make my first 20 or so attempts at the roses using the Wilton technique. The buttercream was NOT cooperating at first; we had to add more powdered sugar to stiffen it, and then we had to keep putting the piping bags in and out of the fridge to get them to just the right consistency for piping. After my niece left, my bf held the flower nail for another 30+ roses. My hand and my arm were killing me by the end, but I was really worried about not having enough to cover the cake. Also, more practice meant better roses.

Step 4) Assembling the tiered cake

A) Sunday morning was D-Day. We got to the venue 3 hours early because I knew I'd need every minute to assemble and decorate the tiered cake. Each tier sits on a cardboard cake board, but that's not enough support. To counteract the inevitable peril of gravity, the center of each tier is filled with straws. These hold up the tiers above so they don't smush the cake below.

B) Once the tiers were stacked, I piped a swirl of vines, as close to the original cake as I could manage.

C) Then, very, very carefully, I stuck the buttercream roses on using a dab of fresh frosting. You have to work quickly; the buttercream roses are firm when you first take them out of the freezer or fridge, which means you can pick them up, but if you take too long, your fingers will melt the petals. I was terrified about placing roses on the vertical sides of the cake, but thank god, none of them fell off. Once the roses were in place, I added leaves to the vines and beneath the roses.

D) A close up of the final result. I finished literally 1 minute before the party was supposed to start, at which point I had to carry this from the venue's kitchen to the table where it would sit; my bf went in front of me to shoo people out of the way.

Step 5) Dealing with leftovers

a) Oh god, leftovers! The chocolate cake got demolished, as did the vanilla cake, once we sent some slices home, but there were still leftovers. Why? Because the way a tiered cake is served, you cut slices from the outside ring, but NOT from the center round which is stuffed full of straws. So... what to do with all that extra cake?

b) Well, if you pull the straws out and re-frost, then you've got three perfectly nice cakes. I already had plenty of extra frosting and roses, lol. My students were quite happy to take all this cake off my hands, though I only had enough slices for the first half of my classes.

c) However, I also still had SIX CUPS of cake crumbs from the offcuts which I'd cut off the cakes when I leveled them. Crumbs + frosting+ a dip in chocolate = cake pops! Massive, massive cake pops, lol, I used my biggest cookie scoop. The second half of my classes got these beauties, and a couple coworkers finished off the extras.

And that's it! God willing I won't make a cake again for quite a while, lol, this was exhausting.

#cake-pocalypse #baking #cake

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xxrainshadowsxx · 10 months

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Interpersonal Ch. 3

Family drama, flirting (not so subtle this time), and fun misadventures involving a desk. Enjoy

TW: Brief mentions of a car crash. If you don't want to read that part, skip the paragraph that starts with "Not really much family left."

As you stand in front of the double oak doors on Monday morning, you dart your eyes around, desperately looking for any excuse to not have to go into his office. No option is offered to you. You know the responsible thing is to just bite the bullet and get it over with, but you’ve been absolutely dreading this ever since you opened that damn package. You have no idea what mood he’ll be in or what you would even say.

Taking a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes shut and push the doors open. It’s been weeks since you’ve felt the need to knock in the mornings (ever since he once mentioned that he always thought knocking meant someone else was coming to see him, whatever that meant), but you half wish you’d done it this morning; he’ll know it’s you immediately.

When you hear nothing, you squint your eyes open, and can’t help but laugh at the sight that greets you. He’s not even there. This happens some mornings if some pressing matter requires his immediate attention. Of course this just means delaying the inevitable, but you’ll take any reason to draw this out that you can get at this point.

He doesn’t end up in your office until nearly lunchtime, when he bursts in with his usual energy. You’ve grown used to the way he enters your office, but today he catches you off guard and nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “I hate dealing with PR,” he grumbles, making your whole body tense. Usually when he’s in a bad mood, it’s because of his lawyers or PR. But he just sighs dramatically and hops onto your desk, and that gesture almost always means he’s feeling more casual and willing to have a conversation, so you have no idea where his head is at. You’ll have to let him direct the conversation and just kind of go with the flow.

He finally glances over and takes a long look at you. “You’re not wearing one of the thneeds,” he notes, making you freeze. He doesn’t sound angry… he sounds sad. And it was now time to say what you decided on, and also what you’ve been dreading for days.

“I’m not,” you start delicately. “I… I don’t think I can accept those.” You see surprise flicker across his face and hasten to explain yourself. “I just know how expensive that must have been and I’m really not worth it. I can get one myself, I promise. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m only here to get things from you or take advantage of your money or success.”

He looks at you incredulously for a minute, like he’s only just now seeing you for the first time. Then, out of the blue, he begins to laugh. You’re completely unperturbed, but keep yourself silent just to see what the hell is going on.

After what feels like several minutes of this, he finally starts to calm down. “I know you’re not after my money,” he says emphatically. “That’s why I gave them to you in the first place. I’ve been an ass, I wanted to say sorry, and I knew you’d actually see the value of the gifts rather than just taking them for granted. Even offering to give them back proves to me it was the right decision to send them in the first place.” He reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of yours, and your breath catches in your throat and you swear your heart stops for a second at his touch. “Keep them. I insist.” He hops off the desk, leaving your hand cold as he removes his own. “Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back!” he calls before he bounds out the door as you try and process what in the ever-loving hell just happened.

On the plus side, he’d cleared up everything with the thneeds quite nicely and you were satisfied with both his explanation and apology. But what was with him touching your hand before he left? You couldn’t deny that it had caused a reaction in you and that you kind of liked it, but it was yet another moment that was dangerously flirting with the line of what was acceptable and what wasn’t due to the nature of your position. For your own safety, you needed to stop yourself from getting into these predicaments, and if he seemed like he was about to cross the line, you needed to firmly and clearly put a boundary in place.

You hate that the thought of doing the responsible thing makes you so upset, and you hunt down those feelings and stomp them dead. Pouting does no one any good.

And yet, just as you're feeling proud of your resolve, it flies right out the window the second Mr. Onceler's back in the room; all you want is for him to put his hand back on yours, damn all consequences.

Stop being stupid, you tell yourself fiercely as he takes a seat in the one chair opposite your desk, and for the first time you notice a bag from some fancy restaurant in his hand. Wait, did he mean to have lunch together?

Your suspicions are semi-confirmed just a moment later. "So… I kind of accidentally ordered too much food. You want some?" he offers.

The absurdity of the whole situation demolishes any sense of decorum you had left, and sends you into a fit of laughter. "That's the line you're going with? Really? Come on, you can do better than that!" you guffaw.

He huffs at that, but it's definitely still playful. "It's not like I had a lot of time. I didn't know if you were still mad at me or not." He looks at you with big puppy dog eyes that, thankfully, he hasn't figured out make it really hard for you to say no to him. "Come on, I don't apologize very often. If I'm gonna do it, let me do it properly."

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "You don't need to apologize anymore. I snapped at you pretty bad, I'd say we're even. Besides, I brought my own lunch." To prove your point, you grab your usual sub sandwich and salad out of one of your desk drawers. "But how about a compromise? I'll let you eat in here with me. Deal?"

He pretends to think it over for a minute. "I suppose I can live with that," he decides before giving you a genuine smile that gives you a strange feeling in your core. He pulls out his own lunch (who orders sushi for an office lunch?) and for a few moments the only noise is the sound of either one of you chewing.

"Do you get along with your family?" he asks abruptly after a couple minutes. While an innocent enough question, it piques your interest. You hadn't forgotten his violent outburst about his own family on your first day. Still, honesty was probably the best policy here.

"Not really much family left," you shrug. "My parents were in a nasty car accident a few years ago. My mom died and my dad got a nasty brain injury. He's alive, but it completely changed his memory and personality, so he doesn't even feel like my dad anymore, you know? The only one I really have left is my older sister, Aurora, and she's my best friend. She's still in our hometown because she decided to take care of our dad, but I talk to her every week."

"You're lucky," he says both wistfully and bitterly. "I'm sorry your parents are gone, but they seemed like good people while you had them. And I'd kill for a best friend for a sibling."

You're once again struck by just how lonely this poor man is. You might not have grown up with much, but you never went without love. You know this is a potentially dangerous topic, but you have to approach it again. "Isn't there anyone in your family you get along with?"

He just snorts. "My brothers are idiots. I have an aunt and an uncle who only care about my money, and my mother is the same except a hundred times worse."

"And your dad?"

"Never knew him." He tries to shrug it off, but you can tell that having a question mark for a father bothers him, and you can hardly blame him. It would bother you too.

He looks upset, and you have a strong urge to comfort him. You still can't explain why, but you do know that at that moment, you'd do just about anything to see him smile. So, against your better judgment, slowly, ever so slowly, you reach out, and this time you're the one to put your hand on top of his. He jumps slightly, looking at you in surprise, but makes no attempt to move his hand. "You don't have to be alone anymore," you murmur. "I'll be here for you if you let me."

His only response is to flip the hand underneath yours so he can grasp your fingers and squeeze them gently, a silent thank you. He's staring directly into your eyes, and while you can't decide how you feel about it (though you're well aware you probably shouldn't be letting it happen) you can't bear the thought of being the one to break away from the moment.

He tilts his head slightly, still not taking his eyes away from yours. You're both terrified and entirely too invested to stop this now…

The phone screams into the silent room, making both of you jump and utterly destroying whatever had been building between the two of you. You can't help but be annoyed, but you can sort that out later. Right now, you have to put it behind you. You clear your throat before pressing a button on your receiver to take the call without having to pick up the phone itself. Of course, that meant Mr. Onceler would be privy to every word, but you forced yourself to pretend he wasn't here so you could concentrate and at least try to sound professional. "Thneed Company, Mr. Onceler's office, how can I help you?"

"Hi there," an accented voice that sounded like sickly sweet sugared honey answers you. At the sound of her voice, Mr. Onceler's face instantly pales; he looked like he'd heard a ghost on the other end of the line. You're interested in whatever that means, but you couldn't outright ask him about it yet. You instead refocus on what she's saying. "I've been trying to get ahold of Oncie all morning, but the number I have for him seems to be out of service. Could you get me the correct number sweetie? I'm his momma."

He immediately starts frantically shaking his head, an unnecessary reminder. You already have your answer. "I apologize ma'am, but I'm not allowed to give that number to anyone myself. It was changed for security reasons, and he's the only one allowed to share it if he so chooses."

There was a pause. "I see." Her tone has turned icy, but not outright hostile yet. “Well then if you could just put me through to him, so we can sort this out, I’d really appreciate it.”

You glance at him, and he’s still looking at you and shaking his head desperately. He was counting on you to fix this. You deduce that lying is your best option. “He’s not in the office today. He’s gone out to the forests, and he’s expected to be there all day.” There. Hopefully that would keep her away.

“Really? Because I’m in the lobby and no one’s said anything about that.” Shit. Now she’s hostile.

“With all due respect ma’am, I know his schedule best. I’m the one who sets it. Not all the staff are privy to that information.” You hope you still sound convincing, but this woman seems stubborn as a bull.

“Well, I’ll just come up and check. Maybe he came back without you noticing.” With a sharp click, she hangs up, and her son starts panicking.

“Fuck! She’s here already? Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He starts pacing around the room, running his hands through his hair.

“Were you expecting her? What’s going on?” you ask, both to try and understand the situation and as an attempt to calm him down before he worries a ditch into the floor.

He curses under his breath again before turning to you. “She’s been furious ever since I cut her off a few months ago,” he explains. “At the beginning, I had my whole family working for me, but as I’ve said, they’re leeches. I told them all to leave, and last week I got a letter from her saying if I don’t send her money, she’ll start leaking things about me and the company to the press, which means she’ll make shit up to get people talking. I had to threaten her with legal action for blackmail.” That suddenly explained why he’d been in such a bad mood last week. “Anyway, clearly she didn’t like that. And now she’s here and…” he stops as you both hear the unmistakable sound of high heels from the direction of his office. “Help!” he whispers.

You look around, caught off guard, and in your haste you find only one option. It’ll be awkward and uncomfortable, but it’ll have to do. “Under my desk,” you order. He dives under as you sweep the remnants of your food into the trash, and not a moment too soon. The door opens to reveal a woman with hair piled high on her head and wearing clothes you just knew were designer brand. She clearly enjoyed spending her son’s money.

“Can I help you?” you ask, praying she doesn’t notice that your voice is slightly strained. But considering what was happening beneath your desk, only slightly strained was nothing short of a miracle.

Your desk is built like a brick, with only a small cubby in the back to push your chair into. It was an ideal hiding spot since the only way anyone would be able to see Mr. Onceler was if they literally stuck their head under your desk, which no one could do while you were sitting there. But as a major, MAJOR downside, the area was tiny.

It would have been impossible to fit a normal sized human as well as your legs into this little hole comfortably. And although he’s slender, Mr. Onceler is much taller than the average person. The back of his head is nestled in between your knees, and the speed with which he’d hid meant his arm had slid up your leg while you’d both gotten into position. And that meant your skirt, which was usually knee-length, had scrunched up to rest halfway up your thighs. And his head. Was right. THERE.

While you're slowly dying inside, his mother's eyes have been scanning the room. "I didn't know this office had become occupied," she sniffs. "Who are you?"

"I'm Mr. Onceler's PA. And since this is my office, can you please leave? He's still out." You're probably coming off as rude, but at this moment, you're past the point of caring. You just want her gone as soon as possible.

She sticks her face up so she can literally look down her nose at you. You're beginning to see why Mr. Onceler abandoned her. "He sometimes comes to this room to hide. I had to check," she attempts to defend herself. At her words, Mr. Onceler shifts slightly beneath you. Without thinking, you reach down with one hand and begin to slowly run your fingers through his hair, begging that he understands this as your silent way of telling him he needs to stay still.

Miraculously, your message seems to get through. He freezes, enabling you to focus on his mother again; more specifically, you can focus on making her leave.

However, instead of leaving, she squints her eyes at you. “Well, I suppose I’ll just wait for a few minutes,” she decides. God, what was it going to take to get this woman out of here? A call to security?

As you’re debating whether or not to actually call security, you absentmindedly reach for your chapstick. The smell of cherry is comforting to you, and more than ever do you feel the need to try and stay calm.

There’s a sharp intake of breath below you as soon as you open the lid. Oh. Right. Damn him and damn whatever aversion he had with your chapstick. For someone who wanted to stay hidden, he wasn’t cooperating very well with you.

You resign yourself to the fact that his mother was going to stay for at least a few minutes longer, so you attempt to get some actual work done. You pull up your emails and start to go through them when your eyes go wide.

He’s moved again, and now, his hand is on your thigh, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt. Acting purely on instinct, you fake a loud cough, and at the same time, kick him with as much force as you can manage in the tight space.

As you expected, he grunts with pain which you pray your cough has managed to disguise, and mercifully, his hand comes off your thigh. But for him to have even put it there in the first place…

To hell with being rude. You need to have a little chat with your boss, and for that you need his mother out of the room, now.

"Look, if you want to wait for him, fine, but can you do it in his office? I really need to get work done," you snap. She looks taken aback, but finally, FINALLY she backs off.

"He's really not going to talk to me, is he?" she sighs. "Fine. I don't know where I went wrong with him because I definitely didn't raise him to be this selfish. But fine." With one last haughty sniff, she marches out the door. You hold your breath until you hear the sound of her high heels fade, then push your chair back so he can clamber out, glaring at him while he does so.

The second he's free, he immediately makes a beeline for the door, not even looking at you. Coward. "Uh, absolutely not," you call, making him stop dead in his tracks. He sheepishly turns towards you, and you see that his face is tomato red. You let him suffer your glare for a moment longer before you lay into him.

"What in the absolute fuck were you doing?" you thunder. "Just because I gave you permission to hide under my desk does not mean you have permission to lift my skirt as-"

"I was trying to pull it down!" he interrupts, his face somehow even redder. "I swear on my life, I was trying to pull it down to make things a little more comfortable for the both of us."

His explanation almost immediately makes your anger almost completely evaporate, which is annoying because you wanted to be mad at him for a bit longer. But he just seems so earnest, and he's got giant pleading puppy dog eyes that make you melt, and you can't help but to believe him. But still… God, he was an idiot earlier. "Dammit," you sigh. "What did you expect me to do? All I felt was your hand going under my skirt. Of course I was going to take that the wrong way and assume the worst."

He scrubs his face with his hands before answering you. "Looking back on it, yeah, I can see how you would think that," he mumbles. "I wasn't thinking, okay? I was panicking. And while I flipped out… you handled that really well, better than I could've. So thank you."

…How could you stay mad at him after that?

"Look, how about we just agree to never speak about it again so we can pretend it never happened," you suggest.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that," he agrees. "So… I guess I'll see you later." He ducks out of the room, and you find yourself staring at the door for far longer than any reasonable person should after what you'd just gone through. Despite wanting him gone but a minute ago, you now feel strangely lonely, and can't help but wish he would come back.

Fuck, what was happening to you?

#onceler fanfiction #onceler x reader #onceler #the onceler #the lorax #fanfiction #also on ao3

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