#((IF THIS ISN'T A SO CALLED CHRISTMAS MIRACLE))
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@luxvicta continued from here
When did that plant appear above their heads? She could have sworn that it wasn't there in the first and can't even remember anyone placing it, the red ribbon looks even more suspicious, someone had the intention of partaking in the tradition. It could be part of an inner joke, to deny the kiss meant bad luck, last thing she needs is a curse upon her delivered by some vengeful Christmas entity.
Has only now realized that the mistletoe is above Ashrah's head, one of the leaves signaling her as if it was a sign. 'Look down silly'. The cold spreads through her hands and the blush appears, it was uncommon for it to happen, but it did, unashamedly.
"W-we don't have to do it if you don't want to... is not that I don't like you, but this is a-a silly tradition, I mean." Her words start to accidentally stick together as they come out of her mouth, no she couldn't be this nervous. "Damn it... why not? I've never done this." She admits, the tone finally goes back to how she normally sounds, stepping quite close to the other, forgetting about who she was... Ashrah looked quite lovely under this dimmed light. "Wow..."
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[Task force 141 + others with Gen z!reader] [pt3]
A/N: Some of these you /may/ have seen on tiktok, that is me who posted them on tiktok. I am green haired bitch so no I didn't steal anything LMAO. I hope these live up to yalls expectations.
The last two of these my lovely friend gave me inspiration for <3 @frogchiro
Warnings: She/her pronouns swearing, age gaps, tiktok memes (like always lmk if I miss something!)
~
You steal Prices hat on numerous occasions bc its a fashion abomination and you refuse to let this man wear it around you. You hide around base as frequently as you can.
Jokes on you though bc he will literally wait til it's your birthday and buy you a matching one and will laugh at your scream of disgust.
Gaz one ups him by gifting you a matching hat as well, putting it on your head as he flicks the brim.
"Thanks Gaz! I love it!
"And not mine?"
"You're on thin ice, old man."
Price gets gifted a set from manscaped by the guys as a gag gift. He uses it for his beard bc he never bothered to look into why everyone was laughing around him.
Price takes your phone when you try and show him memes, squinting hard as fuck like a dad 💀
Soap, if yall have the time off takes you to scottish football games and it's a whole thing. You sitting there while he gets drunk out of his fucking mind, hollering and whooping and you're there trying to sink into your seat.
Chances are someone's gonna shove you and you're gonna trip and fall bc everyone's so amped up and Soap threatens to beat the shit out of them. It's a miracle y'all don't get kicked out 💀
If you have tattoos, Soap is the first one to take a marker set and color them in and adding his own additions. If you were ever to get them actually tattooed, he would tear up and pretend he isn't emotional about it.
"You like me that much Bonnie?"
He would get something of you too, so it evens out. This also makes Ghost in turn get a tattoo for you bc he refuses to be out done and he's just as attached
Neither of them get your call sign or your name, but they get something personal to what each of them associate you with.
The first time you meet Alex, you're across the room doing something that has your focus and didn't realize this is actually your first time meeting him. You ask him for a hand only to look up and see him extend his prosthetic at you with a smile and you scream.
"You asked for a hand but best I can do is a Leg." Price comes running and he sees the scene and rolls his eyes.
Everyone single one of them are the definition of "my girl can wear whatever she wants bc I'll break your jaw." meme btw. You can take care of yourself but you never need to bc they will beat a bitch up.
Laswell invites you constantly to come over and meet with her wife, esp if you don't have a mother figure. She always always tries to come on base to see you and always has a birthday and Christmas present on it's way to you wherever you may be. Her wife loves you to death and they've pretty much adopted you and you cannot escape it, oh well.
Gaz buys you whatever your little heart desires, especially if he's deployed away in a country where they sell exclusives of whatever you enjoy. It's a pain in the fucking ass to try and ship a anime figure to your place from Japan but he's gonna try his best.
Ghost doesn't share his food, or at least it was before you came along. He groans and grumbles about having to feed you but he wouldn't do it if he truly didn't want to. Soap asks and Ghost tells him to fuck off.
If you watch anime, please imagine trying to get everyone in the room and trying to explain who Dabi is. They're all so fucking old they keep thinking you're referring to the elf from Harry Potter and it infuriates you to no end.
Soap and Gaz know better but it's funnier to see you mad.
Being the youngest, they absolutely force you to do the jobs they don't want to. Whether it be cleaning the barracks, to cooking dinner when able, it doesn't matter bc they'll all pull rank on you.
"You're the new kid, get to it then."
"Ghosttttt-"
"Don't Ghost me."
Soap is the kind of motherfucker to play the fifa games and doesn't understand that he's stupid for buying it every single year bc there are no changes oncesoever. He will not listen to you about it and you've given up.
Ghost will see you talk about your etsy list and will ask for your phone, you trust him so of course you hand it over. He hands it back to you and it's just, all purchased. He says nothing while he sips on his tea while you scream at him asking why he did it. He won't tell you but it's because he knows it makes you happy and it'll keep your mood up, giving you a reason to be motivated to get through missions. It's also because he knows that retail therapy is a thing for your generation.
Soap, if you do any, is actually really good at doing your makeup! He knows how to do everything and he refuses to elaborate. (As a kid he'd do his mom's makeup when she went out for dates) he's the one who helps you doll up if you're going undercover.
Ghost, Gaz and Price find you unfunny whenever you make a "wow I wish British people were real." You say it so often and it gets annoying but they also just accept it's a part of life.
Soap personally enjoys the "SCOTLAND FOREVERRRRRRR" meme and will scream it with you. Ghost threatens to cut yalls tongue out.
Other parts can be found under #Kayla writes <3
Taglist:
@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess
@stupid-ninja @milkmily
@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii
@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel
@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains
@marsbar127xx @baddump
@xncasi @king-cookiex
@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky @wolfyland07 @diejager
@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom
If you'd like to be tagged, go to my pinned post and comment there :)
#ghost <3#soap <3#price <3#gaz <3#call of duty#call of duty x reader#ghost x reader#soap x reader#gaz x reader#price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gen z! headcanons#kayla writes <3#laswell <3#fem reader
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Idea for a Magnus Archives AU (that I don't have time to write all the way out, but it still intrigues me~)
At some point after Martin's father left, but when he was still very young, somebody offered to bring Mrs Blackwood some furniture. Used, but still in good condition. She refused, insulted by the idea that she needed "pity" or "charity", despite the fact that her health is already making things difficult... one day, while her son is at school, she hears a knock at the door. It takes her a while to get there. When she finally opens it, whoever knocked is gone, but they have left behind a table.
She assumes it was the same person as before, and is now irritated that they have "dumped" their old junk on her doorstep. A neighbor sees and offers to at least bring it inside. She decides it may as well be put to use, so she lets the neighbor move it in. Alone in the house, she looks the table over. It certainly isn't new, but isn't too beat-up or broken. It has a VERY unique pattern... almost like an optical illusion...
When Martin gets home from school, he's surprised to see that his mother is in the kitchen, getting ready to cook dinner; she hasn't done that in a year! He offers to help, or just make himself a sandwich and canned soup if she wants to rest, but she assures him that she's feeling MUCH better. This continues for several months, the doctors are amazed by what seems to be a miracle recovery! All the neighbors and old friends agree, she's also had a change in attitude lately, but it all seems for the better. Her son is especially happy... his mother seems so much more "gentle" than she used to be, and she doesn't even make him drink oolong tea with her anymore. She's decided that Earl Grey is better.
Nobody notices that her hair is a different length, a different color. Nobody notices the shape of her eyes and jawline has changed. Nobody notices that she's taller. Not any friends, neighbors, doctors, or family. Even all the photographs in the house have changed. A different woman is holding a tiny, newborn baby. A different woman is sitting next to a small Christmas tree, helping a child open a present. Nobody notices... except for one person.
When Mr Blackwood heard from an old friend that the wife he left had recovered, he suddenly had second thoughts. He really had thought she would die, and he must have had some sort of break-down. He couldn't handle it, so he ran away... but he's thinking clearly again. It has nothing to do with the fact that he also heard his wife recently got a new job, a very well-paying one with the kind of health plan that a spouse could share. It has nothing to do with the fact that he isn't feeling well himself lately, and he's noticed that he has nobody to take care of HIM. It has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn't been able to find work, and he also can't find a place to live. He just wants to go back because he misses his wife and son. That's all.
When Mr Blackwood returned, he brought flowers. To apologize. He knocked on the door, and heard a muffled voice call- "Come in!". He picked a time of day when he knew Martin would be at school, so he and his wife could reunite with some privacy. He expected his wife to be upset. He expected his wife to be angry, maybe cry, or try to throw something at him. He expected it would take time for his wife to let him explain, then forgive him. He expected HIS WIFE. The woman in this home was not his wife... she said she was, she smiled, used his name like she knew him, but she WASN'T. Her voice, face, EVERYTHING was different! This was wrong, why was this strange woman here?
He ran away, even though she called for him to stay. He tried to speak with their friends, her family... everybody acted like he was crazy. They acted like the woman claiming to be his wife was right. After months and months of trying to talk some sense into people, he finally remembers Martin; surely a child would know their own mother? Mr Blackwood has been watching the house, and he sees little Martin kiss the woman good-bye, then leave for school. As if everything was normal. He can't stand it anymore! He bursts through the door, shouting at the woman to tell the truth, but the noise alerts the neighbors, who call for help, and he leaves...
He stays away for more than a year, but he never went far. He kept watching. He tried to figure out WHY somebody would pretend to be his wife, and HOW she could fool everybody. It never makes any sense. He comes back again, in the middle of winter. Martin is sleeping over at a friend's house. Mr Blackwood has been sleeping in an old treehouse, long abandoned by the kids who built it. He can't stand the idea of that strange woman sleeping in the bed that SHOULD be his (that would have been his, if he hadn't left). He uses his key to open the back door. She hasn't changed the locks. He goes in, ready to be rough if necessary; he will get the truth if it kills him.
Around 2 in the morning, Mrs Blackwood calls for help. Her husband, the one who left her, the one who came back and threatened her, just tried to attack her! She fought back, and he ran off again. No trace of him is ever found. When Martin comes home, they have a discussion, and decide it isn't safe to life here anymore. So they move, not too far, Martin can still visit people he knew growing up. The new house is much nicer, in a safe neighborhood.
They take just about everything with them, except for a few large pieces of furniture they sell. Mrs Blackwood wants to keep the table with the unique pattern, though. She's grown rather fond of it. The movers she hired are... odd, but they get everything to the new home very quickly. When his mother speaks with the two of them beside their truck, Martin watches from a window, and he has the strangest feeling that... his mother might just step up into it, and ride away with them. Then she'll be gone, and he'll be alone. He can't explain why, but he almost expects it to happen.
She doesn't leave. She comes back inside, smiling, and hugs her child. Why wouldn't she? As the years go by, Martin wonders about his father; why the man left, why he came back, why he seemed so confused about who his own wife was. Martin also wonders what his father looked like, as none of the pictures they saved show his face. Mrs Blackwood tells her son- "I suppose there's a resemblance, but when I look at you, I just see YOU, not him. I love you too much to see your father in your features".
Martin grows up happy and safe with his mother. He's able to finish school, and eventually starts working at a bakery. Later, when he moves out to get his own place, he finds a job at a restaurant-confectionery in London. His mother didn't want him living so far away, but he really wants to sort of "get out in the world", have some experience on his own. Someday, he'd like to have his own tea shop and cafe. He works from the middle of the day to late shifts at the cafe, and he gets to know some of the regulars very well. One woman, Sasha, comes in often to get food and drinks for her coworkers. Martin likes chatting with her, and eventually meets Tim when they come to have lunch together. He considers them to be friends.
One day, they call and tell Martin they want to order the most extravagant cake possible for their boss; it is his birthday, and they are going to be obnoxious about it, but also trick him so he doesn't know they've planned something. Martin offers to bring it over himself, so they can pretend to not be up to anything. This is how he enters the Magnus Institute. This is how he meets Jonathan Sims. This is how he starts learning about the strange things they research here. This is how he sees a picture of a table with a very curious pattern. This is how he asks if he can listen to the statement about that table...
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under the mistletoe | knj
Kim Namjoon is a sneaky one when it comes to celebrating the Holidays.
❄️ title: under the mistletoe | a don't push your luck drabble
❄️ pairing: namjoon x f!reader
❄️ genre/au: fluff | ex college rivals, co-workers, frenemies
❄️ rating: pg | ❄️ word count: 1.3k
❄️ warnings: jokes about harassment in the workplace, teasing, kissing
❄️ a/n: it's the holiday szn and i was feeling festive. this is the 'don't push your luck' couple but it can be read as a standalone. enjoy.
❄️ read don't push your luck ❄️
“I never figured you were someone who loved the holiday season.”
The office looks like elves came in and sprinkled Christmas magic overnight. There's fake snow fluff, bottle brush Christmas trees, and even stockings with your and Namjoon's initials embroidered.
You like the holiday season–you do, minus the endless hours of Christmas music. You can only hear ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree' so many times before you wanna hurl. A tradition you do love is watching Home Alone 2 on the day of along with the fireplace on and cozy blanket.
Namjoon turns to you after hanging up the last ornament. “Yeah, I mean, we don’t celebrate it back home in Seoul, but once I moved to Chicago…” He shrugs. “It grew on me.”
You eye him up and down. “Has Kim Namjoon gone soft? Who are you?”
He narrows his eyes, twisting his mouth. “I can be a Grinch instead,” he huffs as he returns to take out pieces of a toy train track.
Shaking your head, you protest, “No, no, no. We’re finally getting along—semi-getting along without going at each other’s throats. I’ll be nice. I promise.”
“You? Nice? It must be a Christmas miracle,” Namjoon teases, placing the train tracks along the top of the cubicle walls.
“Shut up–you’re the one that should be nice since I’m your boss now.”
Namjoon makes a face. “Is this how you treat your partner in crime? By telling them to ‘shut up’? I’d call that harassment.”
You open your mouth and close it again. He got you there. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Working alongside Namjoon isn't new, but you and him being partners are. The two of you left your previous company and had the ridiculous idea of going into publishing together. Granted, Namjoon knew the business side and you had the heart of the company–what else could go wrong besides the fact that he still loved to push your buttons and tease you about the last work trip the two of you were on.
The corner of Namjoon’s lips curves into a smile. “Should we hug it out? Hold on, let me turn around. I know how much you like being the big spoon.”
You ball your hands into a fist, ready to fight Kim Namjoon. He laughs, walking away to spread Christmas cheer around the office.
“Don’t make me regret asking you to come work for me!” You yell in his direction.
“With you!” He quips while laying down the rest of the tracks for the toy train.
The risks of having Namjoon as your business partner were high, but you were hoping the outcome would outweigh it all.
After countless meetings with investors and prospective authors, you wanted nothing more than to put on fuzzy socks and curl up in bed with a cheesy Hallmark film to put you to sleep. But with the holidays, no one wanted to talk about money because they were too busy spending it.
“I’m tapping out for the day,” you say as you stand up and peer over at Namjoon.
He’s hanging up another string of cut-out paper snowflakes. Namjoon stops in his tracks, setting down the garland he’s created. “I’ll walk you out.”
With knitted brows and a frown, you’re wondering what’s gotten into him. He’s never once walked you out of the building. You don’t deny the offer because you’re already defeated from the day and don’t have the energy to bicker with him.
He follows you out, standing beside you as the elevator arrives. Silence fills the steel box trapping you and Namjoon before he breaks it.
“Any fun plans tonight?”
You slowly turn your head, narrowing your eyes at the tall giant. “What’s it to you?” Honestly, he’s never been so interested in your life before. Why start now? Is it because you have to work together as partners?
He glances in your direction then turns away to face the elevator doors. “Just making small talk,” he shrugs, placing his hands behind his back.
“Uh huh…”
Namjoon clears his throat out of nervousness. “You did great today in the meetings. I think we’ll have them all on board in no time.”
Is Kim Namjoon complimenting you? Such words have never rung sweeter in your ears.
“You weren’t so bad yourself. Surely, you charmed the panties off Mrs. Park.” The obvious flirting between the two made you want to gag.
A strangled noise comes from Namjoon as he dismisses your comment. The elevator comes to a stop and dings, with the door opening to the parking garage.
You’re ready to step out when you feel a grip on your wrist. Your heart flutters at the sudden contact and you gulp hard at his warm hand against your skin.
“I wanted to see if you’d want to go to a Christmas party with me tonight.”
Is Kim Namjoon asking to be seen with you in public? Why must there be some kind of magic in the air or did he hit himself too hard with a dumbbell?
“I don’t think I’ll be good company, especially at a party.”
The elevator doors begin to close, but you hit the button to keep it open.
“You can be my excuse to leave,” he explains.
Your mouth hangs open before responding. “Is that all I’m good for? Being your excuse?”
The doors threaten to close again and you attempt to hit the button to stay open, but Namjoon beats you to the ‘close’ button instead.
“Say yes.”
“Or what?” You deadpan, cocking your head to the side.
“Or else I’ll kiss you.”
Your eyes widen at his comment and before you know it, Namjoon closes the distance between you, cupping your face, and presses his lips against yours. You’re tempted to pull away and say that you should keep your relationship professional, but your body betrays you as you drop your bag, and wrap your arms and shoulders, deepening the kiss. His lips are soft and delicate, like how you remember them. He pulls back, and you can feel a smile as he returns for another kiss. Your fingers become entangled in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Namjoon traces your spine and presses his body as close as he can, causing a shiver to run through your body.
It’s easier to tell how aroused he’s become, and you’d be embarrassed if his thighs were to become slotted between your legs. And in no way, have you ever thought about riding his thighs.
“Namjoon…” You’re finally able to croak out. He hums, placing kisses along your jawline, and down the column of your neck. “What are we doing?”
“Kissing…obviously.”
He’s a smart ass, and he knows it, but that’s also something you’ve come to appreciate.
“I know, but—why, right now?”
The elevator number lights up, and you realize it’s being utilized by someone else.
Namjoon pulls back and stands tall, straightening his tie. He clears his throat, “I—um…” He looks up, and your gaze follows him to the small green plant that’s hanging decorated with a red bow—a mistletoe.
The two of you let out a soft laugh, trying to regain whatever dignity is left.
“You didn’t put that there, did you?”
He points to himself. “Me? Pfft—why would I do that?”
With the long relationship you’ve had, you can always tell when he’s lying.
The lift moves, highlighting the floor it’s going to.
You stride toward Namjoon, gazing into his dragon eyes, then dropping to his plush lips and back up. “Will I find mistletoes around the office now?”
A ding resounds, but you hold the ‘close’ button, waiting for Namjoon’s answer. A beat passes, and it’s the first time he doesn’t have a cheeky response ready. So you do the only sensible thing—kiss him again.
“What was that for?” He asks, scanning your face.
“We are under the mistletoe.” A chuckle leaves your lips. “Well, it was either you kiss me or I’d have to attend a dreadful Christmas party with you.”
“So, you’re not coming?”
“Wouldn’t you rather come to my place instead?”
Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “I won’t object to that.”
#namjoon fanfic#namjoon fic#namjoon x you#namjoon x reader#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts x reader#bts x you#kim namjoon
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Fa La La La La Michael's on Sale (Christmas Miracle L-Card PROLOGUE Spoilers I)
Most of you know the drill when it comes to my reacts/playthrus
It's usually a two-parter, I sit here and say my h0rni mess while paraphrasing and summarizing what it is I saw lol
You'll be seeing me go over more of them this week, including Beel's event, Raphael's prolouge, and others.
But for now, grab yourself a snaky snack, and let's dive in ♨(⋆‿⋆)♨
First off, Minhyeok is an uncle??? That's so wholesome and cute and look how happy his nephew is to see him <3333
We start off with Minhyeok being a bit grumpy cause it's Christmas and MC isn't here, meanwhile some random women are ogling him as they always do...but yay he's greeted by his adorable nephew and....
Minhyeok's fine ass older brother (ᇴ‿ฺᇴ)
So he asks him where his wife is (booooooooo gimmie single dilf to lust over please and thank you /hj) And his brother is like yeah my wife said I'd be i the way so she made me leave.
That's honestly such a cute typical "haha my wife calls me a menace love her though"
Because he would be in the way....that turtle neck sweater....those muscles, I'm surprised your wife only has one kid because d a m n.
So typically around Christmas, his brother worries about him being alone since their parents are overseas and he also lives far. Because of this he comes to pick him up and spend Christmas with him and his wife/kiddo so he's not by himself. (assuming this also includes MC) And Minhyeok is grateful to his brother for being so nice.
Ooop, he's asking about MC! And Minhyeok is like "Yeah they're fine." Like imagine having to tell your older brother "yeah so my bestie pretty much is in hell doing some kind of mission or whatever and has to drink my cum in order to survive but this tiny red demon that resembles a small pet updates me on them so no worries"
He'd probably ask him to permanently move in with them so he can look over him lololol
It's cute that the older brother is genuinely concerned for MC and wants to know they're doing well. It's confirmed here that they hung out together during childhood so he considers them close like family. (I still have a thought that once during their childhood they fought over who would marry MC and I guess yeah Minhyeok won that fight since the older brother is married to someone else)
So Minhyeok's nephew starts asking him did he want anything from Santa this year and Minhyeok gets all in his feelings and tells him that he just wants MC to be at peace (or his special someone ya know)
So his nephew is like all happy about it and he says he hopes Santa grants his wish and they both get all wholesome and cute and fluffy. The way Minhyeok interacts with his nephew also confirms my headcanon of him that he'd be an amazing househusband and very attentive to your kid(s).
So it pans out from here and then-
TARTAROS BABES LUV YOUUU
Tbh this is first place I'd want to be during this time because the amount of fucking gifts??? From Daddy Mammon???? HELLLLL YESSSS.
And that's exactly what's happening. Bimet here is picking out clothes for MC, just piling them on and on and it's overwhelming for MC honestly to where they're like uh this is enough and our boujie bestie Bimet is like-
I also wanted to point out that MC was literally shopping for a cake with Ppyong and Mammon's fucking gold hand just snatches them from Gehenna (Satan was probably fucking pissed lmao)
So Bimet is purchasing all of these clothes and other items and MC is like I only have one body where are all these gonna fit? Their bang bang safe room is small, but Bimet lets them know they already reserved other rooms for them to use for storing their items. Three rooms in fact. And I bet you they're huge.
But while MC is over here pondering about the clothes and the three rooms they seem to have reserved there we get a warm welcome from our fave buff boi
This is such a cute image to picture, just Valefor walking around with various bags and boxes helping carry everything. he's so bf material it's cute. Mc and Bimet were traveling to different stores on their own at first BUT turns out that yeah too much was being bought for them to carry so MC called Valefor to help.
OAINODAKNFDKJSADNKJSNAFKJNSFKJ <3333 I'd love hugs from himmmmmmmmmmmmm what a sweet soul
And MC asks if he had any plans for Christmas, and apparently this is what he does every year
the men get together and have this weird contest but that's after they get off work. sounds to me like that morning after will be like...hella food coma hangover (if that even exists)
He calls the fact that he gets to see MC during Christmas is a miracle, and even says they're lucky to see them too. (i'm going to explode he's so cute)
So with that being said, Bimet is like yeah let's keep going to other stores and then he pays the clerk being like "Yup the Tartaros palace will foot the bill" and the clerk is just like okie dokie then (her sprite is super cute btw omg)
And MC is over here like "I wonder why Bimet is so happy???"
Bimet and I have the same energy. Love spending over ppl's money and not my own lmao I'm so uptight when using my own cash to buy things, even necessities that I need at home T^T
So yeah after visiting 14 fucking stores and being out all day until dinner, MC is finally back home in one of the rooms set aside for them. Eligos is there being pouty because he waited all day (probably hasn't eaten poor bby) and wants headpats.
After said headpats are given, he's just like alrightie strip :D
MC being being MC is all confused like UH WHAT NOW
And I'm wondering why too, right? Until he drops this bomb on us...
So basically MC didn't know they had to attend this auction thing with Mammon and so Eli is like alright guess I'm telling you now lmao
Oh that's nice, at least the money goes towards charity orgs and such. Tartaros is pretty dope for that.
So well MC is hype now to go to this auction and Eli is being cute here burying himself in mountains of clothing and shopping bags to pick out an outfit.
So while you're getting dressed Eli starts to also talk about the strange things that usually happen in Hell during Christmas, including Christmas miracles. So this is the third time it's been mentioned and MC thinks it's pretty much a sign something odd is gonna happen at that auction....
SO we're at the auction now and the first item is apparently some glass/golden slippers from that one storytale with the fairy godmother and cinderella basically yadda ya lol
Gawd Mammon is so sugar ddy vibes I swear, best seats in the house at an auction, best clothes and accessories on that he bought. MMMM MMMM MMMMM I need this treatment bad.
So Mammon thought MC wanted the slippers and was willing to buy them. (those bitches were fucking 18 million to start...I'm not sure if that's USD or not but fuck me)
MC declines and says they already received so many gifts today they were wondering what more could they want.
AHHHH Mammon speaking to them like this probably all deep-voiced, full of energy, having you sitting right beside him so close so you're not out of his line of vision. AHHH AHHHA VIP treatment too probably.
I'm stopping here because things are about to get c r a z y. And I've hit my image limit </3
See ya on the next post!!
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Love is Patience, love is kind
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AN: I'm back! And this time it's a Benedict Bridgerton fic! Don't know if it's good or how long it'll be but I'm hoping it's a slow burn. As always, this isn't proofread.
Also this is soooo long, I'm not sorry :)
The title is still a work in progress.
TW. None I don't think but shoot me a message if you think one applies.
--
The servants quarters at the Bridgerton house are never quiet in the morning. It’s a miracle it doesn’t wake the household, Kit thinks, serving tea to everyone crowded at the kitchen table.
Because there are so many servants and maids, they usually do the morning food service in two goes. The Lower servants get first service, because they’re up earlier than the rest, and an hour later, the upper servants come down for their breakfast. Dinner is the opposite, with the upper servants eating first, and the lower servants eating afterwards. It’s only at lunch that everyone eats together while the Bridgertons luncheon upstairs. It’s short and rushed, especially for the Footmen who have to eat between food courses but cook is practised at her art and makes meals the boys can scoff down as they run plates upstairs. Mr Graves, the steward, doesn’t mind, so long as the boys aren’t still chewing on their food when they’re within eyesight of the family.
It’s rare that the staff finds a moment to converse around the kitchen table as a group outside of their respective mealtimes, but everyone tries for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and, like today, for employment anniversaries.
Despite being the one rushing around, serving tea, it’s Kit’s employment anniversary. She’s been employed by the Bridgertons for seven years today, and it’s gone by in a blur. She started off as a scullery maid and two years ago, moved to kitchen maid. She’ll likely stay there until Cook retires, which might be some years yet. Cook’s no spring chicken, but behind her facade of cute little old lady hides a strength and energy she only allows to be seen when something isn’t to her liking in her kitchen. The kitchen is Cook’s domain. Her kingdom. And she rules it with an iron fist and all the mercy of a dictator.
That being said, Cook really is a kind and caring woman. Which is why, unbeknownst to Kit, she’s been up for hours preparing a treat. She’s had to clear it with Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, weeks in advance and then hide it before Kit could discover her surprise, but as she finishes pouring tea and passing around the milk, Cook pulls out the plate of hot scones, cream and raspberry jam. It’s still steaming when she sets it out on the table with a satisfied grin at Kit’s surprised face.
The staff cheers but waits patiently for Kit to have the first one, watching with hungry eyes as she smears the jam on first and then drops a measured dollop of clotted cream to finish it off. They even hold off long enough for her to take a bite. As if waiting for her approval, as soon as she smiles, they all throw themselves on the plate to grab their own scone. In the hubbub, the jam spoon flies off, hitting a wall by the staircase that leads upstairs but no one notices.
Then, in less than five minutes, everything has been eaten, and the lower servants down their boiling hot teas as fast as they can before the shift starts. Soon, the merry conversations of the kitchen tables turn into orders and task lists and only the upper servants remain seated. Next to Kit, Cook pulls out her notebook and begins planning the day, and meals.
“Isn’t the new scullery maid supposed to start today,” Mrs Wilson remarks, tapping Mr Graves’ arm in order to get his attention.
He looks at his watch, a present from Edmund Bridgerton some years before, “She should be here in time for the Lunch service,” he replies, turning back to his tea, drinking the last mouthful and then shaking his cup at Kit to signal for a refill.
“Patience, you’ll be showing her the ropes,” he tells Kit, who he simply refuses to call by her nickname, stating that “Your parents put such thought in your first name, I will not show such disrespect as you call you by anything else,” and ignoring her when she tries to tell him that even her parents call her Kit. Only her brother Michael calls her Patience, or Patsy, when he’s cross with her.
Kit nods, until two years ago she’d been a scullery maid herself, and since her promotion, she had been juggling both jobs herself. It was a relief that Mr Graves had finally hired someone else, she’d be able to sleep more, and it would give her skin and lungs some needed reprieve. The cleaning chemicals she used to scrub everything clean were effective, but they were quite harsh on her. Graves’ reluctance to fill the scullery position was a mystery to everyone else too, the Bridgertons’ were more than rich enough to pay another member of staff, and even Mrs Wilson, who usually followed Mr. Graves’ instruction to the letter, had been on his case about hiring someone else.
“You should have --” Mrs Wilson starts
“I will not hear of it,” Mr Graves says, cutting her off, “I have now, there’s no need to harp on about it.”
The housekeeper throws him a look. If Kit didn’t know them as well as she did, she might be tempted to say the two were secretly courting, but as it stood, Mrs Wilson made her opinion of Graves perfectly clear. He was her superior and therefore worthy of respect and blind obedience, but privately, she thought him a self-important little man.
Before Graves could reprimand the housekeeper for the glare, the bells began ringing. Lady’s maids and valet stand up from their chairs, climbing up the stairs to the main house to assist their family member, then, the footmen stand up, finishing their tea to set the table and bring breakfast. Eventually, Humboldt and Mrs Wilson leave their place at the tables too.
After another cup of tea and a specially made jam on toast, Mr Graves bids Cook and Kit goodbye and retreats to his office, a small room to the side of the kitchen.
“I do not wish to spoil the fun of your special day, Kit dear, but we must get on,” Cook says. Springing to action, she tidies the kitchen table, neatly stacking plates, cups and cutlery by the kitchen sink and then, almost automatically, peeling vegetables.
For lunch, the Bridgertons will have asparagus soup, cold meat, cake and fruit. The soup is a special request of Violet Bridgerton herself and Cook wishes to make the Viscountess' soup of her own hands, while she busies herself with that, Kit moves on to the rest.
Then, as they finish up, the new scullery maid is announced by one of the Grooms as he walks in, traipsing mud and horse manure all over Kit’s perfectly polished floor.
Amused by the death glare she throws his way, the Groom introduces the girl, “This is Elaine,” he says, “And this is Cook,” he tells the girl, “And the Kitchen Maid,” he adds, winking at Kit, “Her name is Patience, everyone calls her Kit,” he adds.
“Except you,” Cook says, trying not to giggle
“That’s right,” The Groom smiles broadly, “My name is also Kit, short for Christopher,” he explains, “So to keep things clear, I call her ‘the lesser Kit’. So there’s no confusion,” he adds, winking at the girl. She giggles.
“I suggest you do not try to call me that,” Kit warns the girl.
“I’ll leave you lovely ladies to your work then,” Christopher says, “Happy anniversary. It’s been a pleasure to tease you for so long,” he adds over his shoulder as he walks out. Despite her best efforts, it does force a smile out of Kit.
“I’ll leave you to clean. I must go to market, and Mrs Wilson has asked me to inventory the pantry,” Cook says, taking off her apron and hanging it by the back door, she picks up her basket and then shakes the tea tin she keeps by her prized cookery books over the table and picks up the few coins that fell out. With a wave, she exits the kitchen, leaving the scullery maid and Kit by themselves.
Knowing that the dinner service needs to be prepared in less than two hours, and that the staff will descend upon the kitchen in roundabout an hour, Kit wastes no time showing Elaine where the cleaning supplies are kept and what must be done, how and when. The girl takes it in, asking any question she can think of as soon as she can. By the time Cook is back, Kit is suitably impressed by the girl.
The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Elaine watching all she does very closely.
“I’ll do the end of day cleaning with you for a week,” Kit says, “And then you’re on your own. You managed the cleaning fine after lunch, so I don’t think you’ll need me much,” she sighs, “Right, let’s get on with it. We start with the counters, obviously, then dusting and we finish with the floor,” Kit says, handing Elaine a brush, nodding towards the chopping block where Cook butchered the pheasant the Bridgertons ate for dinner. As the scullery maid got to scrubbing, Kit worked at the other end of the kitchen, cleaning the remnants of the staff lunch. She then moved on to the fireplace, picking up the sand they had spread to catch the grease and spills of whatever Cook had boiling in her cauldron, and then spreading new sand.
Elaine worked valiantly at the stove, braving the leftover heat of the coals to get everything clean without a word of complaint. And then, right as Kit started the yawn, the two girls set about cleaning the floor. It was the least pleasant job, in Kit’s opinion, worse than cleaning bloody chopping blocks, or sticking your arm in the warm stove. Cook despised mops and insisted that a scrubbing cloth be worked around the floor with bare feet, and that the water must be ice cold, as she thought any temperature above simply wasn’t as effective. By the end of it, Kit and Elaine’s toes were numb, but the floor sparkled, and painful feet were worth avoiding Cook’s wrath.
“Tea before bed?” Kit offers. Elaine happily agreed, taking a seat at the table while Kit pulled out a teapot and two cups.
“If your name is Patience, why are you called Kit?” Elaine asks, halfway through her cup, “If it’s alright to ask.”
Kit grinned, “My mother named me Patience Katherine Byrd,” she says, “I don’t like being called Patsy, so Kit was the next best thing.”
Elaine nods. She’s about to say something else when the door opens and someone starts down the stairs. Kit expects it to be Hyacinth on her weekly trip to the kitchen to wrestle some leftover cake out of Kit with puppy eyes and pretty pleases, but the footsteps seem too heavy.
The person stumbles, missing a step, and catches themselves on the railing with a groan and a mumbled swear. A few steps later, shoes and trousers come into view.
It’s a man. It cannot be Colin Bridgerton, for he is out of town, and it cannot be the Viscount, as he left for his own bachelor house earlier in the evening, taking his valet with him. Sure enough, Benedict Bridgerton soon steps into view. He’s white as a sheet, and barely able to walk.
“I was hoping someone would still be awake,” he says, swaying as he stands two steps away from the bottom of the stairs. Kit and Elaine stand up, remembering themselves.
“Would it be possible to have some warm milk?” He asks.
Kit always liked Benedict best of all the male Bridgerton’s. They’ve crossed paths twice in seven years but he’s always been polite to her, despite her status and in spite of his.
“Please,” he adds
“Perhaps you would like to sit,” Kit offers, pulling out the chair closest to where he’s standing. He nods, holding his hand against the wall for dear life as he walks down the last two steps. He stumbled down onto the chair, crash landing haphazardly onto the seat with a pained moan.
“You can go,” Kit tells Elaine, “Go to bed, we wake at dawn tomorrow.”
She then turns towards the stove, lighting it under Benedict Bridgerton’s watchful gaze. She warms up a pitcher of milk and pours it into a cup for him. Unsure of what to do with herself, she stands by as he sips it.
Kit’s never heard the kitchen so quiet. She could hear a pin drop from miles away but despite the awkwardness, she struggles to keep a yawn from surfacing.
“I’m sorry,” Benedict eventually says, “I am keeping you up.”
“It’s alright, sir,”
“It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sure you have plenty of work to be done tomorrow and I am keeping you from sleeping. I’m sorry I’ll be the cause of your tiredness,” he says, looking genuinely sorry, “I couldn’t sleep,” he eventually adds after finishing his milk, “I have such a headache, and Andrew couldn’t find the laudanum. I thought I would be okay but it’s too much.”
“If you wait here, I shall fetch you some of mine,” Kit offers, unsure of what the alternative could be. She knows just how painful headaches can get, and because she has no choice but to work through them, she keeps her side of the wardrobe well stocked with homemade laudanum.
Kit opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can so as not to wake Dorothy, one of the lower housemaids, with whom she shares the room. She steps around the bed and opens the wardrobe door, fumbling the keys and almost dropping it. She feels around for a glass flask until her fingers close around its neck. Once the medicine is in her possession, she leaves the room again. Walking to the opposite side of the corridor, passing through the door announcing the male servant’s rooms, Kit makes her way towards Andrew’s quarters. His room is all the way towards the end, as close to the main house as it can get, in case his gentleman were to have an emergency. Kit’s been here before, but never unchaperoned, and the distance between Andrew’s room and the safety of the communal corridor is a curse.
Eventually, she knocks on his door but he doesn’t respond. The Valets have been asleep for hours now, and she imagines Andrew is much the same. Wishing she didn’t have to, she pushes the door open and steps in. She walks closer to the bed, putting a hand on Andrew’s sleeping shoulder and gently shakes him. He wakes with a start.
“Say, Kit, I’ve always wanted you in my bed,” he mumbles groggily, grinning at her, “But I wasn’t expecting it to happen today.”
“Very funny, you incorrigible rake,” Kit grins back, “Your gentlemen is looking white as a sheet in my kitchen, you might want to come with in case we need to fetch a doctor,” she explains. Andrew sighs, picking his trousers off the end of his bed.
“I cannot be seen in my sleepwear, you go first, I’ll join you in a moment,” he adds, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.
Benedict Bridgerton seems to only have gotten worse by the time she is back. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his palour has turned to colouring his face a strange shade of green. Seeing this, and perhaps selfishly afraid for her clean floors, Kit hurriedly pours the second eldest Bridgerton a bit of laudanum. He downs it in one go and coughs.
“Christ, that’s strong!” he says, looking surprised.
“Well, it’s homemade,” Kit explains, “It’s alcohol and opium. The doses might be different to what you’re used to but I promise it will work.”
“Yes,” he coughs, “I daresay I needn’t more than a few sips for this to knock me right out.”
“Well, you did say you had trouble sleeping,” Kit mumbles to herself, not expecting Benedict to hear her but a laugh soon bubbles up from his mouth. It’s delightful but short lived, for merely a second later he coughs again, bends over, and spills the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor.
Kit’s fury is immediate, and Benedict knows it. He stands here, green and ill, looking like a deer in the headlights.
“I did not -- I’m awfully sorry --” he sputters.
Her anger doesn’t last, there’s something about Benedict that softens Kit’s heart, much to her dismay, and as much as she would have liked to send him away with a scolding and a glare -- as she would have done with anyone else -- she steps forward instead, placing a hand over his shoulder to place his back against the chair. As she would with her own brothers, she then places the back of her hand against his forehead.
“You have a temperature,” she states, just in time for Andrew to swing the door open, dressed but dishevelled, a cowlick lifting all but one tuft of hair on the left side of his head.
“I see I’m too late,” he comments, ignoring how close his gentleman and Kit are, “I’ll take you back up to bed, sir, and I’ll ask one of the footmen to fetch a doctor.”
“I’m awfully sorry for your floor,” Benedict apologises again, looking greener than ever and as though he might be sick again.
“It’s nothing Kit’s not seen before,” Andrew says, placing one of Benedict’s over his shoulders and lifting him up to a standing position. Gingerly, Andrew walks Benedict back up the stairs and into the main house, leaving Kit to clean the floor all over again.
By the time she’s finished, the sun is shining low on the horizon, the roosters in the courtyard are crowing and Cook opens the door to start her day. She stands on the threshold, surprised.
“Don’t ask,” Kit says, throwing her cloth in the kitchen’s laundry basket, “It’s been a night.”
“I can see that,” Cook says, “Has it been a fun night?” She asks, mischievously.
Aside from cooking, Cook’s only interests are gossip and matchmaking. She has been on Kit’s case about finding her a nice young man since the second month of her employment.
“Andrew’s been up all night too,” she adds with a wink, “He’s a handsome lad.”
“Don’t let him hear you,” Kit groans, “Master Benedict came down for hot milk last night. He was taken ill. I had to fetch Andrew.”
Cook sighs, disappointed, “Well, I was certainly hoping for something else.”
“That makes both of us,” Kit sighed
“Oh does it now?” Cook grins, turning Kit as red as her hair, unaware of how her words could have sounded.
---
Everyone else is already fast asleep by the time Elaine and Kit finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down for their last cup of tea. Swearing her young scullery maid to secrecy, Kit shaves off two thin slices of cake to have next to their drink. They eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful, but much like the day before, right as they finish, the door to the main house opens, and footsteps descend the stairs.
They’re steady today, and confident, but Kit recognises Benedict’s shoes before much of him comes into view.
“Pardon my interruption,” he says, “I merely wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”
Kit can feel Elaine looking to her for an answer. She throws her a look promising explanations later. As a maid, an apology like that can have a range of reasons, from the innocent to the rakish. With the reputation the Bridgerton boys have, it isn’t hard to imagine that Elaine is thinking more on the scandalous side of things.
“I hope you feel better,” Kit says, avoiding any words of forgiveness towards her soiled floor -- after all, she hasn’t forgiven him. She’s been up since the day before at dawn and the sheer exhaustion she has felt all day is nothing she has ever experienced -- and it seems Benedict has noticed. He grins at her.
The three of them stay quiet for a moment until the silence becomes more than Kit can bear, “Well, if it’s all, sir, I think we’ll go to bed.”
“Right,” he says, looking down at the floor, “Of course… Yes. Good night, Miss. Goodnight Kit,” he says.
“Miss Byrd,” Kit corrects him before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. While calling her by her first name is a disrespect, correcting her employer so rudely is a greater offence than anything he could have done. If word of this reacher Mr Graves, Kit is in for a telling off she has never experienced before.
“Pardon me, Miss Byrd. I meant no offence,” he says, “I seem to forget my manners.”
“Well, goodnight,” she says, hoping it will make him leave. Surprisingly, Benedict seems rather unwilling to leave her kitchen despite the awkwardness making her want to run away.
He takes the hint and with a nod in either direction, walks back up the stairs.
Kit stands there, unsure of what to say for a moment, “He vomited on our floor last night. I’m rather surprised he was brave enough to face me, I thought my glare had scared him off,” she eventually says.
Elaine stays quiet.
“You don’t believe me?” Kit sighs
“No, I do,” she eventually says, “It’s just…” Elaine hesitates, “You ought to be careful.”
“How so?” Kit asks, feeling herself blush at the situation. A sixteen year old scullery maid giving her lessons, Kit should like the floor to swallow her whole.
“I have heard things about the masters. Other maids think they’re rakes,” she says, then, casting her eyes on the floor, she adds, “At my last household, one of the Masters charmed a maid. He got her in the family way and it left her ruined.”
Kit remains there speechless.
“I don’t know what I have done to give you such a poor opinion of me, Elaine, but rest assured that I am not that kind of girl. I have no desire to run around with a master of the house and ruin myself,” Kit says, furious, “I think it’s best you go to bed. I’ll finish up here.”
“I did not mean --” she sputters, “It’s just --”
“Leave.”
Elaine nods, leaving her cup on the table. She vanishes through the service door seconds later.
Kit sits there for a while, stewing in her own anger. Partly at Elaine, and partly at Benedict. If anything were to come of this, be it rumour or inappropriate behaviour, she would be ruined and destitute. No household in London would ever employ her, and she could kiss the position of Cook, and its high salary, goodbye.
Still fuming, Kit stands up, washes the teapot and cups and climbs up to bed.
“You’re angry,” Dorothy says, sleepily, “You always stomp around when you’re angry.”
“I can’t believe the little --” Kit starts, “First that spoiled ass sicks up all over my pristine floor, then the new maid suggests he might try to ruin me!”
“Seems like a jump,”
“He came back to apologise,”
“Right,” Dorothy says, “She’s just looking out for you, I’m sure.”
“She’s sixteen!” Kit whispers back, “She’s a child!”
Dorothy sighs.
“Do you know what would happen to me if Graves hears what she said?”
“Kit, that’s enough,” Dorothy says firmly, “Nothing will happen because nothing untowards has happened. Now go to bed, I don’t want to deal with your moods in the morning.”
Kit glares at her.
“You can look at me like that all you want. It won’t change anything,” Dorothy says, tucking herself back into her duvet, “Sleep tight.”
Kit climbs into bed, huffing and puffing.
“I’ll vouch for you if Graves asks,” Dorothy eventually says, on the verge of sleep.
“Good night,” Kit replies, falling asleep as soon as her eyes close.
It seems like only a second has passed before the bell rings in the corridor and Kit must rise again. She shaked Dorothy awake and gets dressed, quickly brushing her hair and pinning it up in a tight bun. Downstairs, Cook had boiled water and made tea. She serves Kit a cup, and then Elaine when she appears a moment later. Wanting to avoid Elaine as much as she can, Kit throws herself in the day’s work, speaking as little as possible.
“Out with it,” Cook orders as soon as they step out to the courtyard after the lunch service. The scullery maid is inside, cleaning up.
“Something’s bothering you,” she adds, “I could taste it in your soup.”
“What?!” Kit asks, confused and wondering what kind of cookery witchcraft Cook knows of.
“You salt too much when you’re cross,” Cook shrugs.
“Oh,” Kit sighs, “It’s nothing. Elaine gave me advice yesterday, I didn’t appreciate it.”
Cook laughs but says nothing.
“Do you think Benedict Bridgerton is a rake?” Kit asks.
“I think he likes ladies, yes,” she responds, “I don’t think he likes maids.”
Kit sighs in relief, “Elaine seems to think --”
“Elaine was previously employed by Lord Berbrooke,” Cook cuts her off, “Give her some leeway, she’s only working off of her own experiences. The Bridgertons are different, they’re a good family with kind hearts. The Viscountess and her late husband raised them right.”
“They seem nice,” Kit replies, “I didn’t like that she was implying that I would be such a… Well, you know. That I would go above my station.”
“I don’t think that’s what she was implying, Kit dear,” Cook says, patting her arm. They stay quiet for a moment while Kit ruminates on what she said.
She’s not completely naive. She knows about these things. Maybe not everything, but she’s been working a while, and before the Bridgertons she worked with another family. She saw things she hadn’t been prepared for, then. But since working for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t thought back on it. She hadn’t felt unsafe, worried or scared that a moment alone or spent with a man might result in something she could never erase from her mind.
She’d taken Elaine’s advice so personally, like an attack on her own character. She hadn’t even thought it might have been a reflection of her own experiences. She hadn’t even thought it might be a warning on Benedict’s character. And strangely, she hadn’t thought, although it felt a little true, that the attack felt so offensive because Benedict had an effect on her Kit didn’t want him to have.
Benedict Bridgerton is undoubtedly a handsome man, but more than that, it was the boyish grin and big blue eyes that charmed her. She wasn’t in love, obviously, but he did have a certain effect on her.
“I think it’s time we go back,” Cook says, grabbing Kit by the arm and gently leading her back in to see Elaine finishing up the kitchen. Just as she throws the cloth into the laundry, they start messing up the kitchen, pulling out flour, vegetables, to start on dinner. As the sauces simmer and vegetables cook, Mr Kingman walks into the kitchen holding a couple of partridges and a hare.
“For dinner tonight,” he says, smacking the birds down on the table so violently it scares Elaine, who looks on dejected at the mess they so quickly created, “And for the family, I have a nice deer coming in. The boys are a little slow with it though,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Three voices argue loudly behind him, trying to wade through the muddy courtyard. Kit leans to see what the commotion is behind him. Carrying the biggest deer she has ever laid eyes upon, she can just about see Edmund, Francis and Frederic, the three gardener’s assistants Mr Kingman has borrowed to bring his prize.
Somehow, they negotiate the doorway and manage to fit the deer inside the kitchen. Elaine and Kit spring into action, removing chairs from the kitchen table so the boys can put it down.
Cook looks on, satisfied, “That’ll do nicely, I daresay,” she says. Then, she picks up one of her best knives and hands it to Kit, “We’ll need the bones for stock, and I’ll make a nice stew out of the organs, so be gentle with it.”
“If you keep the pelt in one piece, I’ll make a nice coat out of it,” Mr Kingman says.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kit braced herself. She’d only done this a handful of times, but it never got any more pleasant. Still, under the watchful eyes of the game warden, the three boys, Elaine and Cook, Kit begins to skin and quarter the animal.
Glancing back at her audience, she saw she had gathered a few more spectators. Mr Graves looked on from his office window, arms crossed over his chest with all the concentration of a man trying to keep his lunch inside while being entirely unable to look away.
Turning back to her work, she continues her cuts. She keeps going, asking the boys to roll the animal halfway through so she could replicate her butchering. Then, once she had finished cutting off the skin and quartering the animal, she and Cook moved all the meat to the cold room for safekeeping.
As much as Kit would have liked to take a shower to wash off the grime and blood, there was no time to waste. The leg would take a while to roast, even over the fire, and the kitchen needed to be cleaned, a job which, in light of the deer, Elaine could not complete by herself.
By the time it was time to return to her quarters, Kit could only think of a nice long bath. She drew the water and brought it upstairs, careful not to spill any on the stairs. Then, she undressed and gingerly lowered herself in the copper tub.
Kit closed her eyes, letting herself relax. She breathed deeply in and out a few times, then slipped under the water. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes. From underneath the water she could see almost nothing, just the flickering light of the candle at the side of the tub. She exhaled gently, watching the bubbles rise til they hit the surface, and then pop.
She resurfaced again a moment later, wiping her hair from her face. Water in her eyes having temporarily blinded her, Kit felt around the side of the tub for the little table she had put the soap and cloth on. After a minute, she felt the soft bar underneath her fingers.
One of the perks of working for the Bridgertons was without a doubt the soap. While other households often stocked soap for their servants, it was rarely of a good enough quality that it was worth using, but the Bridgertons’ or Mrs Wilson, anyway, regarded the staff’s overall appearance as highly important and hygiene most of all. They had therefore stocked each room with decent, scented soap. A treat Kit appreciated greatly.
She rubbed the soap over the cloth to make it bubble and then washed herself with it, breathing in the smell of jasmine on her skin. Then, with the same soapy cloth, Kit washed the top of her head til it bubbled up enough to clean the rest of her long hair. Once rinsed and ready, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself off and blew the candle out. Feeling more human than she had in days, she made her way back to her room.
To her surprise, Dorothy was still up, reading a long letter by candle light.
“From your Pa?” Kit asked, eliciting a humm of agreement from her friend, “How is the family?”
“My sister’s getting married in the spring,” she replied, “She’s marrying our vicar’s son. Ma says it’s a nice match but I get the feeling Pa’s not so happy about it. I don’t see why not though,” she says, “It’s not like she can do any better. He seems nice, and he’ll provide for her.”
“That’s nice!” Kit says, excited. She’s always loved weddings, and while she’s never hoped for a love match herself, finding someone willing to provide and care for her has always seemed just as good. In her books, Dotty’s sister isn’t doing half bad.
“Do you think if I ask Graves he’ll let me go for the wedding?” Dotty asks
“I don’t see why not,” Kit replies, “He’s a pain but not a monster, you know.”
“That’s only because he likes you, Patience,” she replies, emphasising her legal name.
Kit laughs, “Say, have you ever noticed how funny his name actually is?”
Dotty shakes her head.
“His name is Robert Graves. Rob Graves.”
Dorothy grins, “Leave it to you to find that out,” then, she sighs and without a word, goes back to reading. Suddenly exhausted, Kit climbs into bed and falls asleep almost immediately.
She wakes up late for the first time in seven years. By the time she makes it downstairs, Cook is already starting with breakfast. Without a word, but with a disapproving look, she hands Kit a bag of flour, some yeast and a little water.
---
Kit’s outside for a tea break when Michael, her ten year old brother, walks into the courtyard, newspaper in hand.
“Any good news?” Kit asks, pressing a coin in his hand.
Michael shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t read it, I just sell it.”
Kit grins. She takes off Michael’s cap and ruffles the hair underneath it. It’s almost as red as hers, only much shorter and curlier. It suits him, she thinks, and paired with the freckles covering his face, it makes him look younger than he is.
He leans against her in a not-quite-hug. Michael likes to pretend to be older than he is, and very much resists any of his sister’s babying, but occasionally, especially when he’s tired, he’ll still hug her. She holds him there for a moment, savouring it.
“Have you eaten anything?” She asks him
Michael shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say anything, Kit already knows. Their father’s out of work again, and despite all of the children working, money is stretched thin. Kit hates to speak badly of her father, but she hates that he’ll let his children go hungry if it means he never has to go thirsty. For every shilling that goes into food, three go into alcohol.
“Stay there,” Kit tells him. Michael watches her disappear inside, and then reappear a moment later, holding an apple and some bread. She watches him eat it all, and then fetches him some milk to wash it all down. Once she’s satisfied that he won’t drop from hunger, she lets him finish his route.
Once she steps back inside, it’s back to work. The staff having soup for dinner and the family is divided with the eldest going to a ball, and the younger ones staying behind.
Seeing as it’s only the children having dinner, Cook has been bribed by Hyacinth to make tea sandwiches and cakes, and so, Kit spends the better part of her afternoon making cakes and breads.
After dinner, it’s time to clean. The end of her evening clean with Elaine is upon them and after tonight Kit will be able to retire to bed alongside Dorothy. She’s been looking forward to it, she’s even asked Andrew to borrow a book from upstairs for her.
There’s been very little chatting since Elaine gave her advice, and as much as Kit wants to apologise for her reaction, she can’t really seem to find the right words, and by the time she thinks she might be brave enough to try, the cleaning is done and it’s time to go home.
Tonight, though, Kit is determined to do it. She’s been talking herself into it since she woke up this morning and her chance finally appears as they remove their shoes to work the scrubbing cloth around the floor.
“I wanted to apologise,” she says, staring firmly at the floor, “I misunderstood your intentions earlier in the week and I was awfully rude.”
Elaine seems surprised, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”
“You were looking out for me,” Kit says, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” she smiles at the scullery maid, “I’ll be careful.”
Elaine smiles at her, moving as fast as she can on the cloth before her feet become numb. They’ve done most of it now and the end can’t come soon enough.
“Tea?” Elaine asks, already reaching for the teapot and mugs. Kit smiles and nods, turning around to rummage through the cupboards for jam and a few slices of fresh bread.
She spreads jam on the slices as Elaine pours the tea. They eat in comfortable silence, all awkwardness dissipated by their apologies. Right as they bite into their bread, the front door of the main house opens upstairs announcing the elder Bridgertons’ return home from the ball. They hear them climb up the main stairs, and minutes later, the bells ring for the valets and lady’s maids.
Quick as a flash, Kit hides the teapot, cups, bread and jam on one of the empty chairs. She shoves whatever toast she still had in her hand into her mouth, making sure Elaine does the same, before the upper servants enter the kitchen and file up the stairs to the main house.
As soon as they’re gone, the contraband is placed back up on the table and their chatting continues. By the time the upper servants come back down, the tea is finished, the food is eaten and Kit has washed away any evidence of their midnight snack. Elaine soon bids her goodnight and climbs up to her quarters while Kit stays to chat and gossip with the Lady’s maids.
“I say Master Colin will wed by the end of next season,” Rose says, “And I wager a shilling, he will marry Miss Featherington.”
Kit laughs, “I wager he will not. I hear Miss Featherington’s dowry has already been gambled away by her father. I doubt Master Colin would marry without a dowry.”
“Kit, you sadden me,” Andrew says, “True love will vanquish all. I say he will marry her regardless of the dowry,” he adds, earning oohs and aahs from an appreciative Rose, “But,” he says, raising his index finger in warning, “I say it takes him two more seasons.”
“And when do you plan to wed, Andrew?” Bernard, Colin’s Valet, asks with a grin
“As soon as Kit gives me the time of day,” Andrew replies, shooting her a wink. It earns him a laugh from Bernard and Nicholas, Anthony’s Valet, as they clap him on the back.
“A bachelor forever, then!” Nicholas guffaws
“I’m going back to bed,” Andrew announced, faking grumpiness, “Goodnight!”
Soon after his departure, the rest of them climb up, leaving Kit alone in a quiet kitchen. She’s about to go up when the door above the kitchen opens once more.
Hyacinth chats loudly as she comes down, leaving no wonder as to who is disturbing Kit now, but she’s not alone. Trailing not far behind is Benedict Bridgerton, wearing only sleepwear.
“Hello Miss Byrd,” he says, sheepishly smiling, “We were rather hoping --”
“Is there any cake left?” Hyacinth cuts him off.
Kit rolls her eyes at the girl, earning herself a toothy smile, “I made you three different cakes for dinner and you still haven’t had enough?”
“Please?” Hyacinth begs, putting on her best puppy eyes, knowing very well it’s Kit’s one weakness.
But she holds strong, largely because Benedict is standing right behind, and she feels that if she does not stay stern, he’d get ideas.
“Please Miss Byrd,” he eventually says, “We’re awfully hungry,” he adds, joining in on the relentless beating down.
Kit lasts only a minute longer before giving in with a sigh.
“This cannot happen again,” she says, as sternly as she can. Benedict smiles at her and much to her surprise, Kit’s knees go weak. She lets go of the plate she was holding, and it shatters all over the floor, sending bits of ceramic flying everywhere.
She immediately bends down, grabbing all the pieces she can see. Shuffling around on her knees, she doesn’t see where she’s going. Soon enough, she bumps her head against something hard and yelps in pain. Expecting to see a table leg, she raises her head only to come inches away from Benedict Bridgerton. She stands up as fast as she can, taking as many steps back as she can as he does the same. They look at each other across the room, both trying to catch their breath.
Trying to get a grip on herself, Kit slices two bits of cake and places them on two new plates. She hands them to each Bridgerton, expecting them to take it up to their rooms, but only Hyacinth does. As soon as the kitchen door closes, Benedict puts his plate down and reaches for the broom Kit had left leaning on the door.
Half expecting him to hand it to her, Kit is surprised when he starts sweeping.
“Oh you don’t -- I’ll --”
“Am I not doing it right?” he asks
“No, it’s -- Sir, I’ll take care of it,” she eventually says, “You may go up, you must be tired.”
“I am awake enough to sweep, Miss Byrd,” he smiles
“Perhaps, but you really oughtn’t,” she replies, gently taking the broom from his hands, “Go up, go to sleep. If Andrew finds out you missed out on sleep because of me, he’ll have my head.”
“Goodnight,” he says eventually, seeming unsure of what to do, before turning around and following his sister. His slice of cake forgotten.
“Goodnight, sir,” Kit replies.
---
The morning has been everything but calm from the moment Kit steps out of bed. All the late nights she’s been doing have started to take their toll and she’s starting to make mistakes, from burning the toast to cutting herself chopping vegetables, Kit is visibly perturbed, but Cook doesn’t ask and doesn’t comment. The servants live in close enough quarters that soon enough, she’ll know without needing to pry.
Kit doesn’t appreciate the looks though, and she’s grateful when tea break comes around. Cook’s made it for her, a rare treat, as she’s usually in charge of it. It’s piping hot and very sweet, the kind of cup of tea that fixes everything. They take it out in the courtyard, on a little rickety wooden table soaked through by the previous night’s rain, instead of standing by the back door like they usually do.
Cook takes out her pipe and lights it, alternating blowing big puffs of smoke and sipping her tea. The women stay silent, looking around at the Bridgerton’s garden through a small gap in the gate while a duck and two chickens circle them for crumbs.
Mr Colpher and his boys have done a wonderful job. The grass, the trees, the flowers all look as beautiful as they could be in the autumn colours.
Kit cranes her neck to see more, attracted by voices out in the garden. It’s the Viscount and Daphne, running around with their younger siblings, playing a game Kit doesn’t know. She looks on for a few more minutes until she’s rudely interrupted by the duck. Kit catches him, beak in her pocket, pulling out her handkerchief which she had wrapped around a leftover piece of bread.
“Oh go on, leave me be!” She tells him, “I'll turn you into a roast if you don’t mind your manners!”
Cook chuckles but Kit, unamused, bends down to pick her handkerchief out of a muddy puddle. She picks up the bread too, but throws it away as far as she can to spite the duck.
A few minutes later, Cook stands up, signalling that the break is over and they must return to work. Kit follows suit, energised by the tea and sugar.
When they walk in, Andrew is waiting for them.
“Ladies,” he says, with a dashing smile, sitting back on a chair, his boots on the dinner table, “Looking wonderful, as always.”
“Are you pestering the scullery maid, Mr Fitzwilliam?” Kit asks with a grin, “Feet off, I don’t want to eat whatever you traipsed on here.”
Andrew puts on a look of shock, ignoring her remark about his boots but sitting properly all the same, “Now Kit darling, you know my heart only beats for you,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “Say, Cook, mind if I borrow your kitchen maid for just a flash?”
“Only for a flash, Andrew,” Cook says, sternly shaking a finger at him. Andrew stands, knowing that Cook’s soft spot for him means he’ll face absolutely no repercussions for not keeping his word.
Andrew leads Kit back outside and leans against the wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his coat jacket. He lights one, then offers it to Kit, who refuses.
“Bridgerton asked about you,” he says, meaning Benedict, “Asked if I knew you. If you had a special someone,” he continues with a grin, “If you were always so stern.”
“And what did you say?” Kit asks, stomach in a knot for reasons she can’t quite place a finger on.
“I said you had a fiancé,” Andrew shrugs.
“Whyever would you say that?”
“What? Wanted me to tell him you were single?” Andrew laughs, “I thought you’d appreciate me shutting the questioning down.”
Kit sighs, “I suppose I should thank you.”
“Kit,” Andrew says, pushing himself off the wall, “He’s charming and he’s nice, I’ll give you that. But he’s looking to marry well so he can sustain the art career he desperately wants. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, putting both hands on her shoulders, “Besides, if Graves finds out, he’ll let you go and I don’t need to warn you of the trouble you’ll have finding somewhere else to work.”
Kit shakes him off, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it on the floor. She stomps on it with her foot until it’s thoroughly covered in mud and animal waste.
Andrew grins, “I don’t want to lose my best girl,” he says, “No one makes a cake quite like she does.”
Kit smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Will it get me a date?”
“Sure,” Kit grinned, “Why not, since you asked so sweetly. Where are you taking me?”
Andrew stands there, dumbfounded for a moment, “I thought you would refuse me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
She laughs, and he smiles, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “You better take me somewhere nice, Mr Fitzwilliam. After all, you are competing with a Bridgerton. Apparently…”
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x oc#benedict bridgerton fic#bridgerton#bridgerton fic#original fic#fanfic#fanfiction
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Miracles don't exist | 16: Mother knows best
Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments
Fandom(s): Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader
Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons.
Warning(s): Puke / Panic attack / Talk about murder and torture
[Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]
The DA meeting back from the winter holiday brings the first real smile to your face since Christmas. Everybody's buzzing with energy and ready to learn new spells.
At the point of practising the new defensive spell on your own, Hermione corners you. "Is it true?", she whispers, casting the defective charm on a target.
A hot flush shoots through your body. She couldn't possibly know about Theodore and you... right? "About what?" You try to keep it cool and cast another spell.
"About you and Harry... before Christmas?"
You feel your cheeks heating up and glance at Harry, who’s at the other end of the room helping Neville. Like he feels you watching, his head snaps up and your eyes meet. He sends you a wide smile before quickly looking back at Neville.
Hermione giggles and looks at you in glee. "How did it happen?"
Now your whole face is almost as hot as a fireplace. "We were discussing going home for Christmas and that I didn't want to go because..." You stop yourself just in time before you can reveal the location of Voldemort. "Because at home isn't the best atmosphere right now. And one thing led to the other and..." You trail off and twirl your wand in your hands, biting your bottom lip.
Hermione giggles again and clasps a hand over her mouth. "Did you enjoy it?"
"He's quite a good kisser, actually." The phantom feeling of Harry's warm hand slides from your cheek to your neck. Your hand reaches out and touches the spot. "What did he say about me?", you ask mildly panicked, the sudden realisation that Harry told something to Hermione — and possibly also Ron!
Your eyes flicker over the room and spot Ron. But he's busy laughing with his brothers to notice you. So Ron knows too? You know you shouldn't care what the boy's opinion is about you. But it hurt when someone calls you a Death Eater while you try your darndest to be anything except what your family expects you to be.
"Well", she begins with a head twitch, "he did tell us it was 'wet', but he said it was nice." Hermione stops to assess your reaction. "Ron made fun of his terible snogging. But he has the emotional range of a teaspoon, so he shouldn't talk."
A smile makes its way onto your face. So he did think it was nice. Good. Great even. Despite everything, you thought it was nice too. And at least you know that you're not too bad of a kisser. But then a face flashes across your face. The same that made you break up the kiss.
"What's wrong?"
You're not sure if you can even tell Hermione. Sure, you're friendly to each other. But are you friends?
It's like she can sense your turmoil, she grabs your hand. "You can tell me anything." And she says it so sincerely, that you believe it.
You move to the side and wrap your arms around yourself. "I feel so guilty", you whisper. "I like Harry. And I liked the kiss. Really, I do. But…"
"Theodore Nott." Hermione gives you a sympathetic look.
You look with wide eyes towards her. "H-how?"
Hermione lays a comforting hand on your arm, her smile turning soft. "I see the way you look at him. With so much guilt in your eyes that it only means you care deeply for him. And he does the same when you're not looking. He has grown dull since the summer holiday. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but it's obviously hurting the both of you."
You blink at the wise words of the Gryffindor. Your eyes flick towards Harry. If it's so obvious, then why did Harry kiss you? Shouldn't he be shaming you for liking a Death Eater's son?
Like he knows what you're thinking, she says, "boys are as dense as the castle walls."
That makes you laugh. You turn back towards her and grab her hand. "Thank you, Hermione. For being a friend."
She smiles back at you. "It's no problem at all."
You wake up with a yelp. You kick the covers off of you and clutch your arm. Ripping the bandages off, you almost cry out at the pitch-black snake wriggling all over your arm. It feels like someone's repeatedly stabbing your arm.
Biting on your lower lip, you try to keep your noise to a minimum to not wake up your roommates. Between gritted teeth, you cast muffliato to the heavy velvet drapes around your bed and you let out the first cry.
Your nails dig into your flesh as your left hand contorts in pain. The burning stops after a while and the metallic taste of blood hits your tongue.
You lay staring up at the ceiling, scared of what you'll see when you close your eyes and go back to sleep. So, as it is almost breakfast time, you get up and get dressed to make your way to the Great Hall. By the time all students are munching on their cereal or sausages and the mail comes, you're almost finished with your toast.
People flock to each other, all looking at the Daily Prophet in students' hands. You roll your eyes. Probably some false accusations about Harry and Dumbledore again.
But as you stand up and make a move to your first class, a hand on your wrist stops you. You look down and Draco wordlessly hands his copy of the Daily Prophet to you. You frown not caring at first but the headline catches your attention.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
And below is a moving photograph of your mother, screaming and trashing against the chains shackled around her wrists. She looks absolutely insane.
Blood drains from your face as your hands tremble. No no no NO NO. This can't be happening! She's supposed to be locked up! Azkeban is supposed to be the most secure wizarding prison on the planet!
Bile rises up in your throat. You throw the newspaper down and sprint out of the Great Hall. You burst through the door of the first toilet you encounter and make it just in time before you puke out your breakfast.
You're sobbing at this point, not knowing if it's because of the puking or because Bellatrix Lestrange is a free woman once again.
You hear the doors being thrown open and a familiar voice calls out your name. Another sob wrecks through your body before the second wave of nausea hits you like a shit ton of bricks.
A pair of hands collect your hair and hold it out of your face, rubbing comforting circles over your back. By the time you finish puking, a mixture of snot and tears runs down your face and you're white-knuckling the porcelain of the toilet bowl.
Looking up, you meet the concerned brown eyes of Theodore. A whimper escapes your lips as he conjures a glass of water and a handkerchief. As you drink up the water and get rid of the foul taste in your mouth, he helps you off the floor and wipes your face clean.
Theodore crouches down as you sit on the toilet lid. He rubs circles over your knees with his thumbs as he asks, "still nauseous?"
You shake your head, sniffing. "No. It's not like I've got anything left in my stomach to spew out." A humourless chuckle leaves your numb lips.
The silence is thick as your eyes are trained on your hands while Theodore's are on you.
"I felt it happen." Your voice breaks as you look up, a guilty look on your face.
Theodore frowns, not understanding.
"I woke up with i-it burning and it was dark, almost pitch black. It was like he wanted me to know what he has done." Your eyes flick towards your left arm, which is covered by the sleeve of your emerald green sweater.
Hesitantly, Theodore's fingers push up your sleeve and slowly undo the too-tightly-wrapped bandages. You do not dare to look at Theodore's reaction, your bottom lip trembling.
You feel his thumb trace the skin around it, steering clear of the mark. They slide downwards, tracing the lines of your hand before lacing his fingers between yours.
The action makes your head snap towards the dark-haired boy. "I just wanted to protect you", you whisper broken, memories of the day coming back. "He said that because we were courting I am old enough to 'prove myself'."
You rub comforting circles on Theodore's thumb, trying to steady yourself. "He kidnapped a Muggle. I knew him. He used to work at the diner. He was a kind soul. I tried to stop it. But it was no use... The Muggle is dead and I am a..." You choke over your words with a sob.
"A-and I knew that that would be your fate if I won't obey his every command. He won't kill you, but he's not above torturing loved ones."
Theodore pulls you toward you, wrapping his arms around your trembling body. He holds you tightly against his chest. A hand weaves into your hair as he keeps you close to him.
It feels safe, to be in his arms. He is warm and inviting and just feels right.
"I can take it, don't worry." Theodore grabs your cheeks with both of his hands to look into your eyes. "I can handle whatever the Dark Lord will throw and you and me and us, just to keep you safe."
You profusely shake your head. "No... I can't let you do that! The Cruciatus Curse is-is the most horrible thing I've ever experienced..."
It takes a few seconds for your words to dawn on Theodore. "He crusio'd you?" The three words are said with so much hatred and venom that you flinch away. Theodore's hands slide from your face to your upper arms, holding you tightly. He rests his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry", he whispers.
You shake your head. You clutch tightly onto his sweater as he raises from his crouching position, helping you onto your feet.
"Let's get you cleaned up and into bed, okay?"
The way towards the common room is a blur. You only remember Theodore cleaning your face with a wet washcloth and him leaving the bathroom to give you privacy to change. Theodore also makes sure the bandages hide the Mark without hurting you.
As you crawl under the covers, you look up at the brown-haired boy whose kindness you don't deserve for treating him like shit since summer.
"You try to sleep, okay?", he says, petting your hair and planting a kiss on your forehead. "I'll talk to Snape and say you've got a stomach bug or something and that you're not well."
As he turns around to leave, you grab his wrist. He looks at you with raised eyebrows. You cash your eyes down and let go of his wrist. You want to ask him to stay. To stay until you're asleep. Actually... you want him to come lay down next to you and hug you tightly. But you can't ask that of him.
"Thank you, Theo. You didn't need to do it."
Theodore smiles softly, something unfamiliar flickering in his eyes. "Anytime, Darling."
Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you):
@the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what
#harry potter#harry potter imagine#harry potter scenarios#harry potter x reader#harry potter x y/n#harry potter x you#harry potter x slytherin!reader#harry potter x riddle!reader#draco malfoy#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy scenarios#theodore nott#theodore nott scenarios#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott x y/n#theodore nott x you#theodore nott x slytherin!reader#theodore nott x riddle!reader#hogwarts#hogwarts scenarios#hogwarts x reader#hogwarts x y/n#hogwarts x you#hogwarts x slytherin!reader#hogwarts x riddle!reader#hogwarts!au#slytherin!reader#riddle!reader
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hello babie
little angst fic in light of the new matt pics? gruffy stubborn horknee matt? a little christmas miracle?
love u miss u
hi sugarpie miss u more
hope this suffices <3 i couldn't think of a 'christmas miracle' i am sorry xx maybe i'll write a soft christmas fic after this
18+ ofc, you know me by now
Nobody Compares to You
matt stone x reader
word count: 2.1k
***
Being with a prolific near-billionaire with a ridiculously successful TV show and a close-to cult following has its downsides. The copious amounts of groupies, stalkers, etc, etc. Not to mention that he's the textbook definition of a workaholic, which often meant you would go days without seeing each other due to your conflicting work schedules, despite sharing the same bed each night.
You knew this going into your relationship with him and you swore you wouldn't have it any other way.
That was until you found out about the new hire at South Park Studios. A painfully beautiful, bubbly young woman around your age, funny and oh, so intelligent. To your dismay, everyone in the studio had grown very fond of her, including your beloved boyfriend. The part he failed to mention was that she was now his personal assistant, hence why she would text him at inappropriate hours and was practically glued to him each time you visited him at work on one of your days off.
You could look past the groupies and die hard fans as you knew they wouldn't ever stand a chance. But a young woman so full of life, someone who made Matt cackle the way only you and his friends could unearthed something deep inside you. An unmistakable hatred for this girl, though she hadn't done anything wrong, per se. This created a rift in your relationship with him, and though you wanted to blame her, it was painfully clear that it was your doing.
One day you'd surprised him with lunch, taking in a container of his absolute favourite meal that you'd slaved over all morning.
"Oh, thank you, gorgeous," he'd kissed you tenderly, though his words to follow suggested he wouldn't be eating it any time soon. "I wish you'd called... Belle and I just got Chinese, I'm stuffed."
Your smile faltered, peering over at the twiggy blonde tapping away at her laptop with her long, neon orange nails. "I wanted to surprise you. My mistake."
Belle looked up intermittently with an unreadable expression, "yeah, so sorry. What was your name, again?"
"Y/N," you shot her a fake smile that was about as friendly as a kick to the jaw. He mustn't talk about me often. "Ah," was all you could muster, a pang of disappointment flooding your veins.
"I'm sorry," he frowned lightly, a gentle hand taking yours. "I'll have it for dinner! You know me so well."
"So you'll be staying late again?"
"At this rate, it's a safe bet," he smiled sympathetically. He looked tired, no surprise. You sometimes selfishly wished that he'd get a bad cold or something so he'd be forced to stay home with you. "I'm really sorry."
"Meeting in five, Matt," Belle spoke up, her tone a lot friendlier than it was with you.
"I'll get out of your hair then." You didn't say bye, instead speed walked to your car, fuelled by your rage toward his assistant.
Matt: Not even going to say goodbye to me?
Matt: This isn't my fault
You: i just didn't know you were having lunch dates with your assistant
You cursed yourself straight after your message sent, realising just how ridiculous you sounded. Like a jealous teenage girl.
Matt: Lunch date? You mean having lunch with your coworker is now considered a date?
You: does she even know you have a girlfriend?
Matt: Do I really have to share my personal life with my assistant? She does, yes. What has gotten into you?
You: she gets to spend every minute of every day with you
Matt: So this is about her? Don't be so jealous, this is a work relationship.
Matt: Gotta go.
Your eyes blurred with tears as you drove home in silence, your jaw ticking in frustration. You couldn't help but wonder if you were in the wrong. Surely he would have had to pick her as his assistant, right? Why couldn't he have picked a man. Or, as awful as it sounds, a girl who wasn't so attractive. Or maybe a girl who wouldn't have graduated the same year as you.
He got home at 11pm, a bit earlier than you had anticipated. You couldn't sleep though, your mind running wild at the possibilities. With all the time spent with her and away from you, would he fall for her? Would he stop loving you? Was she planning to whisk him away from you? Was your little argument today just pushing him further into her arms?
He walked into your bedroom and didn't say a word. He walked straight into the ensuite and locked the door before you had a chance to speak, closing your mouth immediately.
When he came out, he looked visibly more relaxed, newly grown out curls dripping beads of water onto his skin. He sat in front of you on the bed, only a towel keeping him decent.
"Care to tell me what that was earlier?" His voice was stern, eyebrows slightly raised.
"You tell me," you tone was unwavering as well, arms folded across your chest.
"I wish I could," he huffed, the frustration clearly creeping back. "I can see that you're jealous. But I think theres a bit more to it, isn't there?"
"I miss you."
"Of course I miss you too. But I have to go to work. I can't control the hours!" He raised his voice slightly. Maybe there was more to this for him, too.
"We haven't had sex in two weeks, Matt," you sighed, looking toward the ceiling as that awful, sad feeling reared its ugly head again. "You used to want it- need it, every second day, at least."
"We haven't had time!" He sighed now, running a hand over his face. "I've had to... deal with it myself."
"Does your assistant have to be there for that too? Does she add it into your calendar?" You bit, meeting his eyeline again, that now had narrowed on you, angry brows knotted together.
"You are a brat, you know that?" He spat, appearing as if he were about to double over in anger.
"I'm a brat, huh?" You laughed humourlessly, shaking your head at him. "I spent all morning cooking for you. Every day I do all the cleaning after I've been working all day. I iron your clothes for the next day and have them ready for you every night before I even think to do anything for myself. Before I even have dinner!"
He just stared back, not interjecting for a change. His expression softened as he let you get it all out.
"I have done that for you for four years now! Four years! But I'm a brat, huh? All because I miss you and yes, I'm upset that you have a pretty new assistant. I'm upset that she spends all day with you, gets to have lunch and sometimes dinner with you. She gets to eat and laugh with you, all the while I come home to our house alone. I go to sleep alone and wake up alone. Do you know the things I would do to have lunch with you just once a week? The fact that I'm even explaining myself is ridiculous, I-"
Your rambling was cut short but warm lips pressing gently against yours. Your hands instantly found damp curls, fighting the urge to cry at the fact he was finally at your fingertips, and not when he was snoring beside you in the small hours. He was finally there, finally, you had his undivided attention.
His fingers quickly hooked into your panties, pulling them off in one autonomous motion. He wasted no time disconnecting your lips, positioning himself between your thighs. His warm tongue flitting over your clit sent a shockwave of electricity through your body, a sharp gasp from your lips piercing the overwhelming tension in the room. You grabbed a fistful of his hair without a second thought, grinding down onto that beautiful face. The coarseness of his beard scratched your inner thighs, sending a chill down your spine. With your eyes screwed shut, you moaned his name just as you had imagined for nights on end, his own groan vibrating against your core. You opened your eyes when you thought he'd pulled out your vibrator, soon realised it was just his phone buzzing somewhere on the bed spread. He didn't slow his motions, continuing to lick dizzying stripes across your clit. You felt around for his phone, wishing you hadn't when you saw her caller ID on the screen.
"Are you fucking serious?"
"Mm, what?" His voice was muffled against you, only pulling away when you pulled your hips away. "Oh, come on. I can't control when she calls me, babe. It's probably something really important."
You realised you weren't angry at him, but absolutely livid with her. You just had a gut feeling about her. You knew girls like her, you could tell from he minute you laid eyes on here. She just wanted to climb the hierarchal ladder that was your beloved boyfriend. Unfortunately he was going to have to figure that out on his own. You couldn't help but give him the cold shoulder that night.
***
Things had slightly improved between the two of you. You'd been intimate more frequently, things often getting so steamy that one time he'd bent you over the kitchen counter, resulting in very burnt chicken for dinner.
For the sake of your own sanity, you'd stopped torturing yourself with your imagination over his beautiful assistant. He loved you, he was as faithful as they come.
Matt: I'll be home in 30 xx
He'd messaged you that two hours ago. You were worried you'd have to start calling police stations, but he finally responded to your missed calls with another text.
Matt: Long story. Talk soon.
He returned home an hour later, the door slamming behind him. You startled from where you sitting on the couch, having stress drank through half a bottle of red wine at this stage. He scooped you up from your position on the couch, eliciting a loud squeal of surprise from you, followed by the thunk of your wine glass hitting the carpet, effectively painting the rug crimson.
"Don't worry about it," he breathed against your skin. "Missed you," he trailed kisses along your jaw and neck, your breath hitching when he would hit your sweet spots.
"Mm- what happened at work? Where were you?" You grabbed his jaw in an attempt to slow him to no avail. He continued to carry you to the bedroom, physically in front of you, but mentally somewhere deep between your thighs.
"Don't worry about it," he echoed, placing you down onto the bed. You felt a little worried - he only got like this if something really stressful happened. He was usually great at talking about his feelings, especially when something happened at work.
He continued to kiss down your body, trying to strip your clothes with such haste you could barely keep up.
"Babe- stop. Stop." You huffed, finally getting a grip on his tireless wrists. "What happened? Were you with her?"
Then he came back into his body, eyes narrowing on yours. "We're seriously still on this?" He groaned, sitting back on his knees. "I fired her."
"Fired her?!" You couldn't hide the surprise in your tone, but masked the happiness very well. "Why? I thought she was a hoot, no?"
"I don't want to talk about it right now," he sighed. Catching your expression, he realised you weren't going to let up until you had the full story. "Jesus- okay, she tried to make a move on me. Happy? You were right." He rolled his eyes.
Now you were beaming. You thought you'd be more upset, but his obvious disgust debunked that thought immediately. "Say that last part again."
"You were right," he rolled his eyes again, playfully this time. "Now take off your clothes."
"Yes, sir!" You laughed too, stripping off your clothes so fast, you'd miss it if you blinked. Immediately, he was on top of you, a growing hard on pressing into your thigh.
"Nobody compares to you," he mumbled against your lips, stripping his boxers without taking his eyes off you, drinking you in. "Nobody."
His words warmed you to your core, words you didn't know you needed to hear. Despite the intensity leading up to this moment, he slid himself in slowly, stretching and filling you inch by glorious inch. You arched your back into the feeling, bare chests rubbing against one another.
"I love you," you breathed, grinding gently into him, both of your hips connecting in slow synchronicity. His warm arms surrounding you, pulling you impossibly closer.
"I love you," he kissed you slowly, "so, so much."
You felt more connected than you had in weeks, months, even. And in that moment, you too though, nobody compares to you.
you know me by now. no proof reading sozzy and this ending sucks balls... but its dry out here
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☆ Viburnums - Chapter 1: The Fucking Sun ☆
Thank the heavens for holiday leave. You weren't sure how much longer you could stand the bitter cold that seeped through the barracks windows back on base. At least here at home, even if it wasn't much better insulation wise, you weren't tossing and turning all night from the chill. Not that you could really move much to begin with, sandwiched between Johnny and Simon like this. Although, come to think of it, you're all pretty pent up, so maybe it isn't so bad after all. Granted you can balance getting your last minute Christmas shopping done with getting your back blown out, of course.
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Tags: Soft Simon "Ghost" Riley, Top Simon "Ghost" Riley, Soft John "Soap" MacTavish, Top John "Soap" MacTavish, They're both fairly possessive of you tbh, AFAB Reader, Gender Neutral Terms, this is really self indulgent tbh, Christmas, Boxing Day, Established Polyam Relationship, Porn With Plot, I know it's May leave me alone, The holidays are nice, I imagined reader as transmasc when writing this, but anyone can read tbh, I got like two hours of sleep help, Proship DNI, MDNI, flip flopping povs like hotcakes baby i do what i want
a/n: Hello!! This will have a few more chapters, so some of the tags will be relevant within the next chapter. Will hopefully have that out in a couple days. Enjoy! o7 [ao3 link] [Masterlist] [Chapter 2 (TBA)]
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Simon awakes first.
Much to his surprise, actually. Typically you're the one that rises at dawn with him following close behind.
He doesn't blame you, though. The trip home, what with all the holiday crowding in the airport and the traffic after, took a lot out of all of you. By some miracle you'd managed to hold it together enough for the three of you combined, but he could tell it'd left you exhausted.
He rolls over, inching himself closer as he drapes his tattooed arm over your midsection, brushing against Johnny's hand that rests down by your hip. Briefly, he watches to see if the other man will stir. Then his gaze flickers to you. Neither of you even shift. Wrecked clearly.
Suddenly finding himself a little more content with the idea of simply going back to sleep, he sidles up against you proper, nuzzling between your shoulder blades and using your warmth to lull him into drifting off again.
Later in the morning it's you that first withdraws from slumber, albeit slowly. You suck in a breath and stretch out your legs, yet in doing so you come to realize that someone's thigh is wedged firmly between them.You crack an eye open to investigate, only to wince when met with the sliver of hazy sunlight that's peeking in through the space between the curtains. You relent and decide to put off the task for later. It's not like you've ever minded being tangled up with the boys, anyway. Whoever's thigh it is can stay there. Isn't half bad in that spot, actually.
...
Jesus, how long has it been since the three of you had simply had some time together that you're genuinely starting to get worked up just from this? Wracking your memories only turns up mission after mission with training filling in the gaps apart from a fleeting tryst in the locker room. One that'd gotten cut short when Price nearly walked in on the three of you, calling through the door that he needed Johnny for a moment.
Speaking of the Scotsman, you can feel him move beside you. Probably startled awake by the way you jerked when the morning rays attacked you seconds prior. His fingers curl in, hand lazily feeling over your waist as he wakes up, trying to regain sense of his surroundings and figure out why it's so fuckin' hot in here. You tentatively open your eyes again just as he's turning away from you a bit, body twisting sideways enough to make his meaty thigh press harder against your clothed sex. Maybe it'd be more bearable if you'd had either him or Simon in you at all in the last month.
When you make a small noise at the feeling, Johnny finally seems to remember you exist. Blinking the last ties of sleep away, he turns his attention over to you.
"We're outta milk," he mutters.
What??
"Just remembered."
You squint at him, an emotion akin to befuddlement written across your face. Of course, kudos to the man for having his priorities straight. You did need milk and.. Well, the whole lot of other standard groceries to be honest. Such is life coming back home every odd couple of months or so. Still, a, 'Good mornin' lovie,' would've been nice to hear first.
"Simonnn," you groan, quickly and haphazardly disentangling yourself from Johnny to roll over and face your other partner instead. "Your boyfriend is being fucking weird again."
All the sudden flopping around is enough to rather abruptly rouse him, earning a gruff sound in response. He rubs at his eyes, trying his hardest to listen to whatever the hell it is you're saying so soon after waking him up. Laying damn near completely on top of him while doing so, at that. Truth be told he missed most of it, but he did make out something about Johnny being his boyfriend. At least he's pretty sure he did.
"Yeah?" he hesitantly agrees, voice still thick with grogginess. "Was yours, too, last I checked?"
Johnny isn't paying you two much mind. He has other plans and fully intends to see them through, so while you're preoccupied whining to Simon he slips out of bed unnoticed. Only when he's leaning over, fully dressed and ready to brace the snowy weather outside, planting goodbye kisses atop each of your heads do you pick up on the absence of his warmth beside you. You sit up, almost trying to chase him for another kiss, equally surprised and curious about his unanticipated departure.
"Goin' to the market," he answers before you can even ask. "Ye ken I won't be long."
As you two watch him exit the flat, Simon pulls you back down into his arms. He's not particularly excited about seeing Johnny go either, but he knows he'll be back within the hour and certainly won't object to having you to himself until then.
Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.
#ghoap x reader#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#soap cod#john soap mactavish#ghoap#simon riley#john mactavish#ghost x reader#soap x reader#ghost x soap#afab reader#gender neutral reader#no y/n#ghost x y/n#ghost x you#soap x y/n#soap x you#transmasc#transmasc reader#polyamory#soft ghost#soft soap#cod x reader#cod#cod mw2#call of duty#ao3 link#ao3 writer#ao3 fanfic
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Another Universe- Peter Parker
A/n: Ugh I miss writing pure angst! Anyway, Lime Light will be pushed back a bit!! I want to write two more of these based on Tom and PS5 Spider-man but idk! This one is based off of Andrew's Peter but you can imagine anyone.
Summary: You've always loved Peter Parker, from the moment you met to the day you die. Maybe in another universe it isn't so tragic.
Warning: swears, angst, no happy ending, mentions of death and blood
You stare out the window as the rain falls, a small candle battling the cold glass for room. New York has always been gloomy during the fall season and you can't help but enjoy it just a bit. When the sun is blocked by the clouds and the air is cold, that's something you'll never get tired of.
As your eyes follow a raindrop on the window, the front door opens. You're quick to get up from the bay window, listening as the sounds of footsteps get closer. You act before you see him, you know those footsteps. The bright red and blue are blurry in your vision as you throw your arms around him.
"How's my bug doing?" You ask with a hum. He smells of rain and cinnamon, a combination you never thought you'd love so dearly. He's still wet from the rain and you know he's going scold you for getting yourself soaked as well.
"Oh, the usual," He laughs, gently pulling you off him. There's a dark stain on your shirt from where the water absorbed and a few droplets on your shoulders from his hair. "May invited us over for dinner," He informs you, planting a kiss on your cheek.
"Oh, do you think she'll make meatloaf?" You ask excitedly, watching as he removes his suit and lets it drop to the floor. You'll pick it up in a second, but right now you're focused on him. He's unharmed which is a miracle that you welcome gratefully.
Peter grimaces at the thought, "I hope not, I'll have to lie all night about how great it is," His expression returns to a smile, knowing that he'd willingly do it anyway. "Maybe in another universe she's a top chef known for her meatloaf," He jokes, throwing his head back at his own idea. You, however, enjoy May's cooking. Besides the occasional date night, she's the only home-cooked meal you get.
"It's not that bad, you only got sick twice last time," You tease, following him to the bedroom. Your apartment is small but pleasing to look at thanks to your touch. Peter originally wanted to paint the walls tan but you convinced him a nice light blue would be better.
"Let me wash up and we'll head to her place," He kisses you softly, letting his lips linger for just a second. "Maybe you could join me?" He wiggles his eyebrows.
You've already taken a shower today and you'd only need to change your shirt to be ready. "Maybe in another universe," You tease, pressing your pointer finger against his forehead to push him away. With a grin, you turn around and head to the candle to blow it out
--
It's freezing cold and you're sure you can't feel your fingers anymore. You stare up at the sky, tracing the dark clouds with your eyes. Snowflakes slowly fall down on your face, kissing the ground around you.
You can't help but think about the warning about yellow snow, but no one mentions crimson snow. Probably because the chances of you coming across an alarming amount is small, at least you hope it is.
"Y/n?" A voice calls out, but it's muffled by the wind. You can't move an inch of your body, not even to see who is screaming. You swallow the dryness in your throat in hopes it'll dampen, but it remains parched. "Y/n, you have to look at me," The voice pleads.
A masked figure pops into view, hovering over your face. The red mask is a dead giveaway and your lips curl up. Your breath is visible in the cold air but it's small and labored.
"Hey, bug," You cough out, liquid filling your mouth. It's metallic and hot, definitely not saliva. "Sorry, I can't make Christmas tonight," You laugh, trying to make light of your situation. As you keep your eyes on the mask your vision slowly blurs, right as the mask is removed. Peter's hands cup your face, his warmth giving you comfort.
"No, you'll make it. We'll just postpone it," He assures you with a shaky voice. He doesn't even sound sure of himself and that's how you know this won't end well. Peter Parker will once again lose to fate.
You take a breath that lets out a whistle sound, blinking away tears. "I'll have to ask May to make her meatloaf just to torment you," Your voice is barely audible and you're glad Peter has super hearing. He lets out a weak laugh, his hands positioning your head onto his lap.
There are sirens that are growing louder but you know it'll be too late. By now you're surrounded in blood-soaked snow and your body won't be able to recover. "Hey, Pete," You try to speak but it sounds like there's mucous in your throat, like you're dying.
"Do you think that in another universe Spider-Man always wins?" The question remains in the crisp air for some time. It echoes in your heart that is slowing down and leaps into your throat which now has barbed wire around it.
"I'm sure of it," He nods finally, tears freely falling down his cheeks. They land on your skin and blossom through your veins. As the world slowly blurs into darkness you can only imagine a universe where May is a famous chef and Peter is happy.
#spiderman x reader#spiderman x y/n#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#tasm!spiderman x reader#peter parker x fem#andrew garfield x reader#andrew garfield x you#andrew garfield x female reader#tom holland x reader#tom holland imagine#tom holland x you#marvel spiderman#marvel cinematic universe
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Christmas time - Charles x fem reader
Summary: You return home for Christmas and fin yourself spending it with and old lover and his family.
Warnings: None, just fluff and some angst.
AN: From the topic, you might know since when I've been working on this but I finally decided to finish it, I was going to wait till Christmas to publish it but what the heck. As you can see I have a thing for exes, writing here it's cheaper than therapy. As always feedback it's appreciated, accepting requests, and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.
Christmas had always been a confusing time for you, you thought of it as too cheese but at the same time you could spend a whole weekend just watching and crying over Christmas
movies, so now that you were coming back home for the holidays after being away for so long, it felt as if you were in one of them.
You had been living in the US for 5 years, and like in all those stupid chick flicks, you had moved to the other side of the world because you wanted to escape your life after a painful breakup and the US was far enough from everyone you knew, and a certain sport your ex was part of. You were supposed to be studying there for 2 years but then the pandemic hit and you got stuck, you found a job that started as a part time but eventually became full time.
"Mom, are you serious? isn't Christmas a holiday you're supposed to spend with family?" you said as you struggle to wrap a present.
"What are you talking about? The Leclerc's are family! Don't you remember how many vacations we've spend together? the summers at the lake and winters up in the cabin? You, Lorenzo and Charles in your onesies playing in the snow as baby Arthur followed all of you around?"
Now you were kind of getting why you felt how you felt about christmas, your mom was in love with the holiday and it was cute but exhausting at the same time.
"Have you talk to them? I heard they went to the US a couple of times this year" In her defense, she had no idea you and Charles had been dating for a few months, actually as far as you knew only your best friend and Lorenzo knew about it after they found you making out in his kitchen one night after a party.
"No, we lost track of each other after I moved" you lied and returned to your wrapping task, actually Charles did try reaching out to you when he found out you moved and again when he went to race there, but you had all rights to ignore his calls and messages, the day you broke up he had been an ass.
_____________
The fight started when you confronted him about some pictures of him at a nightclub in Austria, you had no problem with him having fun after a stressful weekend, the girl grinding her ass against his body, his hand on her waist and the fact that it wasn't the first time this had happened, was the problem.
"It was a fan, I didn't want to be rude", Clearly this superstar status had gone to his head. "They don't know I have a girlfriend! You want me to be rude?"
"And who decided we shouldn't tell anyone?"
"You know why I don't want them to..."
"Yeah, yeah protecting our privacy, I would buy that story if you weren't going around the fucking world letting girls grind against you every five fucking minutes!"
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, I won't change my mind about it" The defiant look on his face told you everything you needed to know and now it was your turn to make a decision.
"Don't worry, you don't have to lie to your fans anymore" You stormed out of his room, that was the last time you spoke to each other.
You cried for weeks, you actually loved him but seeing pictures of him with a different girl at parties and nightclubs after every race weekend was just too painful. It only took you a couple of weeks to realize that staying in Monaco was a bad idea, his face and name were all over the place. One day, like a miracle fallen from the sky, one of your teachers told you about a scholarship to study in the US, you didn't think it twice and applied, and two months later you were boarding a plane to New York.
A couple of days after you arrived to the US, Charles tried every posible way of getting in touch with you, but you sticked to your decision and ignored all his messages.
You couldn't actually say you had fallen out of love, the good moments had been amazing and those you would cherish forever.
_______
"I don't have anything to wear tho" it was a lame excuse but you really wanted to escape the awkward christmas weekend your mom had planned.
"Oh, don't worry about it, I bought you a cute dress, it's in your closet!"
You finished loading the van with the tons of things your mom wanted to take for the weekend-long stay at the Lecrerc's cabin and finally went upstairs to deal with the stress of seeing your ex, you threw yourself on your childhood bed and closed your eyes.
"Hi sweety, can I come in?" Your dad knocked on your door.
"Dad! Of course" You rushed to hug him
"I missed you so much" he said as he kissed your head.
"Miss you too"
"You need to come more often" he brushed your hair like he used to when you were little.
"I know, I wish I could"
"Honey, don't forget to try on the dress" Your mom yelled from downstairs and you sight in exhaustion, you loved your mom but spending the holidays with your ex and his family wasn't on your list for a great christmas.
"I know, but Pascale has been really nice to your mom now that you've been away, you know how much she misses you"
"I was expecting to be just with you guys"
"C'mon sweety, this will be fun. Aren't you excited to see a certain Leclerc?" a mischievous smile on your dad's face made your heart fall to your feet.
"What are you talking about?" you almost choked on your own saliva.
"Darling, we all knew about your crush on Lorenzo, it was endearing" you unclenched your jaw when you heard Lorenzo's name. Your dad wasn't wrong tho when you were like 5 or 6 you had a crush on your friend's big brother; it was natural, you used to spend a lot of time at their house, and he was older and very attractive.
"That was a long time a go, dad" You smiled at the memory.
"I know, but it will be nice to spend some time all together, specially after they lost Hervé and our only daughter decided to move so far away" He looked at you with such loving eyes, you could just say yes with your head "Your mom's been quiet for too long, let me go see what that lady is up to" he hugged you again and left your room.
You walked to your closet and took the dress cover bag.
"Are you serious?" you couldn't help to say out loud as you took the red body con dress from the hanger. It was a beautiful, but it being ferrari red felt like life was mocking you. You took a couple of calming breaths as you tried to accept that you were fucked, the only "party" attire in your suitcase wasn't exactly family gathering material and it was too late to go shopping, that dress was your only option.
The next morning before the sun was up you were already in the back of your mom's van on your way to the country side, it was a two hour drive to the Leclerc's cabin, you tried to catch some sleep and fight the jet lag, but anxiety wouldn't let you and before you knew it you were parking next to a red alfa romeo.
"Oh my God!! Y/n!!! darling, what a wonderful surprise" a surprised Pascale rushed to hug you as soon as you got off the van.
"Hi, it's nice to see you too" You hugged her back, you did really like Pascale, she had always been like a second mother.
As she turned to greet your dad, you turned to your mother.
"They didn't knew I was coming?" You asked in a low voice.
"No, I wanted for it to be a cute surprise" Your mom said with a big smile and then turned to hug her best friend.
"Come on in, the boys are going to be so happy to see you" She took you by the shoulders and dragged you inside the house as you pulled your suitcase.
"I wouldn't bet on it" you thought to yourself.
"Boys! come help with the bags!" She yelled as she entered the house "Wait 'till they see you!, want something to drink?" She pulled you inside the kitchen.
"Mom, where are we putting tomorrow's dinner thi..." Charles cut himself off and stopped in the middle of the kitchen entrance when he saw you.
"Mate, move! you're in the way" Arthur pushed Charles to the side walking in with a couple of bags "Y/N!" the youngest Leclerc let the bags fall over the kitchen table and rushed to hug you.
"Hi, Art" You said almost out of breath from the tight hug. "Oh my, you look so grown up!"
"Don't be fooled, it's just the outside" Said Lorenzo as he entered the kitchen with more bags, setting them on the table and pushing Arthur away to hug you "It's so nice to see you"
"Same" You hugged him back.
"This is a Christmas miracle" Lorenzo said as he turned to look at Charles with a cheeky grin on his face, he knew exactly what was happening and he found it incredibly amusing "I'm so glad I didn't skip christmas this year" He whispered as he walked past Charles.
"Shut up" Charles whispered back.
"Hi, Y/n" Charles left the bags on the floor, walked towards you and got his arms around your body as you shily hugged him back, his scent and body heat felt so familiar like it had been just a couple of days since the last time you two had been cuddling in his bed. "It's nice to see you," he said against your ear, his soft warm breath brushing your neck giving you goosebumps.
"It's nice to see you too"
You could feel Lorenzo's sight on you as he was bitting his cheek trying not to burst out laughing at the awkwardness between you two, thank God it was only him who noticed.
All of you finished unloading the van and tried to organize the sleeping situation.
"I can totally sleep on the couch, Pascale, don't worry about it" You said as soon as she offered to give you Charles' room.
"Oh no darling, you're not sleeping on the couch, Charles can sleep with Lorenzo or with Arthur, don't worry about it"
"But..."
"Don't even try, you won't convince her, let me" Said Charles taking your bag from your hand and walked up the stairs.
You followed him to his room. As soon as you walked in a thousand memories rushed trough your mind, during your relationship you had gone up to that cabin a few times, it was the only place you two could be alone.
"Thanks" You said in a low voice when he left your bag on his bed.
"You're welcome" He turned to look at you, you held his gaze a couple of seconds before his beautiful green eyes got your heart rushing a thousand miles and you had to look somewhere else trying to catch your breath, you walked to his closet to hang the dress bag.
"I called you, several times"
"I know" You said as you awkwardly played with the plastic material.
"I wanted to..."
"Mate, mom is calling you" Arthur walked in startling both of you.
"I'll be right there"
"Now" Said Arthur and walked down the stairs.
"We should go" you nervously said and followed Art downstairs.
Your mom, Pascale, Enzo and yourself prepared lunch as your dad talked to Arthur and Charles about the last racing season.
The whole group sat to have lunch, Pascale asked you about your life in New York, your apartment, your job, your friends.
"...and is there a special someone?" your mom's friend asked with a mischievous grin on her face, you noticed how Charles tensed at the question and Lorenzo noticed too.
"Yeah, are you breaking many hearts?" Lorenzo added, softly kicking his brother under the table, Charles flipped him off discretely as he "scratched" his cheek.
"Not as many as you Enzo, are you still dating Adrianne?" You diverted the attention successfully.
After lunch everyone moved to sit outside around the deck fireplace, night came and it started snowing which meant it was time to go to sleep, there was a lot to do the next morning.
You laid in Charles's bed, his scent was as intoxicating as it was soothing, you couldn't lie, you missed that smell, once you even ended up dating a guy just because he used the same cologne.
After an hour of trying to fall asleep and failing miserably at it, you gave up and decided to go prepare yourself a hot cup of tea. You got your robe on and walked down to the kitchen.
You prepared your tea and went to sit outside by the fireplace, the snow had stopped, it was cold but a couple of logs were still burning to give just enough heat to make it enjoyable.
"You're going to catch a cold" Charles' voice scared you, making you spill some hot tea over your hand.
"Ahhh, ouch"
"Shit!" Charles rushed to your side taking some snow from one of the chairs, he kneeled in front of you and placed the snow over your hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to scare you" he turned to look at you.
"It's ok" He kept his hand on yours, and you stood still for a while as the snow melted between your hands.
"I'm sorry" he said again.
"It's ok, it wasn't that hot anymore"
"I'm not talking about the tea" his voice in that low pitch that let you know this was a serious matter.
"Charles, you don't need to... I don't...I'm.." You had no idea what to say, you had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in your head and had worked amazing responses to every possible apology or complaint, but having him right there, kneeling in front of you with his hand caressing yours was just too much for your brain to process, you couldn't even look at him.
"Listen, I was an asshole, I let stupid ideas get to my head, I did a lot of stupid things, and I've regretted them every single day since the moment you walked out my door."
"Y/n" he took your chin and made you look up at him "I'm sorry, I've missed you so fucking much" your chest moved faster, no coherent thought in your mind.
"It's getting cold, we should go inside" you removed your hand from his and walked directly to his room without looking back. You were overwhelmed, you still had feelings for him, but it had been too long, you had a life in New York. It broke your heart to think that maybe you had wasted your only chance to be with him.
It was around 3 or 4 am when you finally cried yourself to sleep.
A soft knock on the door woke you up.
"Come in" you sat on the bed and tried to fix your hair.
"Good morning" Lorenzo walked in the room, a tray in his hands with a cup of coffee and a couple pancakes.
"Hi, thanks" You took the tray from his hands and took a small sip of coffee, it was so good.
"You're welcome, I figured that after staying up late you could use some breakfast in bed" You looked at him confused.
"My window it's right above the deck"
"Oh, sorry about that"
"Don't worry about it. But, he really is sorry, you have no idea how many times he begged for me to call you, he knew you would answer my calls, but to be honest I didn't think he deserved you then"
"And now?"
"I've been to New York, it ain't that cool, and I would love to see you around Monaco and the tracks more often" He winked at you and walked out of the room.
You had your breakfast in bed as you tried to figure out what the fuck were you supposed to do with what you felt and what Lorenzo had told you. It was almost noon, you had a shower and finally walked downstairs to help with the Christmas preparations for that evening.
The smell coming from the kitchen was amazing, your mom and Pascale were the greatest cooks you've ever met, actually, their food was one of the things you missed the most after you moved.
"Oh, I almost forgot, I ordered some bread from the town and I think we might need a couple more wine bottles" Pascale said as she looked at a message on her phone.
"I can go pick it up" You offered, you were used to being questioned by your mom every time you called home, but now there were two of them bombarding you with a ton of questions, making you feel a bit overwhelmed, so a lonely trip to the village seemed like a great way to take a breather.
"Darling, I don't know, you haven't driven on this side of the road for a while, and the road might be snowed" If only your mother knew how many times you had taken Charles's car out for a spin and done pretty reckless stunts.
"I can drive you" Charles offered walking in the kitchen.
"Yes, let Charles drive you" Great, it had gone from bad to worse.
"But...ok" You knew trying to convince your mom to let you go on your own was a lost cause and saying no to the offer would seem weird and offensive, you took your jacket and walked outside.
You both were so nervous, the only sound in the car was the music coming from the speakers, you couldn't help to look at him out of the corner of your eye, he was tense as he kept a tight grip on the steering wheel and you found it incredibly attractive, one of the things you enjoyed the most when dating Charles was looking at him as he was driving, the way his hands worked the steering wheel and his sight focused on the road was something that turned you on.
You finally got to the village and walked inside a small store, you split the list of things and walked your own way to get them all.
"Y/n?" someone called your name behind you.
"Oh my, Ed, hi!" You hugged the guy standing behind you, he had been one of your uni classmates.
"It's so nice to see you, how's everything, how's New York?"
"It's good, how are you?"
"Same old, same old, how long are you going to be here? We should go get a coffee or something"
"Y/n" Charles spoke before you could answer "Two chardonnays should be good? we have 3 merlots at home" He said showing the two wine bottles he was holding in his left hand, as his right arm grabbed you nonchalantly by the waist.
"Oh, sorry mate, hi, Charles" Charles left the wine bottles in the shopping cart and extended his hand to shake Ed's but kept his arm around you.
"Hi, no worries, you are... Charles Leclerc"
"Yeah"
"Wow, uhm, big fan"
"Thanks" Charles smiled at your friend, from the outside this all seemed innocent and nice, but you knew he was marking his territory. "We need to hurry, we still need to stop by the bakery" He said looking at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat, it had been so long since he had looked at you in that way.
"I should go too, I still got some presents to buy, it was nice to see you y/n, and nice to meet you Charles, good luck on the next season"
"Thanks, mate, appreciated" Charles shook his hand, and as you took a step forward to kiss your friend goodbye, his arm never left your body. When Ed was out of sight you turned to look at Charles inquisitively as he took the spices from your hand and placed them in the tiny shopping cart.
"Let's go" He pushed the cart as if nothing had happened and walked to the register.
"Stop looking at me like that" he finally said as you were on the drive back to the cabin.
"That was low"
"I don't know what you're talking about" he faked innocence.
"Make him think we're together, that was low"
"You went with it, didn't you?" You instantly blushed at his comment.
"I did it just so you wouldn't look like a fool"
A soft breathy laugh left his mouth as he turned to stop in a hiking trail parking lot.
"What are you doing?" you asked confused as he turned off the car.
"Come" he got off the car, confused you did as he said, he leaned against the hood of the car and you walked towards him.
"Charles?" You asked as you stood a safe distance from him, your arms crossed over your chest.
"We need to talk"
"Charles, please, I..." You rubbed your eyes in slight despair, you were pretty much in the middle of nowhere there was no escaping from him this time.
"Please, just listen to me, if when I'm done you don't want to talk about it anymore, we'll get in the car and we never talk about this ever again, but right now, just listen to me, ok?" his beautiful green eyes made you weak and you couldn't say no.
"Ok"
"Y/n, I really am sorry, I swear nothing happened with any of those girls, I never cheated on you..."
"Charles..."
"Shut... up!" His voice was a soft growl as he took you by your arms and pulled you a little closer to him, you stared into his eyes, frozen "Please, listen to me, I know I've said I'm sorry like a million times in the last 24 hours, but I really feel like I owe you so many apologies. I was an asshole, I could try to explain myself but at the end of the day I was young and stupid, and I let this "famous driver" shit get to my head, I lost myself, and on the way, I ended up losing the most amazing and wonderful woman ever. I pushed you away and you had all right to kick me out of your life, but please, if there's just one small part of you that would like to try this again, please, I'm begging you, just give me one more chance, please"
You felt your heart rush, you had thought about this moment a million times, and 90% of them the answer was negative, not because you didn't love him, but because you could see how happy he was without you, winning races, taking pictures with fans, partying with the rest of the drivers, having the freedom he seemed to miss when he was with you.
"Y/N?"
"How do I know this isn't going to end up badly? You've been single for the last 5 years, are you sure you want to give up all you have?"
"I'm not the same idiot you left 5 years ago, I swear, I don't need anyone but you, I don't WANT anyone but you" He pulled you closer, his arms around your waist in a tight hug as you keep your arms crossed over your chest trying to put as much distance between you two. "I know I'm asking for a lot, you have a life somewhere else and I swear I wouldn't be asking for another chance if I didn't actually mean it, I swear on everything that's sacred for me, that I'm going to do my best to make this work and make you the happiest girl in the world, but please give me another chance"
"Are you sure this isn't just the holiday blues? what if I hadn't come this Christmas, would you feel the same?" Your rational side fighting hard against the side that just wanted to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him.
"Do you really think I just came up with this?" A soft smile escaped his lips as he unhooked one of his arms from around your waist and took his cell phone from his jacket, he clicked around for a bit, then turned the screen towards you as he slowly scrolled through the screen, there were dozens of undelivered messages, you could only catch a few words but most of them were of how much he missed you and begging for you to forgive him and come back. "The last one is from last week, I've missed you every day for five years"
You turned to look at him, this movement from your head making the tears that flooded your eyes fall down your cheeks. He got his phone inside his jacket and cleaned your tears with his fingers.
"I love you, y/n, and you can say no, I don't want to force you to do anything, you don't even have to give me an answer right now, but just think about it, ok?"
You couldn't talk and you just nodded your head.
"Good, now let's go, it's getting dark" He leaned in and kissed your lips so softly that if your eyes had been closed you would have doubted it ever happen. He led you to the passenger seat, opened the door for you, and then went to get inside the car.
You drove in silence again, you knew your answer but were you making the right decision?
As he pulled next to your parent's van you fixed yourself as much as you could.
"Darling, what took you so long?" Pascale walked towards you to help with the bags.
"Sorry, I found an old friend and caught up talking" You excused yourself before Charle could say anything.
As the boys helped with setting the table and bringing in more wood for the fireplace, you couldn't help to notice how good was the relationship between your dad and the Leclerc boys, he had turned into their father figure and it filled your heart, you knew this kind of relationship between your dad and any other guy in your life was going to be impossible. Tears started forming in your eyes again.
"All done" you said setting the last couple of cookies on the cooling rack "I'm going to get dressed" You quickly removed the apron and rushed upstairs before anyone could notice your watery eyes.
As you walked inside the bedroom you saw a small red box on the bed, you took it and opened it slowly to find a beautiful gold tuberose necklace and a handwritten note inside.
"I've had this for years and I finally got the chance to give it to you, I remember that night you called our love a "Tuberose love" because it seemed it only bloomed hidden in the dark, but this is a gold tuberose, it can bloom day or night, as long as it's around your neck.
I love you, always,
Charles"
You cried and held the beautiful necklace in your hand.
You showered and got ready, you looked at yourself in the mirror, the red dress looked better than you ever imagined, maybe that Ferrari red wasn't a bad idea after all, maybe that color could grow on you again. You got the necklace around your neck, the gold piece shining perfectly over the fabric.
"Come on kids, it's time" Your dad yelled from downstairs, you took a last deep breath and walked down to meet everyone.
Charles' eyes lit up as soon as he saw you enter the dining room, his sight focused on the gold detail hanging from your neck and he couldn't help to smile, he pulled the chair by his side and gestured you to take a seat next to him.
You sat by his side as everyone else took their places, he looked around and you took his hand under the table, he turned to look at you and you noticed his eyes were red as if he was about to cry.
"All good?" you whispered worried
"Never been better" he smiled and gave your hand a little squeeze.
You had dinner, the best Christmas dinner to date.
It was close to 3 am when the parents decided it had been enough for them and left for bed, Lorenzo and Arthur went to get some more wood and Charles took the chance to sit next to you on the living room floor, putting a blanket over your bodies as he placed his arm around your shoulders.
"Thanks" you said taking the necklace and looking at it.
"You're welcome, I'm glad you liked it" He kissed your hair.
"I love it... not as much as I love you, tho" You finally said, his face turned fast to look at you as you turned to look at him.
"So... you...uhm" He stutter
"Did I just make Charles Leclerc stutter?" you smiled teasingly.
"Shut up" he said as he took your face and pulled you in for a kiss, that kiss you had waited for so long.
"What the hell?" Arthur yelled as he dropped the logs on the living room floor.
"Well, this time it can't be a secret, this one can't keep his mouth shut" Said Lorenzo leaving the logs next to the fireplace.
"This time? why am I always the last one to find this shit out!?, You have a lot of explaining to do" Said Arthur inquisitively as he sat across from you.
Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec
#f1 imagine#f1 fiction#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fic#f1 x y/n#charles leclerc x reader
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More info on Felix🥺🙏🏾
This is gonna be one tough description for my version of the infamous old cat from 1919.
Let's start with his past
Felix is your ordinary guy who's been neglected by his mother and was told by his father who not only took great care of him but stayed with him, he was a Sullivan and was honoured to keep the generation going, especially with the magic bag.
That bag is not normal as you can see, It's a sign of a golden heart. Once given, the bag chooses who's worthy, one great grandfather to another great grandfather, only one in 6 generations was able to weld the Magic Bag. Felix Tom Sullivan, son of Pat Tom Sullivan was worthy of the bag which was given to him at his 10th birthday.
As a baby to a kid, he was living in a small town in New York, a small house, a small porch, a small car. It was his childhood. He had many friends, he loved leaving home to explore more of his tiny town, bringing nick-nacks and small objects to show his father, who was proud of him for having such an imaginable mindset.
Felix was in love with his one girl named Kitty who lived 3 houses down from him, when he explored, he always sees her in a white flurry dress with a big red bow in the back, he always loved it when she danced. When he was 12, he confessed his feelings and she accepted him, both were in love with each-other without even knowing. She was light-hearted but a hard worker for her parents, a top A educated student at her school, she also liked to go adventuring with Felix out around the neighborhood. When he hit 17 he wanted to go explore more of the world, he wanted to learn.
He was around the globe, writing on his diary about his adventures and was once told he should make his journaling into a book, he rejected but had second thoughts "It might not be too bad" so he accepted and made his adventures into a book series which was backed up with proof to those who doesn't believe him.
"The Robotic Menace Unleashed: Felix's Heroic Quest"
"Snowstorm Savior: A Christmas Adventure"
"Feline and Feather: A Pirate's Plunder"
Weird stories, right? But all has real time photos, and with a bit of exaggeration, he was able to be famous because of his adventures, but it wasn't fun for the cat himself, during his time adventuring, he gotten bruises and permanent scars. Each scar told a traumatizing tale. The ones that got him the most fame, was the scar of the fire tiger in the fan favorite book 25: "The Lost Letter of Princess Oriana" he was attacked and was brutally injured leaving a large scratch mark on his right hip to his stomach, he looked and spoke braver than anyone but in reality, he was very afraid. Felix was on the verge of death. But from a miracle, he came out on top and slayed the tiger, after saving the princess, he came back to his camp-post scared and still injured from the attack, he isn't all inevitable Y'know.
The other was his eye scar. The most frightening story Felix has ever wrote. Famously known as "Best Friends and Blood Tears" where Felix got a distressed call from a young boy, telling him that his town needed help, as heading towards the incapacitated town he saw someone he never knew was gonna be against him, his childhood best friend, Colin, both were close, very, and enslaving a town to close to enslaving humanity was terrifying for Felix, he tried to stop his friends actions and as it started to get bloodier, he broke and shouted cold words, he got aggressive and so did Colin. With a bright light.
Blood spilled out of his face, blood covering his eye.
His own best friend.
After that he and Colin fought till the death leaving the world in shambles, until he was banished away and never to be seen again.
That scar was permanent, it was visible.
After the 2012 type apocalypse, he rushed back home to his father, knowing he would never see him again as the house was collapsed and on flames, the only thing was left, was the hat.
Now let's talk about present Felix
He's no longer the happy cat everyone knew him as, he was paranoid and was diagnosed with depression at the age of 23, the death of his father and innocence took a toll on him, the only people he got left was Sheba and his nephews.
He's willing to keep the legacy and the family name alive and still running. Even with depression, he kept going and pulling to explore more, his curious mindset was all over the place. His fans were telling him to retire because of his issues but he rejected them "I'm fine! I promise" He kept denying he needed rest, he was Felix the Cat for crying out loud! the world's protector and adventurer, almost everyone knows him. But he has been guilting himself so much for his father's death, he almost feels like ending it all, the day he leaves earth was the day he meet Bendy and Boris, that's how the story begins
He is a good, sweet man with a golden heart who turns heartless if spoken wrongly. A bi-curious old man is still going around the world and bringing imagination to life among all ages.
Relationship
His and the gang's relationship is Father bondly, he acts like a protective parent towards each of them since he's the oldest going by a whooping 27 years old. He's always kind to them and comes to their aid if needed.
His and Oswald (with the circus) has a very healthy friendship, both understand each other well, I didn't make Felix all lovey dovey towards someone who had their heartbroken from a lost loved one, they have a deep connection and it's unbreakable, although Oswald tends to forget Felix is someone else and not his wife but he understands because he's still recovering after 5 years.
He and Sheba always have each other's back no matter what life throws at em both, Sometimes in life, She would accompany him in his adventures.
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When I was in school, my teacher taught us about the "holiday season" and the "xmas adjacent" holidays from minority cultures, like Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, etc. One of the things she taught us was that for Hanukkah, Jewish families would set out their shoes in a line and give gifts to each other in their shoes... I've always wondered if this was actually true or not. I've never heard any of the Jews I've met say they do this and I've always felt it was a little too on-the-nose-similar to the whole xmas stocking thing. I guess my main question is, outside of the menorah, how else do Jews celebrate Hanukkah? Also is the shoe thing real or did my teacher pull that out of her ass to xianize Hanukkah?
I have never ever heard of the shoe thing. I can't say 100% that it's not a thing, but I've tried looking it up and can't find anything and I've never heard of it. So. Yeah.
Chanukah isn't a "major" holiday in Judaism in the same way Christmas is for Christianity, so while Chanukah is a fun holiday, it's in no way the most important.
Also, giving gifts on Chanukah is a relatively new thing. As in, it only arose in the 20th century because of assimilation. The holiday we have involving gift-giving is Purim, where we give Mishloach Manot, gifts of food to each other. There's nothing wrong with giving Chanukah presents, but it's not the key part of the holiday.
Some Chanukah traditions we do have:
-Eating fried foods to commemorate the miracle of the oil. Every diasporic Jewish group that celebrates Chanukah has its own fried food.
-Eating dairy to commemorate how Judith fed Holofernes cheese and wine to make him fall asleep before she decapitated him.
-Playing with a spinning top.
-Giving gifts of money called "gelt" to each other. (Ashkenazi)
-Chag HaBanot, the Festival of Daughters, is celebrated on the sixth night of Chanukah and celebrates the girls and women in the community and female Jewish heroines in history. (Mizrachi)
-Singing Chanukah songs.
-Retelling the Chanukah story.
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Choir: ♪ Holy infant So tender and mild ♪
John: Wait, who describes an infant as mild?
Ted: Yeah, I'm more hung up on tender.
John: Yeah, somebody's eating this baby.
Priest: It's important that we remember just why we celebrate Christmas. We observe the holiest of all days to rejoice in the glory of the birth of Jesus Christ, born not from the seed of man but from divine origin. Never before or since have we, God's children, been blessed by such a miracle.
Ted: Excuse me. Yeah, over here. Hi. Ted, local bear. You're talking about a guy who came alive out of nowhere, right?
Priest: Yes.
Ted: Yeah, me.
Priest: I'm sorry?
Ted: I'm just saying, he's not the only one.
Priest: I don't think that's the same thing.
Ted: Well, you said, never before or since. But… You know, this guy.
Priest: The birth of Christ was a heavenly miracle.
Ted: I mean, what do you call this? I mean, I don't see
any Pound Puppies or Monchhichis walking around.
Priest: Christ's birth was clearly ordained by God, marked by the star of Bethlehem, a miraculous beacon from the heavens.
John: There was a star there.
Ted: There was a star, right?
John: Yeah, no, it was a shooting star.
Ted: I had a star.
John: Yeah.
Priest: Jesus had a divine purpose. God sent him to us to spread
the word that He loves us.
Ted (recorded voice): "I love you."
Ted: Your move, Friar Tuck.
Priest: I just want to finish the sermon.
Ted: I'm just saying, I might be Jesus. Might. I'm not
saying for sure. I'm just saying it's a possibility. I might be Jesus.
Priest: That is incredibly disrespectful.
Ted: Says the guy eating babies.
-
John: OK, we can't read this whole thing.
Ted: Well, if we're gonna figure out if I'm actually Jesus, we at least got to skim it.
John: I have never seen pages so thin.
Ted: I know. It's like Kleenex with boring stories on it.
John: You know, I was thinking. How do we know that
Dennis isn't Jesus?
Ted: Johnny, Jesus walked on water, all right? Walked! That means he had feet, not wheels.
John: Yeah, that makes sense.
Ted: Oh, wait, hang on. Stop right there. Look, look, look. Matthew 21:31, "Truly I say to you, the tax collectors and prostitutes go into the kingdom of heaven before you." Look at that. Jesus hangs out with hookers.
John: Yeah, and he says there's hookers in heaven too. He sounds a lot like you.
Ted: Oh, yeah, heaven is probably mostly hookers.
John: Wait, so you're paying for sex in heaven?
Ted: You're not paying them for sex. You're paying them to fly away.
John: Oh. Let's see. "And behold, I come quickly, and my reward is
with me to give"…
Ted: What was that first part?
John: "Behold, I come quickly."
Ted: Jesus said that?
John: Yeah.
Ted: Yeah, that's not the kind of thing I'd start with "behold." What else? Well, look, look, look. Right there. Right there. John the apostle. Jesus had an apostle named John.
John: Holy shit. Those were, like, his buddies, right?
Ted: Yeah, yeah, there was Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, Johnny, Blitzen, and Larry, Darryl, and Darryl. There's no doubt anymore. I'm the Lord Jesus Christ.
Ted: Holy shit. Does this mean you have, like, powers and stuff?
Ted: Yeah, but I probably got to learn how to use them. Flip to the spells.
John: OK, spells, spells, spells.
Ted: Spells, spells, spells.
Ted: Wonder what my alignment is.
John: Chaotic good.
Ted: Ah, yeah, yeah. Good, but, like, you know, I might fuck around a little bit.
John: Yeah.
Ted: Shit, we supposed to have dice?
-
Ted: OK, what do you say we try one of them spells, huh? Water into wine, here we go. "Meka leka hi, meka hiney ho. Meka leka hi, meka chiney ho." All right, try it.
John: Still water.
Ted: Fuck! Oh, you know what? It's 'cause we don't have the wand.
-
Blaire: Shit. I mean, how the fuck am I supposed to share a house with somebody who treats me like I have some fucking disease Guess there's no chance he's gonna apologize.
Ted: You know, if I can offer a bit of Christly wisdom, Blaire? You're smarter than he is, so you might have to go talk to him.
Blaire: Oh, fuck that. I am not extending an olive branch to somebody who's against basic equality.
John: Well, that's the thing, Blaire. I don't think he's really even against anything. Think he just didn't want to look stupid in front of his truck.
Blaire: Listen to yourself!
John: OK, then don't do it for Dad. Do it for Mom. Look, she's really bummed out right now, and it's all just 'cause Christmas is messed up. Look, I know it's gonna suck, but…
Ted: But it's like I say in the Book of Romulans: turn the other cheek. Do unto others. Say it, don't spray it. I'll have what she's having.
Blaire: You're an idiot.
Ted: Oh, what do we say to that, Apostle?
John: Four hell points.
Ted: Four hell points.
Blaire: What the fuck is a hell point?
Ted: It's how I determine which of my children, who I love, will be tortured forever.
Blaire: Oh, God. Ugh, all right, all right, I'll… I'll talk to him.
-
Ted: Well, I Jesus-ed the shit out of that one.
Blaire: You? You didn't do anything.
Ted: Eh, I worked in mysterious ways.
Sarah: How?
Ted: Where there was only one set of footprints, that's where I carried you.
Blaire: You watched 18 hours of TV yesterday. You barely moved.
Ted: When it most appears I'm not Jesus, that's when you need faith.
Sarah: Ted, you do know what happened to Jesus, right?
Ted: Yeah, he gave back the Gobstopper, and they gave him the
chocolate factory. I mean, I think that's what happened. I'm reading, like, two books at once.
Sarah: They nailed him to the cross and crucified him for our sins.
Ted: Wait, what?
Susan: It was so nice of him to let them do that for us, wasn't it?
Ted: They killed him?
Sarah: Yeah.
Ted: Oh, shit. Yeah, fuck that. I'm out. Wait, maybe I'm Buddha. Buddha was lazy, right?
#Ted#Seth Macfarlane#John Bennett#Johnny Bennett#Max Burkholder#christianity#jesus christ#Loud Night#LOL#funny#religion#religion is a mental illness
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TERF WARS
I wrote JK Rowling a letter when I was a little girl,
asking to play Hermione in the Harry Potter movie. The nerdy witch.
Justice-monger. Shame and self-doubt had started to snake
their way through me, but weren't yet my veins. It was safe
then to beg boons of St. Joanne. Mother Christmas. "Miracle" wasn't a slur–hadn't she taught us to be plucked from obscurity? Hadn't she made magic real?
Unplucked, I hit high school, where despite owls and broomsticks, the reality
was that I wasn't the right kind of girl:
Awkward. Too smart. Too angry. My body clung to me like a slur,
meanwhile Joanne SPEWed her punchlines: A witch
who believes in sharing power?! I had no power. I only felt safe
while shrinking. I shed baby fat like the skin of a snake,
and couldn't think who taught me the trick. My mind writhed like a snake.
Hermione got a makeover to ready her for love, her worth made real.
Joanne said: at my age, she could've been conned to seek a safety
only gettable in the body of a boy. Not me. I was indelible. I'd die of girl
before I stopped being one, like the girls who were told which
they were and rebelled. Like the boys Joanne slurs
as lost girls. Joanne's three-quarter prose drowned Hermione in a slurry
of girlboss: memory-muddler. Perfect prime minister. A snake
licked my ears since 11, and now in the base of my brainstem, a witch
peddles poisons. Joanne says the things in your head aren't real
just because you know them. She says struggling. That girls
are at risk of erasure, because it's un-safe–
and worse, unpopular–to be one. St. Joanne wants a safe
world for women, so she causes with people who think I'm a slur.
She says, "The system, surgery, easy fix, poor girls
who do not conform." She parcels her tongue, snakelike,
each poison pill small and swallowable. She knows 'real'
lies between my legs. She thinks she is only burning witches;
but her cruelties sear me too. Don't you get it? Hurt one witch
and her sisters scream. Joanne says protect, but I've never felt safe
in her sanctum. I keep smelling flames. I run to my real
coven, my story-slurred sisters. Joanne says that bigot's a slur,
but to her it's a badge. It admits her to the parliament of snakes.
All in the name of protecting 'real' girls–
Well, spare me your cherishing. My witch-womb rejects you.
I pronounce your sanctimony slurred,
your safe, a stake to the heart. You think we're the same,
but Joanne: I don't caucus with snakes. You made magic
once, but what you call love isn't real. It's a nuclear bomb,
shedding ash through the years onto all us wicked girls.
-Elisa Chavez
(Notes and recs)
#transphobia#jk rowling#trans liberation now#trans rights are human rights#sestina#line breaks are a social construct#eating disorder#cis solidarity
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random high school au, headcanons
Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels
a/n: The mind wanders when you're watching 90s wrestling clips and y2k highschool movies while drinking beer on christmas day
» Contrary to popular belief, Shawn isn't as much of an idiot as people think. However, that doesn't stop him from playing dumb if it means getting his crush—Bret Hart, the student body president and local band geek—to be his tutor.
» The start of their relationship began on the wrong foot. Bret, the student body president, and Shawn, a degenerate—it's only natural. Shawn had once spat gum into Bret’s hair, and in return, Bret purposely misplaced Shawn’s belongings in areas where they shouldn’t be.
"'Hey, has anyone seen my magazine?' Shawn shouted, annoyed, as Bret attempted to cut off the strings of gum entangled with the strands of his hair. Bret knew full well he had flushed the magazine down the toilet during recess behind Shawn’s back, but he wasn’t going to tell the blonde that.
» Their blossoming love all started when Shawn was assigned a seat behind Bret for a history class. Shawn was too busy passing notes with Hunter one day, and in the middle of writing about how Hunter has a huge nose, Shawn was called to stand up and answer a question. The problem is that Shawn didn’t know the question, let alone the answer to it. This was it; it was over for him. He’s too young and hot to get detention! And when all hope was lost, a ray of light shined down upon him from the heavens. Shawn’s eyes saw Bret’s hands trying to sign a number. And in a sudden burst of confidence, Shawn said, 'One nine one seven.' 'You mean 1917?' '. . . Yes?' '. . . Sit down, Michaels.'
» The biggest sigh of relief escaped from Shawn’s lungs. Thank God for small miracles. When class ended, Shawn tapped Bret on the shoulder with his pencil and said his thanks before disappearing into the hall with Hunter and Chyna in tow.
» Bret didn’t get strawberry-scented gum stuck in his hair anymore, and Shawn found a new copy of his lost magazine in his backpack.
» Shawn found out about Bret’s tutoring gig from his younger brother Owen. Shawn overheard the younger Hart mention it in the cafeteria, and Shawn immediately plopped his ass between Owen and some kid named Koko B. Ware who always managed to sneak in his pet parrot past the school guards. Owen knows about Shawn’s crush on his brother, and he didn’t tell his brother anything about it in favor of watching how it unravels itself.
“Your brother is tutoring?”
“Yeah.”
“How can I sign up for that?”
“You know it would be easier if you just talk to him, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Owen.”
» Hunter doesn’t understand what Shawn sees in Bret (“You got a thing for glasses, don’t you, Shawn?”) and Chyna could care less.
» After convincing Owen to have Bret agree to tutor him (which cost Shawn twenty bucks and a packet of gum), Shawn finally had the chance to spend more time with Bret—as if he couldn’t do that by just talking to the Hart instead of losing money and dignity during the process. But ah, the trials and tribulations of love.
» They spend an hour in the library every day after class. Shawn would be the first person there, fidgeting in his seat in the corner of the library, waiting for Bret and thinking of any suave pick-up lines to say (No, he doesn’t end up saying them). Bret would appear 2 minutes late, on the dot, every time. Bret’s got his hair in a ponytail just in case Shawn has plans of painting his hair with his gum again.
» Shawn made the foolproof plan of pushing up his stupidity so Bret can spend more time tutoring him. Bret immediately knows Shawn’s faking his idiocy from the get-go. There’s no damn way Shawn doesn’t know the multiplication table. Shawn is not amused.
“You know you could just say that you want to hang out more, right? “I can? *Insert that one emoji with big shiny eyes*”
» They start spending time together after their tutor sessions. Become great buddies. Yay! Shawn’s too scared to confess his love because he doesn’t want to ruin his friendship with Bret. And he doesn’t know that Bret is also on the same boat. It’s ridiculous, quite frankly. They’re both messes and their friends are there to watch it all go down in real time.
» Shawn thinks if he learns to play an instrument, then Bret will like him more, and Bret strongly believes that if he dresses like Shawn more, then Shawn would find him attractive (“Trust me, Owen. I’m never wrong.” “Uh-huh.”) And that segues into Bret buying a leather jacket and Shawn failing to play the drums. It all accumulates into them confessing their feelings to each other at the same time one afternoon. They are both awfully embarrassed but thrilled afterward.
» Let this AU go in whichever direction you want. Brainrot is strong in this one, I fear.
#shawn michaels x bret hart#bretshawn#hartbreak#wwe fanfiction#wwe headcanons#wwe fanfic#writing#dividers by: cafekitsune
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