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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

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gotta know how u think billy would be as a dad with his kids :D

I had so many requests for Dad!Billy headcanons 😭

I hope you're ready for this chaotic ramble.

Please remember this is my Billy I'm writing

You know those parents who take like a million pictures of their kid and show them to everyone? The kind that talks about their kid nonstop to anyone who'll listen? Their family, friends, the poor random old lady at the store that just wants to buy some damn milk.

That's Billy.

He's such an unbelievably proud parent, his pride for his kids knows no bounds. It doesn't even need to be some kind of milestone worth celebrating, everything his kid does makes him proud. You better believe when his baby has an explosive crap and ruins their clothes, he's boasting about it the next day to Frank and the guys at Anvil.

He's incredibly protective. Murder is a possibility if his kids in danger. He wants nothing more than to keep his kids safe. If they're being bullied, it takes all of his willpower to stop himself from kicking the kids ass for doing that to his kid. He's not above picking a fight with the bullies dad though if they don't get their little shit head in check and also making it known to the principle that this shit won't fly with him.

"Mr Russo, I don't think you understand how serious this is. Your son broke a kids nose," the principle mutters with a glare.

Billy tilts his head, regarding the teacher with those unsettling eyes that has the old man squirming in his seat.

"You’re damn right he did," Billy replies seriously, a proud tone to his voice. His dark eyes cut to his left where his son is, practically his double. As Billy smirks, unable to help himself, his son wears the same one although he's lowering his head to hide his amusement.

"We don't tolerate that behaviour here, Mr Russo," the principle huffs. Billy's eyes harden then as his eyes narrow, sitting forward in his chair just the right amount to be imposing. The second the man leans back he knows it worked.

"You know what I don't tolerate? My kid bein' bullied. You assholes won't do shit to stop it, so I say let the little fucker get a taste of his own medicine. Serves him right for messin' with a Russo," he smirks wickedly.

He teaches them self defence, wanting them to be able to look after themselves if it ever came down to it. Naturally, for their 16th birthday, they're gifted with a big ass knife.

Billy as a dad is so stupidly soft.

We all remember the scene from the show, right? Where he's in the hospital with his mom and he says;

"Maybe you did me a solid, you know? I mean, the way I see it, you want weak kids, give 'em everything. But if you... if you want 'em strong... treat 'em hard."

When he has a kid of his own he realises just what utter garbage this is. The idea of all the shit he's been through making him into the tough son of a bitch he is today is born from trauma that he still hasn't dealt with. The way his brain tries to rationalise what he went though. To make it make sense instead of it being so goddamn senseless.

But if he's honest, more than he'd like to admit, he finds himself wondering just what his life would have been like if he grew up in a loving home. What it would be like to feel wanted and cared for. To rise to the top being helped and cheered on by others instead of clawing his way there with bloodied and dirty fingers, the weight of the world bearing down on him as he's beat down at every turn.

He never wants his kids to feel that way. Not even a fraction of how unloved and unwanted he felt. He does everything in his power to make sure they know just how much he cares about them. There's literally nothing he wouldn't do for his kids. They could turn up at home one day and confess to a murder and Billy wouldn't hesitate to ask where the body is so he can handle it for them.

Billy is ridiculously sentimental when it comes to his kids. Drawings go up on the fridge and when a new one takes its place, the old one goes into a box of many others that he can't seem to ever throw away. He has multiple pictures of his kids at his office, even some framed cute drawings they did for him. He's kept all the mementos from the pregnancy, birth and onwards. They're his little treasures.

Billy is super supportive of everything his kids do. He makes sure they get a good education but he never pushes them to do something they don't want to do. Despite the large college fund he's got for them, if they choose not to go to college, he doesn't pressure them. Instead, whatever hopes and dreams they have, he does everything in his power to support and help them. Whether that's moral and emotional support, money or even breaking a few jaws of people standing in their way.

Let's look a little bit at how he is throughout some of the ages of his kid.

Billy with a baby is a sight to behold. No one has ever seen Lieutenant William Russo so goddamn soft. Once he's got hold of his baby, you've got no chance of getting them back off him. You'd have to fight him. He adores holding his little one close, soaking them in. He's constantly holding them no matter what he's doing and baby carriers and wraps are a godsend to him. You'd heard about them from a friend and told Billy and you better believe by the time the baby's born that he's an expert on all things baby wearing. He's a perfectionist and carrying a baby wrong can be dangerous. He makes sure he knows how to do it right.

Just as he has little affectionate touches for you, he has the same for his baby. His large hand stroking their tiny head and little hair. His finger stroking their chubby little cheek. He's a tactile person and touch is grounding for him. It soothes him to do so with his baby and reassures him they're really there and that they're okay.

He's super attentive. Of course he works a lot but as soon as he becomes a dad, he doesn't stay late anymore and makes sure to have days off. The second he comes home, he's making a beeline for his baby, scooping them up with a grin. He loves to read to them, something that continues as they grow up. His weekends used to be restful or if he was feeling like a masochist, he'd work from home. But now weekends are his time to shine. By the time you wake up on a Saturday morning, he's already up with the baby, making you breakfast as he's got the baby attached to him via baby carrier.

As his baby grows into a toddler, each milestone makes him tearful and full of pride. He kisses any booboos that happen and he's constantly playing with his child. He has a pretty silly side to him that most don't get to see. Making his kid laugh and smile brings him the greatest joy.

He loves taking his toddler to the office with him. Everyone dotes on his kid and treats them like royalty.

When they turn into a small child, he watches with a proud smile and amusement as his kid wants to fight with his men, watching them 'beat' the shit out of them. The guys at Anvil are more than happy to very dramatically go down, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when the tiny Russo grins smugly at their 'win'.

Their first day at school and Billy's a mess. It's such a turning point and he doesn't know how to deal with how fast their growing up. But every achievement at school, even minor ones, and he's showering them with praise.

He encourages them to work hard and as soft as he might be, he is still the boss. He makes sure they do their homework and don't fall behind on their studies.

One thing Billy loves is teaching his kids stuff. Whether that's mundane stuff to help with school or teaching them shit he knows like survivalist things, because you can never be too prepared, right? He loves helping them with school projects and answering any questions they might have about one of the many things he's knowledgeable about.

When his kids moves onto those hard teenage years, the ones where everything feels so dramatic and world ending, he's a little tougher when it calls for it. Billy is no novice to rebellion, he has a rebellious streak of his own and marches to the beat of his own drum half the time. He respects that. What he doesn't respect or tolerate is behaviour that's going to fuck his kid over in the long run or self sabotage. He will be firm and a hard ass if he needs to be to keep his kids on a path where they don't get hurt or ruin their life.

Billy has a zero tolerance policy on drugs. After the shit with his mother, he won't budge on this. If he finds out his kid is dabbling in drugs, they're grounded until they're old enough to move out.

No matter what age his kids are, Billy loves them immensely. He wants to be the father he wished he'd had growing up and he pours all of his anguish and pain from his upbringing into it. Channeling it into the purest form of love for his kids. To break the curse that had hold of him. He won't perpetuate the cycle.

Being a father brings him a sense of completeness and peace he didn't think was possible for him to achieve. It fills the void that's been eating away at his soul from his lack of love as a child and he loves every second of being a parent. Even the hard moments.

Bonus:

The Russo's and the Castle's go on monthly camping trips together. Billy loves the outdoors, the mild survivalist feelings he gets from it without the real danger. He loves taking his kids there, teaching them everything. In his role as dad and uncle, he sits around the camp fire at night, the light of the flames dancing along his face as he very theatrically tells the kids a spooky story.

You and his kids are his immediate family but the Castle's are his family too. So he really loves it when you all get to spend time together like that.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

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kissme-hs · 3 years

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More hearts {c.e.}

Hii lovelies! This one is based off the two songs ;more hearts than mine by Ingrid Andress and match in the rain by Alec Benjamin. I’ve been thinking about this one for a while now so here it is. Let me know what you think lol sorry if this is shit, feedback is very much appreciated :)

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Chris Evans

Warning: Angst

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“I can’t do this anymore”

Those words didn’t amuse you when Chris said them with a heavy heart. Teary red eyes and tumbling words as he sat on the couch where you stood near the wooden window sill staring into the oblivious of falling rain. Though it was dark outside, you enjoyed the sound of pattering rain—where your boyfriend cried his own tears of sadness.

You felt numb for few seconds. Your mind fathomed what he uttered but it took a while for your heart to figure out that it was really happening. After 3 years of being together with each other through the thick and thin, sorrows and happiness it was time you go your way and he goes his. You’d still consider kind of him to break it to you in such a fragile way, making sure first that your heart is strong enough to endure the ache of your now—ending relationship.

Finally breaking in through the barrier of strong emotions, a tear rolled down your cheek as you quickly wiped it away with your palm crossing your hands over your chest. It hurt, it hurt more than you thought it’d when the love started fading away.

You could tell he tried, so did you. Every morning you’d wake up with a heavy chest knowing you have to go through the day with the person who’s heart stopped beating for you long ago. It wasn’t that he was cheating, but sometimes there isn’t a need of other person for one to fall out of love.

The kisses he placed on your forehead which once felt warm now were completely cold. He was pushing himself to save your dying relationship, but he couldn’t do it. There were two bodies in the house but only one present–each night you’d say I love you’s and turn away from each other to fall asleep. Well aware of the truth that neither of you meant what you said anymore, you’d let silent tears hit the soft pillow until the soreness of your eyes drifts you away in deep slumber of sleep.

He on the other side felt you slipping away through his fingers. The dead look in your eyes gave him the hint that the time was up, but he pretended you’re both still strong anyway. He wasn’t willing to believe that this was the end, he didn’t want to give up on the relation he has built you through tears and smiles over the years.

But his intuitions told him it’s too late. You were long gone.

Your heart crumbled every day with the screaming memories you created in the same house where you now lived with a heavy heart. The laughter and joy were nowhere to be found, he’d work in his office everyday to keep himself busy and you’d do the same. Reading, writing, doing anything that’d keep you off from feeling the everyday growing ache in your chest.

Watching him grow distant was the worst pain you ever went through.

However.

You’ll be fine, but how will you tell your mother? Who loved Chris very much like her own son. She falls in love faster than you, and the second you introduced Chris to your family she instantly wrapped her arms around his welcoming him with a warm heart to your strong family.

Every Christmas she’d send you homemade cookies and hand knitted sweaters but ever since you brought Chris home, she made sure to send one for him. And now won’t she be heartbroken? She’s not going to have one more to knit sweater for. Your mother always told you how Chris filled the spot she always craved for having a son—and now she’d watch him go away with you.

She’d wait patiently for your arrival with Chris’s favorite meal ready every time you visit her but now, not anymore.

“You complete our family son.” She smiled when Chris took the heavy pot of stew from her hand helping her set the table while you and your sister were out with your dad grabbing a few stuff for the house.

He volunteered that he’d stay and help your mother—loving her the same he loved his own mother.

“Thanks ma” he replied placing a kiss on her forehead. His heart swelling with the adoration he developed for you and your family and how not only he loved you unconditionally but those four members you called home.

And your dad. He always checked the car tires before you both hit the road, saying he just wanted to make sure that his daughter goes hime safely—lying not caring about Chris. But everyone knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Your dad loved Chris. He’d always go fishing with him and talk about sports and politics. Though he was proud of having two amazing girls, he wished he had a son to go fishing with, fix house with, whom he could go golfing with. And when you brought Chris home that Friday evening, you saw him smile. Unlike the fake one he gave your other boyfriends but the one that showed you how proud he was.

“So you like whiskey or rum?”

“I’d take whiskey sir”

“Call me dad” making your head turn from the couch where you sat watching television with your mother your eyes picked tears. Never he has welcomed a man so lovingly before. You knew it was real when you father loved him as if he was his own child.

Oh how could you break your old man’s heart? He’d pour you whiskey over ice and lie that he never liked him, but deep down you know he’d miss him too. He’d miss watching football with him, arguing over politics, fixing the deck.

He’d miss caring for his son that now he lost.

Last came your younger sister. Oh how she loved embarrassing Chris and having little snickering arguments with him. She’d disagree with him just to see him getting frustrated and then would laugh about it later. But never once he minded it. He cared for you sister just like he did for his.

For her too, he completed your little family with the craving of older brother. Though you never let anyone touch her, she always wondered what it’d be like to have a protective brother. And Chris never failed to annoy her either, he loved how her face would get all scrunched up as she’d get irritated like a typical teenager that she was and would huff and puff until he brings out the present he got for her.

“So you know I told you I like this guy at school right?” She said mouth full of fruits as she sits beside Chris on a Sunday morning telling her all the ‘gossips’ she’d say. And being a 39 year old man he’d listen to her babbling nothing like but as if he was a teenager himself.

“Yeah?”

“Well he asked me out” she smiled wiggling her eyebrows at him. Chris let out a laugh before ruffling her hair.

“Funny of someone to like you”

“Hey!!”

“Just kidding, tell him if he breaks your heart, I’ll beat the shit outta him” he raised his eyebrow winking at your sister before tossing a piece of cantaloupe from her bowl and popping in his mouth.

But who will bring her chocolates like last time when she’ll go through another heartbreak as a part of growing up? Who’ll teach her how to drive a motorcycle even though she’s quite young for that? Chris could’ve, but not anymore.

Closing your eyes your, you let your tears fall—not bothering to hold them back this time. You’ve been keeping your emotions locked up from a long time, maybe now it was the time you it go. Let go of the heaviness off your chest, it’s time to breath again.

You walked over to where he sat and gave his back a gentle rub.

Lifting his head from his head he looked in your eyes. For the first time in three months he saw emotions, he saw the fear and guilt and sorrow and pain you carried along you. The eyes which once were full of colours and spark now dead and dull. He was defeated. He couldn’t save you.

Running your fingers through his hair you let out a sniff, trying your best to pass him a broken smile.

“We’ll be fine” you whispered pulling him closer, without any hesitation he wrapped his arms around his waist hiding his head in your crook. His salty tears wetting your skin but you couldn’t care less as you rested your cheek on his back letting yours damp the cotton material of his t-shirt.

Chris was a man with the biggest heart. His kindness and generosity made even the most unworthy fall in love. How could they not. He was never selfish or greedy, or even thought of himself as “I”. Being a child amongst four he was taught to carry the family out of self love, as ‘we’. And to put those he loved, above all and the rest.

He gave you the happiness of your life, he made you smile when no one could. He came in your life bringing the light of joy and enlightened your dark space in heart—which felt it could never love again with radiating warmness. He gave your family the love no one could, he loved them selflessly just like he was taught.

Though he’d miss the warm stew and a mom who always sent hand knitted sweater, those Sunday morning golf games and a dad who’d lie how he never cared about him, the glimpse of a teenager’s life and a sister who loved to snicker around laughing at his blushed face but he won’t deny he’d miss you the most of all.

The woman who taught him the meaning of true love. The woman who stood with him through the rain storms and brightest sunshine. Who never doubted his will and everyday was the encouragement of being a better man. The lady who will always hold the only place of lover in his heart as long as it beats, he doubts he’d ever be able to place his heart in other’s hand like he placed it in yours without any second thought.

And today, he didn’t only break your heart.

But his and the hearts of other three that were once his family.

If we break up I’ll be fine,

But you’ll be breaking more hearts than mine.

#chris evans x wife!reader #Chris evans #Chris evans imagines #Chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfictions #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x female reader #chris evans writngs

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chuuyasnumber1simp · 3 years

Text

Warm Touches Melt Cold Stares Akutagawa x fem reader

A/N- because it’s me, and I love writing it, you better bet this gonna be hurt/comfort, and angsty at that. This what I write when I have no requests lol so get ready for the pain train. This is gonna be an ongoing fic btw.

This time, reader is going to have anxiety and bipolar depression, two things I can write well because I have them. If you want to see something else from me feel free to drop a request!

(Reader is 19)

Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Attempted Sexual Assault

Word Count: 2706

You were cold.

But then again, you always were.

Not towards people, not physically- that which surprised people based on your ability.

You hugged your arms closer to your body, feeling the telltale pinpricks of frost letting you know your ability activated.

It was comforting, in a way. The coldness that surrounded your body, it was the only thing letting you know that you were here, and not still asleep, floating in the inky black of your dreams. You preferred the endless ocean of black to your current waking world, marred by emptiness and fear.

You liked to pretend that the numbness that filled you somedays could merely be explained by being a result of your ability. Like your brain was slowly becoming frostbitten. On the days you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror, you often wondered why the temperature of your skin didn't match how you felt.

Some days you woke up and felt as if something had melted the ice encasing your insides, your brain. That maybe, you would get better. Then, sometimes on the same day,

You didn’t want to die, yet you couldn’t find reason to continue this life that you lead. That was the reason you kept waking up, day after day, always reaching out to find maybe just a glimpse of purpose. You had believed your ability was a gift, when you were a child. A stupid, naïve child you were, to believe it was anything but a curse. That’s what you parents thought, when you manifested your ability. At first, all had gone well. When you were little, you didn’t know that frost and ice can burn someone if it’s cold enough.

You didn’t know that being too cold would cause hypothermia, and death.

You were just a stupid, naïve child, who froze her parents to death, completely unaware of what she’d done. You didn’t know how or why, the memory's becoming more foggy with time. Your grandparents had taken you in after that, and they were kind. But even they could overcome your hesitance, your fear of being close enough to anyone to bring harm.

Prior to arriving in Yokohama, you had let your guard down, just for a moment. No one at work knew of your ability, you had kept it a secret for fear of peoples reactions.

Another stupid mistake.

You had a boyfriend, and you were happy. That was one of the longest times the coldness went away.

But one day, you had gotten into an argument, over something stupid. You couldn’t even remember what now. He tried to leave, walk away from the argument, and in your anger, you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

You’ll never forget the scream that ripped through the house.

It was like your parents all over again.

Around his wrist, there was a massive blister, red and swelling, about the size of your hand. He had fallen to to the ground, clutching his arm and screaming.

So you ran.

Ran out of his house, left your grandparents, left behind everything you knew. You took the bus as far away as you could, leaving you in Yokohama.

You vowed to never use your ability again. At least, not on anyone else. You wondered if there had been a police investigation back in your hometown, or if anyone even tried to find you.

You doubted it.

So here you were, looking for an apartment in Yokohama, having arrived three days ago.

You still had access to your bank account, and have been paying for a hotel room. It was cheap and crappy, but at least it was somewhere to sleep. People there didn’t ask why you wore a mask, and they didn’t ask why you had gloves on in spring. But it was, unfortunately for, where certain unsavory characters liked to be.

You were trying to walk back to your hotel room, after a rather unfulfilling day, when a group of four men whistled and shouted as you walked by. As a woman, you were used to this. You ignored them and continued, but when you heard their footsteps after you, you walked a little faster, subconsciously allowing frost to cover your fingers. Your heart beat quickened as you walked past your room, hoping that someone would notice your current predicament.

This was the downfall of everyone turning the other cheek. Situations like these were commonplace, and even the staff did not get involved. At this point, you were flat out running, almost tripping down the stairs in your haste to escape them. They followed after, relentless.

You felt your heart sink as the stairs you had gone to had not lead to the lobby, but the laundry room and staff exit.

The staff exit was locked, and the laundry room was empty.

No one would come to your aid here.

“Well well well, what do we have here. Someone’s a little feisty. But I think this going to have to be the end of the road for you,”

The men boxed you in against the wall the one speaking before trying to grab your arms. You squirmed and wiggled, trying your hardest to wrench yourself free from his grasp. Someone from the back pressed a blade against your throat, instantly halting all motion.

“That’s better pretty lady. Now hold still for me,”

You tried to scream, but the second you opened your mouth someone roughly shoved a wadded up shirt in it, muffling all noises.

The man pinning your arms shoved his knee in between your legs, forcing them apart. On instinct, you let your ability -and fear- take over, and watched as the frost from your arms spread to his. He yelled and dropped his arms, giving you the moment to knock the knife from the other mans hand, and made a break for the stairs.

“Not so fast,”

Someone kicked your ankle just as you had made it to the stairs, causing you to fall and slam your face into them. Despite the tears flowing down your cheeks and the blood that dripped from your nose, you attempted to crawl upwards, only to be yanked backwards and throw back to the wall.

You lay there dazed, your vision swimming as the men surrounded you once more. You closed your eyes and felt a small, cold tear slide out of your eye, resigning yourself to your fate.

“Excuse me gentlemen, but that’ll be enough now. Didn’t your parents ever teach you to respect women?”

You heard a voice from the staircase, and watched as a man with orange hair and a fedora descended the steps, a red aura glowing around him.

“And who do you think you are?” the man who held the knife at you spoke.

“Chuuya Nakahara, executive to the Port Mafia,”

The men seemed to flinch at his name, though you had no idea who he, or the Port Mafia were.

“Listen, I don’t care if you run the Port Mafia, mind your own business,”

“I really wish you hadn’t said that. Akutagawa, over here!”

Another man came down the stairs, covering his mouth with his hand. They both looked intimidating, and you curled in on yourself, as if that would do anything to protect yourself.

“Rashomon,”

When the man with the black jacket spoke, something black and red, almost like cloth, or elastic, pierced the man who spoke against Chuuya, and was flung across the room. After that, the rest of them scattered, obviously not willing to die at the hands of this cold ability user.

Yanking the shirt out of your mouth, you crawled backwards, whimpering quietly as Chuuya approached you. Back pressed flat against the wall, you ice spread like wildfire, some of it even spreading across the carpet. Akutagawa’s eyes widened slightly with curiosity, and you subconsciously willed your ice to grow more, small icicles forming on your arms and the walls. Chuuya continued to advance on you, albeit more slowly than before, and your ice grew more in response, your breath materializing at the drop in temperature.

He stopped about five feet away from you, arms up in a show of good will.

“Hey hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,”

“Would you like to come with us? I don’t believe you’d be that safe here, and we can help you with your ability,”

“How do I know you aren’t going to kill me? Or try to do what those guys did?”

“If we were going to do that, wouldn’t we have already done that?”

You internally thought he was right, but you were skeptical about following two random men. One of which just killed someone right in front you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do I have any reason to trust you?”

Chuuya sighed. “Listen. I can leave you here to these guys, who’ll probably be back, or you can come with us and have an actually safe place to sleep. Your choice,”

Standing up on shaky legs, you looked at the other man. He stood still, and showed no emotion on his face. He looked almost annoyed, as if he was really going out of his way to save you.

“I-i’ll go. But on one condition,”

Akutagawa turned to you, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. We’re helping you. You are not in a position to negotiate right now,”

You swayed on your feet a bit before speaking, you assumed your body was not taking your ordeal and the below freezing temperatures your ability was producing.

“It’s not anything big. I j-just need someone to accompany me to my room so I can get my stuff. I don’t want to be alone,”

Part of you laughed at your words, mocking the irony of always making sure you never got close to anyone, even now, with your ice spreading quickly, and yet here you were, practically begging for someone to be with you, so you wouldn’t be alone.

Pathetic. Look at you, you were always so good at hurting people, so why have you failed now? Maybe the Chuuya and Akutagawa shouldn’t have come, and just let them men have they’re way with you. You would have deserved it. You—

“Sure. Akutagawa can go with you,”

Chuuya’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, and he gave you a warm smile that made you trust him a little more.

Akutagawa still looked mildly annoyed, but he seemed to hold a lot of respect for Chuuya, so you figured he would not do anything to you if he was under Chuuya’s orders.

The walk up to your room was silent, and uncomfortably so. Your ability was still going all over the place, so every time your foot touched the floor little shards of ice would stick up. Your body temperature had to be freezing by now, your skin covered in goosebumps. Your ability made the effects of freezing temperatures easier to withstand, but it did not make you immune to them. While a normal person could survive in freezing temperatures for 15 to 45 minutes, you could withstand them for about 30 minutes to 2 hours, depending on just how freezing the temperatures were. But, if the temperature of your ice dropped lower than freezing, the rate of your survival dropped drastically, to about 20-40 minutes.

Stress made it hard to control your ability, thus the reason you had burned your boyfriend and why you were struggling to control it now.

You tried to control your breathing, to stabilize your mental state somehow, but the more you attempted to the harder it gave to inhale oxygen.

You were sweating despite the cold, and at this point you sounded like you were dying with all the wheezing and coughing. Panic was setting in as you tried to gulp in air, but it wasn’t working.

You bit back a scream when a pale hand made contact with your shoulder, and you looked up to see a rather uncomfortable looking Akutagawa, who seemed to be trying to offer comfort during your panic attack.

The look on his face was almost comical, how uneasy he looked touching another human being. Finally, you did start to calm down, and managed to make it into your dingy room.

Akutagawa opted to stand outside the room, and having him there did make you feel safer.

You could still feel the ghost of fingers lingering on your body, and your shoved your clothes into your backpack with more vigor than before, hoping to get out of this place as fast as humanly possible. You frost had calmed down for the time being, allowing you to love more freely, no longer being constricted by the binds of cold.

You realized that you must have looked near homeless, a pair of black jeans with a rip starting on the knee, and an oversized grey sweatshirt you had owned since sixteen. The letters had long since faded, and you could see where you had patched it back up time after time, but it was the warmest and most comfortable thing you owned.

You stepped out of the room, greeting Akutagawa with a nod. Sometime when you were changing, Chuuya had shown up, and he was explaining something to Akutagawa in a hushed tone. He greeted you with a dip of his hat when you closed the door, reminding you of a gentleman from an older era.

The feeling of your gloves back on your hands was comforting, though you still hung back slightly, always making sure there was a couple feet’s worth of distance between you and anyone else.

The lobby clerk practically kept out of his seat when he saw Akutagawa and Chuuya, and everyone waiting parted like the red sea, allowing the three of you to walk through with ease.

There was a sleek black car that you spotted immediately, it looked very out of place amongst every other car in the parking lot. Chuuya didn’t seem like the kind of person to be inconspicuous.

You felt awkward about climbing into the immaculately clean car with your dirty clothes. You had at least showered, although rather quickly, since for some reason the hot water didn’t work.

You sat in the backseat alone, Akutagawa driving and Chuuya sitting in the passenger seat.

The car was silent, and the tension was palpable. You still had no idea what the Port Mafia was besides the obvious, that they were a mafia. What they did, and how they could help you with your ability was what you didn’t understand. Why would they help you? It’s not like you had any money, and you absolutely no battle training whatsoever. It’s not like you had held a gun before either. You had some practice with knives, but that was so long ago you didn’t think you could recall how to hold a knife properly. This was the main reason for not completely trusting these men, because people who didn’t have use or purpose were disposed of.

Not willing to push their patience, you didn’t question anything, and simply allowed them to drive you to wherever they were going. They could be kidnapping you, and it would probably be your fault.

What am I even doing here? Following two random dudes i don’t know, to the MAFIA where they’re going to make me do GOD KNOWS what. I could be raped, murdered, or tortured! I was just almost raped for god’s sake, and the first thing i do is go with strangers? This is literally EXACTLY what grandpa told me not to do. I’m stupid, stupid, I’m going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere, oh god why do i have to be so stupid--

“Hey Y/N? we’re here,”

It was only then did you see Chuuya waving a hand in front of your face, and you flushed slightly hoping you hadn’t been sitting like that for too long.

A very tall building stood before you, smack in the middle of Yokohama. You guessed that since it was so prominent, people would never believe that it was the headquarters for the Port Mafia. Or, the Port Mafia just didn’t care.

Akutagawa beaconed you over, and you swallowed thickly, unsure of what would happen when you entered this building.

A/N: Heyoo!! im really proud of this, im sorry of Akutagawa seemed a bit ooc, i tried hard to establish his feelings and personality without writing him off as a tsundere, or making him a cold jerk. Ah, the woes of writing.

Anyway, sorry i posted this instead of the newest chapter for the Chuuya fic. I can’t get past one scene for it, I've legit re-wrote it like seven times. So, to get over my writers block, i decided to finally publish this! The moodboard and first chapter have been in my drafts for awhile, so i decided to finally post them. Hope ya’ll like it!

#akutagawa x reader #akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader

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aj-lenoire · 3 years

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i’ve been thinking over how i feel about the whole hardison/parker/eliot thing in the fandom because—and i may be totally wrong!—i don’t think it’s going to be something i’m super into?

like don’t get me wrong i love the three of them—they’re all excellent characters and they work amazingly well individually, in pairs and as a trio

that being said, i’ve never personally vibed with OT3 stuff. idk it just always felt to me like the stuff i’d see it was always two dudes and a lady and the lady often felt... shoehorned in. not really like she was as much in the relationship as the guys. more of a... prop?

more relevantly, i adore the sibling dynamics between eliot and the other two so much. i love him as the grouchy, protective older brother who’ll yell ‘DAMMIT HARDISON!’ three times an episode and mock him blind for being dorky but also not even hesitate to get him out of a bind if hardison needs help. he beats up goons with parker like four feet away and it’s all cool because they both have such complete trust in one another, but he’ll also tease her mercilessly about random shit. plus, so far, i’ve not really seen anything that gives me ‘romantic’ vibes, either him to them or them to him. i also wasn’t really looking for it, but you can make the argument that i am seeing it and i’m taking it as sibling-y rather than romantic—that’s the backbone of steve/bucky in the mcu after all

and this might change! idk. but right now if i was to witness eliot and parker kiss on-screen (it was 2010 so i know eliot and hardison never kiss) i think i’d feel like i was witnessing actual incest because the found family vibe probably is the most overt with eliot and parker and i think that would be incredibly weird. like i would feel incredibly weird watching it. parker-and-hardison is obviously being set up for a clear romantic endgame and i’m really digging it, but i think if they suddenly said parker-and-eliot was a thing i would be deeply skeeved out

however!! i am open to having my opinion changed! this is a well-written show with well-written characters and i’m only halfway through—i became fond of nate, anything’s possible!

#NOBODY TELL ME ANYTHING #I DON’T WANT TO GET SPOILED #tbh i can’t really see eliot and parker kissing. they’d have to play it like ‘ooh nooo hardison’s in love with you it would be so mean’#and one thing i love is that they’ve given me no indication that this is the kind of show to get bogged down with genuinely MESSY shit #like sophie pissed off eliot at the end of s1 but he was mostly just catty about it and it NEVER impacted a job #they wouldn’t do that really boring torturous nonsense of ‘ohh we’re in love but also YOU love her argh why *angst-angst-angst*’#also #regarding nate #not that i didn’t like him—i just didn’t really CARE #but now i’m invested #very deliberately not tagging the ship name here #leverage #eliot spencer #leverage parker #alec hardison #aj abstractions

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devilsknotrp · 5 years

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Congratulations, Honey! You are accepted for the role of Mandy Silverman. This is another sample application for potential applicants to have a look at. You’ll notice that this is quite a long application, but that’s just how I write. You can do whatever you like with yours! If you have any questions about this application or any characters with a connection to Mandy, don’t hesitate to let me know.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Honey Age: Twenty five Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+11 Activity estimation: I essentially work full time and have several obligations, but this group is so tightly organised and planned that I’m confident in participating regularly on the dashboard and as an admin! My admin duties will always take precedence but I will be able to reply to threads several times a week. Triggers: (REDACTED)

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Amanda “Mandy” Silverman Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirty (02/03/1966) - Pisces (Sun), Virgo (Rising), Cancer (Moon) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Homosexual homoromantic Occupation: Adult Education Coordinator Connection to Victim: Mandy did not know the Goode family. She knew of them in the way all newcomers to Devil’s Knot are known: through rumor and glimpses in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. Mandy had little to do with Linda; she’d seen David and Beth at school, when she’d gone in to meet Mary after work; but she’d never met Brian at all. Alibi: Mandy was at home that Saturday working on a craft project. She ran out of glue at around three, then walked into town to go to the craft store, where she spent a few dollars too many on a crocheting kit. She decided to pick up some coffee and doughnuts then walked back home, where she stayed for the rest of the day. Faceclaim: Elizabeth Olsen

WRITING SAMPLE

This is a self para written for the Mandy in 1984.

The Datsun.

It was such a shit little car. Really, it was. Sandy’s miscellaneous paraphernalia littered the dashboard. Her dad’s manuals and work shit stuffed beneath the front seats. Pete had stamped grubby hands all over the back windows - people asked them all the time if they had a dog. “No,” Mandy replied grimly, hoisting Pete up on one hip. “Just a kid.” The motor turned over more often than she could count, which would put her father, ever the optimist, into an agitated but vaguely amused mood. Him, hunched over the wheel, grinding the key, revving the engine, If I… could just... Then, Sandy, cranky and likely hungover, snapping from the passenger side: I told you we needed it serviced! They had about a thousand tapes in the center console, most of them in the wrong cases, with a mix that spanned from Bob Dylan to Pete’s ABC children’s songs. Them, zooming along a damp highway, rain splattering the glass, her dad cheerfully singing, The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round! as Pete laughed in delight. Mandy tries to forget that she’d eventually lose her temper and shout, Can we turn this stupid shit off? as her mother mumbled, Amen, behind enormous sunglasses and a gas station Slurpee.

The Datsun, which was rotting away at the police station right this second. Mandy hasn’t asked when they’ll get it back. It’s evidence, that’s it. She has her bike or her skates and Sandy doesn’t leave the house unless she has a ride (Aisha pulling up front and blasting the horn; Sandy, clattering around gathering her things, muttering, Where’s my goddamn…). Their family car is nothing more than a shell, a marker in the Pete and Phillip Silverman’s trail to murder. Kind of like a pit stop. Wrappers marked with imaginary blood stains littering the cab floor. That clean-sour smell of nervous sweat. Her Dad was always a sweater, mopping his brow and fanning himself, Jeez, it’s hot today. Mandy kind of loved that about him. How when she was looking for him in a crowd, she just had to search for the slightly damp white button-down, the back of his nearly-balding head. His hair was soft, like down, and Pete’s was too. Two twin sandy blonde heads sitting in front of the television, Pete curled into his father’s side, Phillip slowly stroking back those baby-shampoo-soft curls.

So, yeah. The Datsun. Scene of family road trips and midnight grocery store emergencies. A wreck that managed to limp from point A to B, with her dad faithfully in the front, eager to drive her to friends’ houses or cheer practice or a competition two towns over. She still thinks about winding the windows down as far as they could go when they were on the highway. Her dad would look over, catch her eye, and grin in a way that made her think of him as a teenager, a young man, that cheerful abandon of youth that was infectious as a whisper, goose-bumps prickling her arms.

“Shall we see how fast this baby can go?” He’d yell, and Mandy would laugh and laugh: “Go, Dad, go!”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here is my Pinterest board for Mandy (featuring ‘84 and ‘96 boards, because I’m that kind of person), and her account can be found here.

HEADCANONS

Mandy works at the Community Centre as an Adult Education Coordinator. Which is just a fancy way of saying she organises craft classes for senior citizens. Seriously. Mandy picked up the job mainly to get Sandy off her back. After commuting to Lansing to attend community college, her decision to drop out and live and work in Devil’s Knot was met, unsurprisingly, with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a loud slurp from a glass of wine. And Mandy knew, she just damn knew, that if she stuck around her childhood home any longer, she and Sandy would end up killing each other. The job isn’t taxing: she works a few days a week, has a desk up on the mayor’s floor in the Community Centre, and spends way too much time putting flyers together for their new pasta making courses or adult literacy classes. The administration is what really bothers her, because the students are lovely. Little old ladies she’s known for years; grandfathers who remember her father back in the day. Best of all, they like her. Mandy wouldn’t consider herself a charismatic person, but she is a patient one. She’ll listen to a grandmother’s story a thousand times, nodding in the right places, exclaiming, asking questions. She’s gentle. Around other people it can be a slightly different story. She’s not clipped, exactly, nor is she rude. But she is shy, and Mandy is naturally suspicious. When people stop her to talk, she hesitates. It would be too much to link that back to ‘84, although there’s little doubt that that October and the months that followed succeeded in severing her trust in adult figures for life. No, Mandy prefers to keep to herself, to the people she knows. It’s safer that way; controllable.

Mandy loves movies -- always has. Bobby, Mandy, and Perry always went on about music, talking rapturously about guitar solos and funky beats, all while Mandy pretended to grimace and trade teasing looks with Jenny and Mike. But movies. Mandy’s favourite genre is horror. Surprising, maybe, but she can’t get enough. Sci-fi is her second favourite. Her ritual is to go down to the Videoport on a Friday afternoon and stock up for the weekend. She trails down the aisles, fingers skating over the titles, looking for some weird German expressionist thing or a summer blockbuster she can zone out to. Mandy would hardly consider herself a connoisseur, but she has an encyclopedic knowledge for actors and actresses, and can name their filmography from memory just by looking at them. It’s like, one of her only talents.

Mandy enjoys cooking. She mainly enjoys cooking for Mary, who will always, without fail, praise her skills until Mandy’s rolling her eyes and begging her to stop. Even if it’s crap (which it is a lot of the time; God knows Sandy never taught her to cook; this was all the result of afternoon cable and Reader’s Digest), Mary will come up and hug her from behind, kissing the side of her neck, suffusing Mandy in warmth and her spicy perfume. That was so good. You’re so good to me. Doing things for people is Mandy’s way of showing she loves them. It doesn’t matter what it is -- laundry, vacuuming, cooking -- she’ll find herself doing things automatically. It’s a little funny that she’s turned into a housewife ever since moving out with Mary, but it’s also really damn nice. Mandy looks after their small apartment so tenderly. Watering the plants on the windowsill, buying kitsch ornaments from the thrift store, airing out their cramped bedroom in the spring sunlight. Much of Mandy’s life revolves around domestic duties. She picks up the mail, pays bills, goes grocery shopping. Mary comes too, of course, but doing things together in public can get difficult when all Mandy wants to do is kiss her deeply in the fruit and vegetable section. Mary’s full-time job is also demanding, and Mandy only works a few days a week (despite what you may believe, there are not that many adult education classes to organise; the biggest scandal was when they introduced a salsa class and everyone collectively lost their minds). Maybe, in some way, it’s Mandy’s way of holding up her end of their relationship. And maybe, in a deeper, smaller way, it’s also an excuse. If she’s busy, how can she possibly go back to college? Who’ll make apple crumble and fold the socks? Huh? The pixies? If this makes Mandy sound territorial, it’s because she is. She clings to these chores because it’s far easier than thinking about the alternative, which is to get off her ass and actually make something of her life. She’s thirty years old. Nearly thirty one. And she’s got absolutely nothing to show for it. That hurts more than anything. Maybe that hurts most of all.

Mandy is a lesbian. She knew. Even when she was a teenager, she sort of knew. She and Mike started dating when they were thirteen and just... kept going. Certain things seemed inevitable: prom, college, maybe even marriage. It was so simple to imagine her life with Mike, whose family, the Hawkers, were best friends with her parents; they’d all been born months apart; they were raised together. Most of Mandy’s childhood memories involve Mike and Mary, Jenny. They tumbled around together like puppies, climbing trees and having sleepovers. Then they started to grow up, and Mandy and Mike got together, and the atmosphere shifted a little. Mandy liked Mike. She did. Maybe she loved him, in a way. But it was so, so platonic, and the way she felt when she looked at Mary was anything but. Mary used to scare her; still does, sometimes. She was a force of nature and Mandy was the eye of the storm. Looking back, the signs were obvious, but then again, they always are.

Mandy used to dress the way people expected her to dress. T-shirts and jeans, bleached white sneakers and cheer uniforms. Not feminine enough to please Jenny, who’d wrinkle her nose and fondly say, “Mandy, are you kidding? You cannot wear that,” and not masculine enough for her dad, who’d hand her wrenches as he worked on the Cadillac on weekends, shooting sidelong glances at her squad jumper, mumbling, “You’ll get grease all over you, honey.” Scrunchies and high ponytails. Pale pink jackets and a signet ring Mike gave her when they were fourteen. Just enough to be acceptable; to be palatable. To blend in, fade away, be nothing at all. These days it’s the opposite: Mandy dresses like an amorphous blob. In fact, she’d rather people hazard a guess at what she really looks like underneath her oversized flannel shirts and huge boots. The more clothing she has on, the more protected she feels. Layers upon layers. Band shirts worn soft with too many washes; jeans more grey than black. She still has her pink jacket from high school (Mary hung it up in their wardrobe and shrugged when Mandy found it, saying, “You always looked cute, and I’m a sucker. So sue me.”) Mandy pulls her hair up and away from her face; she doesn’t wear make-up. Still has the signet ring, though. She’s a sentimental doofus, she knows.

Mandy loves arts and crafts. Pottery, weaving, knitting; painting, sketching, cooking. These are things that bring her peace, that quieten her inner world. Growing up, she wasn’t creative in the slightest. Mandy was decidedly pedestrian: the most creative thing she ever did was design banners for the cheer squad or doodle in the margins of her school notebooks. But after Pete was returned, she needed something, anything, to stifle the panic static in her brain. Countless nights were spent sitting on the couch in front of the television, Pete curled into her side, her doing finger knitting or making a collage, eyes darting between her project and the cartoon onscreen. Over the years she’s gotten better -- last winter she managed to knit Mary a hideous scarf -- but her hobbies were never pursued in the same vein as her other achievements. Mandy still remembers practicing for cheer for hours in the cold, or studying in her room until midnight, eyes dry and head aching, quietly panicking about a test the next day. Everything she did, she did obsessively. These days, Mandy just wants to be still. Their apartment is stuffed with half finished craft projects: stacks of coloured paper, jars of beads, wool in miscellaneous piles, flowers drying on the windowsill. Sometimes Mary will come home to find her sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, a pot of sauce bubbling on the stove, Stevie Nicks in the background, Mandy carefully cutting out prints for her art journal. She started journaling when she was a teenager, mainly to help with her father’s murder and the stress of the subsequent trial, but it’s a habit that has followed her happily into adulthood. Mandy would be lost without her projects, her art. It’s a channel for everything she feels; it clarifies her. And it’s never undertaken with any attempt at perfection. Mandy’s learning, slowly, to let go of unattainable ideas. Life is messy. She’s trying to accept that about the world, herself.

Mandy failed community college. Well, it felt like she failed. In reality, she dropped out. There were only so many classes about psych and childhood trauma that she could take (and ironic, right? That she studied psych? Mandy remembers the day she flicked through the brochure to pick her classes, ticking boxes on the vague notion she’d specialise in children, maybe, in kids who’d been taken or abandoned, and help them find their childhood again). The people were too much. Tons of people like her -- great in high school, but not good enough for a decent college out of state -- and older people too, people who reminded her of her dad (not that he’d gone to college; he used to joke that that was all above his pay grade, No, no, I’m happy where I am! Although Mandy knew how avidly he poured over science magazines, and how impressed he was with Apple and that computer stuff. Maybe in another world he would have done something else, been someone great. Maybe it runs in the family). Mandy felt boring in turning down invitations to parties or even drinks down the campus bar. She’d cite anything -- Pete’s homework, the long drive home, dinner waiting -- and soon that got old. She felt old. Like she’d skipped the fun part of her twenties and jumped right into middle age. It didn’t help that everything after ‘84 melted her brain into goop. The minute Mandy received her final marks from school, she shoved the paperwork back into the envelope and hid it with her dad’s old things. The word failure pounded in her head. How did it happen? How could she have gone from mathletes and cheer to barely scraping by? To holding on by a thread? And why? Why did it all affect her so much; why was she such a damn baby about everything? Pete was back safe. That should have been enough, right? But his return didn’t come with everything. Somewhere between Pete disappearing and that Christmas, Mandy cut herself loose. Swapped SAT prep for making spaghetti for her returned little brother. Watching reruns on TV until it was way too late, tucking him into bed. Some nights she didn’t want to leave him, so she put out a sleeping bag on the floor by his bed between him and the door. Just in case. Mandy always wanted to go to Oberlin for one reason: it was far away from Devil’s Knot (and, okay, she liked the name). Ambition was a thing she wore because it fit, not because she liked it. Watching her dad’s face light up when she showed him her grades was reason enough to try hard; and studying with Bobby made her feel light, if only for a little while, them laughing and whispering about D&D campaigns, teasing each other like siblings. Being smart felt good, even if it didn’t come wholly naturally, and Mandy worked damn hard to keep it up. Giving it away should have been freeing. Instead, Mandy knows she disappointed everyone. She’s just another person who raced to the state line only to stop dead, toes at the edge, and feel fear prick the back of her neck.

#literate rp #original rp #dark rp #town rp #new rp #sample #accepted #mandy silverman

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stylo-xx · 6 years

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Never Been Kissed (M)

G-Dragon: Fluff/Small Amount of Angst

PART 1: Ah, Love the Unrequited Kind; Just How I Like It.

A/N: M rating mostly for language at this point. just a bit of a ‘testing the waters’ type of post. If ya’ll seem interested I’ll keep expanding on this one, for now just a little somethin-somethin’ to get ya’ll by.

P.S: songs for your listening pleasure: (BLACKPINK)|| (Samantha Harvey)

P.P.S: Obviously ‘All I Ask’ doesn’t belong to me nor to the character but this is more or less what I pictured her sounding like singing this song.

P.P.P.S: for those of you that didn’t get that ‘Sixteen Candles’ reference (educate yourself)

Her fingers daintily hovered over the ivory keys, as she took a deep breath before letting her fingers dance across them. Slowly letting the music engulf her being, she closed her eyes painting mental images of a harlequin romance unfolding before her. A love that was simple; no cat and mouse games, no ‘he said she said’ business, no bullshit. Something as easy as ‘I want you to want me’. Boom, plain and simple.

She opened her mouth and began to sing as the words seemed to effortlessly flow out of her soul. Those very few months ago when she first penned the song, she was very hesitant to release the it; she felt she had been a bit too dramatic and no one would like it. Much to her surprise now months later, after the song debuted on the newest, most trending K-Drama of the year, she was being recognized for her efforts and receiving a well-deserved award.

Sure she had, had other accolades under her belt, and being under thirty years of age to boot, none of them seemed to have made her feel as accomplished as this. She had written countless songs for other artists, songs for films and television but she felt that none of those written previously were as raw and open as this was.

Coming to the end of the song she closed her eyes tight and belted out the last few lines of the song, evoking so much passion.

“Bravo” he slow clapped snapping her out of her trance.

“Ahh!” she jumped making her hands smash into the piano keys “Ji-Yong I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that!” she held hand over her heart “you know for someone who spends a hell of a long time in a recording studio, you seem to forget that the glowing red light outside the door means recording in session do not enter”

“You know I dont get why you don't just go up there and sing it yourself. you're letting all these people believe that your amazing voice is hers” he ignored.

She cleared her throat “well unfortunately we both know I don't do well in front of people like that. And besides she has acute bronchitis, I’m pretty sure no one wants to hear her hacking up phlegm while she ‘sings’ her heart out” she air quoted “I don't mind having other people being the face to my music, just as long as that check comes in with my name on it, it's all good”

He laughed “okay genius but what are you gonna do for tonight when you have to accept your award? have her mouth your acceptance speech?”

“No...that's why you're my date”

“Oh?” he chuckled.

“Yeah, if you're with me you'll direct all the attention away. Once they see you, my speech won't even be a passing thought in their memories”

“You get that once everyone realizes it’s you who won it won’t just be something they’ll forget? can't really erase the memory of the kid that started her career in one of the best dramas like ever. and she was only fifteen”

“Can we not talk about my short lived acting career please? Or any of my past... you know I get war flashbacks about that....”

“You know who’ll really would recognize you?” he smirked

“Okay and zero mention of Jae-Won please!”

“Okay sorry” he chuckled and stepped closer to her and touched her cheek making her cheeks grow hot.

“I still think you should be the one singing your own song” he said sincerely, looking into her eyes making her heart beat loudly in her ears.

“But then again...” he pulled away “you are a chicken, so just be ready by seven. I'll come get you later” he winked as he walked out the door.

She rolled her eyes, making a face and let out a heavy sigh.

“Why am I even friends with him? She threw her head back.

She sighed heavily and blew a stray hair out of her face

“What am I gonna do?” she groaned.

It wasn’t a lie when she said she didn’t do well being the front and center of attention, though of course she wasn’t as terrible as Carrie White was in handling such social situations. Sure, yes it was true she had started out doing dramas and commercials when she was younger but after a traumatizing event of utter embarrassment, she wasn’t quite as keen to be seen in front of the camera; she was more of a behind the scenes kind of person since then. Of which Ji-Yong had no understanding of whatsoever, but to someone as charismatic and charming as Ji-Yong was it was a simple fix; just don’t be nervous. He too had his moments of being shy around unfamiliar faces and would blush at any and all compliments he received, as Kwon Ji-Yong that is. But as G-Dragon, that was a completely different story. He was as successful as he was because he knew when to turn it on, he knew when it was time to don his idol mask and pretend he wasn’t some shy guy who was just really into Chanel and Dragon Ball Z. No, when G-Dragon came around all eyes were on him as if his mere presence commanded the room and the party truly hadn’t started until he walked in. For her however, it was far from easy.

Despite her inability to stand in front of thousands of eyes peering at her and not shutter at the absolute thought of being with someone in an exclusive relationship, she made up for it ironically it writing romanticized songs. Sure she’d sprinkle in a few song about love that actually worked out, but the real heart of it were the songs about having your heart completely shattered, but what really drove people toward her music was how it managed to somehow bring them to tears, strike a raw nerve, make them long for somebody that didn’t even exist; the types of songs that you wholeheartedly serenade to your dog at three in the morning.

Though truthfully, even though she wouldn’t admit it, there were those evenings she would be stuck in a endless hole where he own ‘genius’ about drove herself mad when she would lay back on her bed and google for hours on end Jae-Won and Ji-Yong’s past dating history; all the girls were the same: beautiful beyond belief and were some kind of model or actress. She’d sigh to herself and grab a pillow off her bed and press it flush to her face, contemplating whether or not she could smother herself out of these thoughts but to no avail; she had deadlines to meet. She would repeat to herself: ‘why couldn’t I be like them? What did they have,aside from being blessed with godlike good looks, that I didn’t?’ I mean she had a great personality, she was an excellent listener, she didn’t think she was completely unfortunate looking and she wrote how many award winning songs for people? She didn’t get it. Her grandmother always told her she was such a catch and that any boy would be so lucky to have her but the longer her life went without even the slightest bit of a romantic relationship with any man, let alone anybody, she was beginning to believe that she was destined to be some shut in cat lady that somehow managed to write successful songs about love. Or at least about what she heard read about and seen in movies. For once she just wanted her life to end up like some cheesy 80’s romance movie. She wanted her Jake Ryan waiting outside the church leaning against his red, 1983 Porsche 944 ready to whisk her away to a happily ever after. But unfortunately for her, her life wasn’t a cheesy 80’s romance movie and Jake Ryan wasn’t going to be waiting for her anywhere any time soon. She, somehow, managed to become a decently wealthy shut-in that wrote songs about a love that didn’t exist. At least not in the way she wrote them. Her only claim to feeling heartbreak was her last season of her drama when she thought she was finally mature enough for Jae-Won to not look at her like some kid anymore and actually someone who had feelings and wants and needs too. But then he showed up with his model girlfriend and all her hopes were shattered. She was used to feeling like at times maybe some guys did like her and find her attractive but it would always end with ‘what’s your friend’s name?’ Or ‘can you put in a good word with your friend for me?’ Something every girl is just dying to hear.

She’d even had a crush on Ji-Yong at some point when they first started working together; even when she felt like she had been ridiculously lucky to even be in his presence. Becoming his close friend was just an incredible bonus. Ji-Yong had this way of making you feel like he and you were the only two people in the room; like no one else mattered. The way he’d speak to you was as if all of his attention was centered on you and nothing and no one could change that. Figures, someone that good looking and as exceedingly charming as he was would make one feel that way the way he’d look at you was the way that one could only dream of; it was no wonder why so many people around the world fawned over him. But alas came the realization that she wasn’t special and he wasn’t somehow falling in love with the ugly duckling he just simply took pity. That pity turned eventually to friendship. When he had finally showed up with a girlfriend one day she knew he was too good to be true. But so it goes.

She was used to living vicariously through her friends romantic relationships. She just wished that for once if there were some higher being that they’d give her a break and let her find someone that would let her give her whole heart to them and receive their love right back. More specifically speaking, if it were Jae-Won; if she could magically make her childhood crush see her in a different light maybe then she’s have a chance. Forget anyone else she just wanted to be with the image of Jae-Won that she had built up in her head. She may have had crushes here and there on other guys but her heart always came back to him. Ji-Yong and the others were just something nice to look at occasionally.

“You choked”

“I did not choke!”

“Yes you did!” he smiled “you had the guy right in front of you and you turned into jelly”

“Oh, as if you’ve never felt that way for a girl you liked” she crossed her arms.

“Nope never” he smirked.

“Pfft, yeah right”

“Look this isn’t about me, this about how the guy you’ve been pining over since you were a teenager for a second looked at you like he was ready to eat a full course meal and then you started sweating like you were in a sauna and turned into fucking ‘Rain Man’ telling him how you got Ramin Karimloo to sign your ‘Phantom of the Opera’ playbill last summer”

She stared at him for a moment before opening her mouth to speak “okay, I may have choked a little...”

“I think a little is a bit of an understatement in your case”

“Okay and you saying that I was flailing like a passenger from Titanic in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean is an overstatement and quite frankly insensitive” she quirked her head “too soon to be making those kinds of jokes don’t you think?”

“It’s been over a hundred years!” he threw up his hands.

“Too soon” she pointed at him.

“Bonjour Madame et Monsieur, my name is Jacques I shall be your server tonight. Can I get you started with anything to drink?” the waiter set down wine glasses on the table.

“Yes thank you can we have a bottle of the best Cabernet Sauvignon you’ve got please” Ji-Yong smiled.

“And for your girlfriend Monsieur? The Cabernet as well?”

“Oh she’s not my girlfriend” he laughed “just good friends”

She bit the inside of her bottom lip trying to mask how hard his insignificant comment hurt and how quickly he responded to the waiter without hesitation.

“I’ll just have a water, no ice please” she forced a smile.

“On second thought--” he mumbled to himself “come on babe, no wine this time? We are celebrating our anniversary after all right? Got to set the mood for later tonight” Ji-Yong winked smirking as he reached out to hold her hand she had resting on the table.

The waiter awkwardly chuckled “ah, congratulations”

‘Oh, not good enough to actually date me but I am good enough to play a prank on the waiter...’ she thought.

“Water. No ice” she glared at him as she snatched her hand away from under his.

“Erm, Oui Madame et Monsieur I will return shortly” the waiter hurriedly took his leave before anymore awkward animosity could come out of their mouths.

“What the hell was that about?” Ji-Yong chuckled.

“Me?! What the hell are you doing?” she furrowed her brows.

“Oh come on it’s just a little fun” the smirk never seeming to falter from his face.

“Yeah at my expense”

“Just a joke babe”

“And I told you to stop calling me that!” she huffed “what are you gonna do next make out with me in front of the waiter?!”

“If that makes it more convincing then sure why not?” his eyes dropped down at her lips before making eye contact again.

She could feel the intensity of her heart pounding against her chest and an unbelievable urge to douse herself in ice cold water so no one would notice how hot her cheeks had gone and that it had made that feeling return of standing in the middle of a sauna in a heavy winter coat while wearing layers upon layers of clothing

“Look at you! I was just messing with you” he chuckled “I wouldn't kiss you--”

“Gee, thanks for the ego boost” she scoffed.

“I didn’t mean it like that” he reached across the table attempting again to hold the hand she rested on the table before she snatched her purse off the table as she stood up.

“Yeah, yeah I know what you meant” she began hastily walking toward the emergency exit.

“Wait where are you going?!” he called back from the table making people sitting around him stare.

“I'll be at the studio writing the next big hit about how my complete lack of allure shot the dating horse in the face” she yelled back as the heavy door closed behind her.

“But they haven’t even brought out the drinks!” he cleared his throat as he looked around at all the eyes staring back at him “sorry..”

“Eh, Monsieur” the waiter cleared his throat.

“Hmm?” Ji-Yong turned to face him.

“Since you and Madame are celebrating your anniversary I thought I would bring you our finest wine” he forced a smile “should I wait for Madame to come back?”

“No, Jacques I don’t think she’s coming back”

“Non? Wh-what happened?”

“She’s leaving me Jacques” Ji-Yong said nonchalantly.

“Leaving you?” he quirked an eyebrow as he took her seat and began pouring Ji-Yong a glass full of wine.

“Thank you” Ji-Yong took a sip of the wine “yeah, it’s such a shame too, I just hope the kids don’t take it too hard”

“Oh Mon Dieu, not the children” Jacques gasped.

“Cheers to that my friend”

“Was there another man?”

“Yeah, just too bad she couldn’t even say hello to him”

#bigbang scenarios #bigbang fanfic #bigbang fanfiction #bigbang imagines #bigbang angst #bigbang fluff #g dragon scenarios #g dragon fanfiction #g dragon imagines #g dragon angst #g dragon fluff

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chronicfangirling · 6 years

Text

Crystal Snow (Hoseok ver.) - Heart Crystal

Pairing: Hoseok x OC Genre: Romance, encounters with beautiful idols, impromptu dates, Christmas kisses--no mistletoe necessary, koi no yokan, love and its possibilities Words: 2499 Summary: Taking a flight to Shanghai as a chance passenger and risking deportation to attend an unlicensed party for the sake of dancing with one Jung Hoseok? Totally worth it.

Crystal Snow (Christmas with hyung line) Seokjin ver. | Yoongi ver. | Hoseok ver. | Namjoon ver.

(2017 December 24)

"I can't believe you let Kim Seokjin go to that ice princess! You know how the Shanghainese would say his name? 'Zhen'--for treasure--meaning you let the grand prize slip out of your hands."

"Nuh-uh!" Hyejoon wagged a finger at her supervisor's face then traipsed down the street, ahead of their group. "Seokjin-oppa was meant to go with her, and I'm meant to come here. He may be a prince, but he's not my prince. My grand prize is out there somewhere, I can feel it."

Ducking into the dark maze of back alleys after Hyejoon, her long-suffering supervisor winced. "Is that why we're heading to that unlicensed night club with a bunch of teens instead of celebrating like proper adults?"

"I guess I'm just nostalgic..." Hyejoon mused. "You know, when I was in school, I once went to this rave--"

"And it was dispersed by the police and you were nearly booked as a juvenile delinquent, but some dude saved you." Her supervisor sighed. "You've told this story many times."

"It's my favorite story after all," she giggled.

The rest of her co-workers all sighed as well, saying that she should've gotten rid of all her rebellious impulses as a child, rather than drag them into a dodgy party in Shanghai and get them all deported. Hyejoon imagined that flight attendants always had such wild adventures on their trips, but they were ground staff after all... still, she wanted to do something crazy for Christmas Eve 2017. She waved her phone containing alert of the party--she just had a good feeling about it.

When they finally found the place, it was at the height of an impromptu couple dance contest. Hyejoon clapped for the current performer, but her hands went still and silent when she caught sight of the man across the dance floor. Bopping his head to the song, even his little graceful gestures seemed timed to the beat. The dance ended with an insane death drop, and he smiled in appreciation--not even the bucket hat obscuring his face could hide the radiance of that smile... like a ray of sunshine in the dim club.

"Hey, want to dare me to enter the contest with that guy?" Hyejoon suggested.

Her supervisor goggled at her. "Umm, no--"

"Well, if you insist!" She fluffed up her hair, free of its usual work-regulation bun for once, and checked that her sequined dress clung at all the right places before she sashayed towards him.

"We totally didn't!" her coworkers yelled after her.

Slipping past the next couple taking their places on the dance floor, Hyejoon smirked at them over her shoulder. "I'm not someone who'll ever back down of a challenge!"

She reached the man, belatedly noticing that he was surrounded by a bunch of suited companions. He himself wore sweater and jeans for a more casual look--but she could tell that they were rather expensive. "Hi!" Waving with both hands and bowing at the same time, Hyejoon greeted the man.

"Oh, hello!" he replied. Up close, he was almost literally shining--beyond his good looks, it was his bright aura that attracted her, like a moth to a flame.

I think I know now... why I ended up here in Shanghai.

"Why don't you enter the contest with me?" she asked.

He tugged the bucket hat lower on his head. "I don't know..."

"Oh, come on!" She winked. "Don't worry so much about it, I won't bring you down."

His companions snickered about him being popular anywhere, and he shushed them before turning back to her. "Uh... I'd much rather just watch right now."

"Aww, but--" Hyejoon patted his hand and he snatched it away. He was slouching in his seat now, as if in hiding, and she realized now that his demurring wasn't out of hesitation, but an actual rejection. "Oh... okay. I'm so sorry. I just... thought there would be good results if the two of us worked at it together." She forced herself to simper cheerfully as she bowed in apology and tiptoed on the edge of the dance floor to rejoin her coworkers.

But they were nowhere to be found in their previous spot, and a couple more performances passed before they tottered back to her, red-cheeked and giddy. Clearly, they each had a shot--or five--to loosen up. "Where were you?" She pouted, unhappy that she was now the only sober one.

"We got some liquid courage for you, crazy girl, not that you need it!" Her supervisor pushed two cocktails in her hands. "And we told the DJ to play that song you're always dancing to."

Hyejoon choked on her drink. "Wait, what? But I'm not dancing--"

To her chagrin, the host was already announcing her as the final entry: "Kim Hyejoon and her partner!"

Sufficiently buzzed, her coworkers whooped and tossed her out into the dance floor. The crowd cheered--then groaned when she attempted to leave, motioning to the glasses still in her hands. Someone relieved her of her drinks and shoved her out again.

The first strains of 'If you leave' floated from the speakers and Hyejoon gawked at the crowd, which was first hushed, then grumbling in discontent as she remained frozen. One partygoer booed and while she was still mentally debating fight versus flight, someone tugged at her hand.

She gasped and found herself pressed against the chest of the shining young man from earlier. "There will be good results if we work at it together." He gave her a small smile as her eyes widened; in shock, in realization, then in hope. He nodded at her. "Ready?"

He twirled her into place beside him, and Hyejoon surrendered to muscle memory to take her to the correct stance. They danced in unison, with the exact same moves, as if they had practiced together hundreds of times before. She let the music take her over, arms popping and feet sliding across the floor. Her partner danced at a level far above hers, but she didn't let that worry her, and enjoyed moving to the rhythm.

The song wound down, and instead of moving to the last stance, he took her hand again--she had felt it coming and was ready for him, and half-dipped, supported by his arms. The crowd went wild but they hardly heard it as they beamed at each other, basking in the rush of the dance.

The host stopped them from leaving and called back all the other couples. Despite the enthusiastic response to their dance, the death drop couple took the win.

"It's okay, Hyejoon, you did great!" her coworkers cheered. "You too, Hyejoon's partner! You were awesome!"

The host distributed participation prizes for all the ladies. Excited, Hyejoon opened the little red velvet box and found a pair of earrings, adorned with heart-shaped crystals. "How pretty!" she exclaimed. Grinning coyly at her partner, she leaned close enough for him to breathe in her perfume. "Could you put it on for me?"

He didn't respond to her blatant flirting, but he took the earrings and carefully put them on her ears, not poking her unnecessarily even once.

Hyejoon tilted her head, feeling the crystals swinging. "How do they look?"

Her partner's smile evaporated and he winced. "Sorry..."

She cringed. "Oh no, does it look that bad?"

"No, you're pretty," he clarified. "But you only got the consolation prize because of me."

"Nuh-uh. I wasn't sure earlier but..." She gripped the rim of his bucket hat, giving him a chance to protest, before pulling it off to fully reveal his handsome face. "You're Jung Hoseok. I'm right, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Seemingly bashful, he scratched at the nape of his neck. "How...?"

"I'd know those moves anywhere--bursting with power but flowing seamlessly." she gushed. In a quieter voice, she revealed: "I've always wanted to dance with you."

"I see," he chuckled.

"And I did. You--" She tapped his chest, right upon his heart. "--are my grand prize." She gazed into his eyes, wondering if she had enough courage left over to kiss him, but her reverie was interrupted by the entire club thrown into a commotion.

"Ack, it's the police!" people screamed.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Hyejoon shrieked. She watched her coworkers rush off and turned to Hoseok, who was waving for his companions to go while they can.

She was clutching at his sleeve and he peeled her hand off--she thought he would slap it away and make his escape--but he grasped it securely. "Can you trust me?"

She nodded. "Of course!'

Walking, Hoseok led her into the street, and she was about to ask why he wasn't hurrying, but he pressed a finger upon his lips for silence. Hoseok walked right into a bunch of policemen who all yelled for them to halt.

"Oh, thank God!" He shouted in English. "We're lost, me and my girlfriend, please help!" He crowded them, loudly asking for directions to the nearest McDonald's until the annoyed policemen finally waved for them to leave. It was only when they were rounding the corner that one of the policemen brought up their fancy clothing and how they had smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and chased after them. But Hoseok led her into a niche between two buildings and they crouched in the shadows as the policemen ran past.

They had barely gone when Hyejoon gave way to emotions bursting in her chest: nervousness, shock, and above all, mirth. "Hah... hahahah!" she cackled.

He gaped at her, as if she had lost her mind. "I don't mean to offend you, but this isn't an appropriate time to be laughing." He shook his head. "What terrible luck to lose a contest and then get caught in a raid."

"No, it's the best luck!" she insisted. "I mean, some people might say, that it's bad luck that the two times I've gone to an illegal party, they both got busted by the police--"

"I hate to tell you this and ruin your good mood, but that is pretty bad luck, yeah." Hoseok wrinkled his nose.

"However!" She bopped the end of his chiseled nose. "Both times I got saved by someone truly amazing."

Leaning against the cruddy wall with no care for her party dress, Hyejoon closed her eyes, as the memories came flooding back. "Gwangju, summer of 2009, there was a party hosted by the most popular dance groups in town." She watched his face for any signs of listlessness, but when he cocked his head to listen, she continued. "At that time, I fought a lot with my parents because no matter how hard I tried, I always ended up as average and that wasn't good enough for them. For once, I wanted to rebel. So I went there."

She snorted at the mental image of her awkward teenage self. "In my average way, I could follow a rhythm but the very best dancer there--he encouraged everyone to let go and pour their feelings into dance."

"And that was when you discovered how much you liked it?" he prompted.

"Yes! It didn't matter that I wasn't a talented dancing star, it was fun." she affirmed. "But then the police came because of reports of underage drinking. I nearly got caught but that same dancer rescued me."

"While we were hiding, just like this, I cried and cried... saying that my parents would never let me back home then, and that I should let the police catch me because it's not like I'll amount to anything--I'll always be the unspecial, ordinary, average me." She shuffled closer to him. "But do you know what he said?"

Hoseok blinked at her, and ventured: "'If you don't work hard, there won't be good results...' was it?"

"You remember?" Giggling, she pointed at herself. "It's me, Kim Hyejoon... I was the girl you saved that time."

His face fell. "... Sorry. I don't remember," he murmured, wringing his hands and looking down at them. "It's just something I say to people all the time."

"It's okay." She caressed his arm and when he glanced up, she smiled. "It doesn't matter that you've forgotten, that I'm only one of the many people you said it to. Because it was what I really needed to hear at that time, so I kept those words in my heart."

"You ended up making your parents proud?" he asked.

"No way!" she pealed in laughter. Noticing Hoseok's confused, slightly horrified frown, she added: "But I also realized that my 'good results' could be different from someone else's good results. Some days, just surviving is good enough. And if I can be happy for that day, then I've also done well."

He stared at her for long moments, pondering her words. Finally, he chuckled. "Then, you're wiser than I could ever be."

"That's why, I want to thank you." she said. Her hand moved down his arm, patting his hand.

"I should be the one to thank you." He took her hesitating hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. Those words that I scattered like seeds in the wind... thank you for letting them root in your heart."

"No matter how many times you forget... I'll always remember," she promised.

Shaking his head, he graced her with that sunny smile, all for her this time. "I don't think I could ever forget you now, Kim Hyejoon."

"Keep me here," she commanded, with an impish flick of her finger against his beating heart.

"This moment will crystallize in my heart." Holding her hand, he crossed his heart with her finger. "Preserved as one of my precious memories."

"And I... I'll keep you here." She pressed the fingers of her free hand against her lips. As she inched closer, he guided the hand he was still holding on his shoulder. They kissed in that blind alley like two teenagers, fulfilling the promise of that interrupted connection from eight years ago.

When they parted, Hoseok blinked at her, as if in a daze. She was about to tease him, but her ears perked up. "Hey, do you hear that?"

"I don't hear anything," he mumbled, still sneaking peeks at her mouth as she talked.

"Exactly. The coast is clear." She grabbed his hand and stepped out of their hiding place.

But her coworkers popped out of another alley, now sober from the shock. "Hyejoon!"

"Hoseok!" His companions had been standing watch and rushed over to him.

"You crazy girl, we thought you were a goner!" her supervisor screamed.

"Hey, let go--!" Protesting when her coworkers tugged at her arm, she struggled to keep hold of Hoseok.

"This is dangerous, if you got caught here it would be very, very bad!" One of Hoseok's companions--his manager, it seemed--seized him by the shoulders and started leading him away.

"Hyung, wait!" Hoseok's hand unlinked with Hyejoon's and he grasped at air in an attempt to maintain the connection, but their respective companions pulled them their separate ways.

"There's no time!" the manager cried and marched him down the alley.

Hyejoon looked over her shoulder, searching for Hoseok and met his eyes--she knew his frantic look was reflected on her own face. To calm him, she quirked her lips in a grin. He grinned back, just he was walked out of the alley and out of sight.

"What happened to you?" her coworkers all asked in concern as they hurried to their hotel.

"Just... making more precious memories," she answered dreamily.

And she would've thought that it were just a Christmas dream, if not for the weight of the heart earrings dangling from her ears, their crystalline coolness brushing against her skin with every step.

One day, I know, our paths will cross again.

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carterashofficial · 6 years

Note

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this.” (AKA me and some of your ships

The four of them stood there, cloaks being taken by butlers as music floated in from the ballroom.

Ellie kept her smile controlled as she took in the glittering chandeliers and bright dresses and coats. Bursting out in an overly-excited grin was, she’d been told, completely inappropriate for someone of her station who should be used to balls.

But of course the farmgirl in her was enchanted with it all.

And naturally Master Jacob was not. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” he whispered furiously to his mother.

Mrs. Temple didn’t bother to mask her amusement at his irritation. “Oh, Jake, you’ll be fine. Getting out from behind your books can be good for you. And,” her voice got stern. “You will meet this charming young lady I’ve found for you and you will not embarrass me- Jacob Ryan Temple- you-”

Ellie watched her fake grandmother chase after her equally fake uncle as if he were a toddler loose in a sweet shop.

“Stars help them.” Miss Ava sighed and looked around the grand foyer. “I suppose I’ll be your chaperone for this evening, Lady Temple. Best not let any of these boys get too friendly and dance with you.” She smiled teasingly. “Stars know how terrible that’d be.”

“Terribly fun.” Ellie walked alongside her governess, smiling politely at anyone who caught her eye. “But who’ll be my chaperone if you dance with someone?”

Miss Ava’s smile turned bittersweet. “I’m not supposed to dance. I’m to watch you. I’m no Lady, or Baroness. I teach proper manners to them. I’m of no consequence in the world of politics or marriage.”

“I’m the daughter of an exiled Lord. Am I of consequence?”

Ellie had been expecting a chuckle or a good-humored admonishing tone. She was not prepared for Miss Ava to whirl and stare at her with an unusually ferocious light in her eyes.

“Of course you are! You’re a member of the Temple family, one of the most well-regarded families of nobility. Even if your supposed father was exiled, you’re a Lady by birth to these people. And, might I add, probably more likely to be social than a certain Uncle of yours. You are in all likeliness of as much consequence as the Lord Temple in the Council in King’s City, because you are a young Lady who no one knew about until months ago. A Lady Temple, by birth and not marriage, hasn’t been in the Court for generations.” Miss Ava seemed to sense she’d started to overwhelm Ellie. “My apologies, but you are of consequence.”

“Alright. I am.” She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and scanned the surrounding crowd, lest anyone have overheard them.

A pair of scowling eyes caught hers.

“Oh, no.” Ellie forced a polite smile. “Someone’s going to come say hello to me and pretend he’s not who you know he is.”

“Who-” Miss Ava caught sight of Vincent weaving his way through the mingling nobles. “Is that-”

“No, it’s just another Lord.” Ellie nudged her gently with her elbow and curtsied politely to Vincent. “Hello.”

He nodded to Miss Ava before speaking. “If I stand here with you and pretend I’m talking, do you think I’ll be left alone? There’s no one else who’ll…” Vincent paused, looking pained by his words. “Anthony isn’t here yet.”

Ellie grinned. “Oh, so you’re stuck with me as back-up? Afraid you’ll be asked important questions you don’t know the answer to?”

“No, but if I’m talking to someone, no one will interrupt me. I’d rather spend the evening with you than making polite small talk to hundreds of-” He paused and gave passing Duke a look. “Other people.”

“Until Anthony gets here.”

Vincent looked particularly uncomfortable for a beat. “I… suppose you could still talk with us.”

“Oh, how lovely, I get to be with the interesting people.” Ellie ignored his grimace with a smile.

“I see you’ve found Vincent, El.” Master Jacob joined their little group. “I’ve been looking for Matthew, but-”

“He’s not here, and neither is Anthony.” Vincent didn’t seem to care that he interrupted. “It might be a while. There was a long line of carriages earlier.”

“Oh, I know, we sat it in.” Master Jacob’s eyes fixated on something over Ellie’s head. “Okay, Miss Tremain, will you do me the honor of this dance?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Miss Ava, where her perfectly controlled expression had gone and shattered on the floor. “I beg your pardon?” she stuttered out.

“You, me, dance floor now. I am not meeting this woman my mother’s found.” Master Jacob at least had the sense to offer her his hand. At her hesitance, he added a ‘please’.

She seemed at loss for words. “I- I’m chaperoning Ellie, and-”

“Nonsense, Vincent will keep the boys away.”

“I am a boy,” he added.

“Oh a boy? Not a man?” Ellie gave him a look. “And here I thought-

“This is going to be miserable.” He hunkered down into his cravat, glaring at her.

Ellie smiled back, self-satisfied and watching Master Jacob lead a still-protesting Miss Ava to the dance floor. A moment later Mrs. Temple appeared in their line of sight.

“Ellie, dear, where did that uncle of yours get off to-” Mrs. Temple didn’t seem to notice Vincent beside her, nor did the Lady with her. “And where is your chaperone? I thought Miss Tremain-” Her eyes landed on Vincent. “How do you do, young man?”

“Well enough,” he said flatly, ending it there. Vincent was not known for his endless conversation.

The Lady in Mrs. Temple’s clutches frowned at him. “Aren’t you-”

“Stars in the heavens, is he dancing- Is he dancing with Miss Tremain?!” Mrs. Temple’s nostrils flared. “I am going to have some words with him. Come with me.”

The Lady was dragged off by Mrs. Temple before either Ellie or Vincent could learn her name.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ellie stamped down on the ‘you just did’ response that rose in her throat. “Certainly.”

“Is he always trying to avoid the ladies that Lady Temple finds for him?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Vincent looked thoughtful. “Do you think he could teach me.”

Ellie tried to stifle a snort. “It’s going to involve talking to strangers and dancing with people you aren’t fond of. Miss Ava and Uncle Jacob barely get along.”

He sighed and snagged a pair of champagne flutes. “I’ll just settle with talking with you. If I danced with anyone they’d get the wrong idea.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, Eleanor, you’re…” Vincent paused, searching for a word. “You’re… You know how I am with people. And- What are you doing?”

She kept the overly concerned look on her face. “Are you feeling alright? I think that’s as close as you’ve ever come to complimenting me. Best make sure you aren’t sick.”

If he found her teasing amusing, he didn’t show it. “You know I’m not charming and you’re accepting of that, is all I meant.”

“You’re putting it mildly.” Ellie sipped her champagne and decided she didn’t like it. “I bet you the next round of drills that you can’t be charming.”

“No.”

“Afraid of a friendly wager?” She looked at him over her glass. “Afraid to lose?”

“He’s afraid of what now?” Anthony appeared at her elbow and grinned down at Vincent. “Whatever it is, I dare you.”

He looked incredibly put off. ��Fine. Ellie, you be the judge if I’m charming or not.” Vincent set his flute down on a side table and dropped into a deep bow, her hand in his. “Lady Temple,” he purred. “Such a delight to see you here.” He kissed her hand and straightened, still holding on to her hand. “Might I be so bold as to say that you look lovely this evening.” His smile was small enough that it looked genuine and softened his eyes. After a beat he dropped her hand.

“Whoa there.” Anthony grinned shook his head. “And I thought I was the charming one.”

Vincent’s glower returned. “Well, Eleanor?”

Ellie shrugged. “I suppose that was charming, in an unpracticed sort of way. You’ve got nothing on Duncan Caldwell.”

His frown deepened. “Of course I don’t. You fancy him so you’re biased.”

Anthony leaned down between them. He was unfortunately well over half a foot taller than either, and thus had to bend down on occasion to be heard over hundreds of other voices talking in a large room. “Uh-huh. You heard her, Vincent, you need to practice.”

“Yeah, Vincent, practice never hurt. And I know Beth Caldwell could-”

“You stop right there, Eleanor, I am not going to charm Beth Caldwell.” Vincent flicked his gaze to Anthony. “But now that we’ve seen how charming I am, it’s your turn. Go on, I hear Beth could use some charming.”

Ellie smiled sweetly at Anthony. “I dare you.”

“Damn you both.” He stood and straightened his cravat. “This isn’t going to end well.”

#the Shadow Guards #Ellie Temple #Vincent #Master Jacob #Miss Ava Tremain #asks

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javistg · 7 years

Text

Happy Birthday EverlarkBirthdayDrabbles!

One year ago, three lovely ladies (who have chosen to remain anonymous) decided to create @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles. Their generosity and love for our fandom gave us a year full of Everlark goodness.

As a follower of their blog, I’m grateful for the beautiful fic I got for my birthday, and I’m amazed at the amount of work they did all year long.

As an author, I’ll never be able to repay them for putting their trust in me, and for providing such wonderful inspiration. Without their prompt for an AgeGap!Everlark fic, Weekend Getaway never would have happened. I’m not kidding!

As a small thank you for all their love and hard work, I’ve decided to give them a little gift of my own.

Happy anniversary, @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles! This canon divergent drabble set during CF is for you.

Hope you enjoy.

Javis

A Knock on the Door (part 2)

PART 1, also on AO3 and FF.net.

The small red fox runs through the forest, making its way through the slippery moss. The air around him is thick with dew, but the sky is still dark.

The insistent howls of a hungry pack of wolves loom in the distance.

The fox runs faster. His tiny paws crush leaves and branches as it desperately tries to escape.

But it’s no use.

The wolves are too fast and strong for him. Their beautiful white fur gleams under the moonlight as they jump and howl, easily catching up to their terrified prey.

They’re upon him in an instant. Circling him and barring their teeth to show they mean business.

The fox stills, green eyes wide in terror. He knows he’s doomed.

There’s nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. So, when the wolves begin to tighten their circle, the small fox knows that his time has run out.

Anguished wails reach the treetops, pained and insistent, as the fox says his last goodbye.

Suddenly, the world turns dark.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls out. His voice, urgent and clear, breaks through the darkness. “Katniss, stop! Stop, you’re alright. You’re alright.”

Katniss wakes up.

She’s thrashing in Peeta’s arms, crying and gasping for air as she desperately clings to his shoulders.

His arms wrap around her. “You’re safe,” he whispers into her ear. “I got you. You’re safe.”

Katniss presses her cheek against his chest. The sound of his heart, beating under her ear, soothes her and, for an instant, she believes him.

XXXXX

Days go by quickly in the tribute center. Proper, professional Effie keeps her tributes on a tight leash. Waking them early, sitting with them through breakfast and making sure they reach their training sessions on time.

Unlike the last time they were there, Effie keeps all her comments about the improprieties of two unmarried teenagers sharing a bed to herself. It’s a small thing. But Katniss appreciates the lack of fuss nonetheless.

As days go by, Katniss gets to know the other tributes who’ll be joining her in the arena. Sometimes she hates Haymitch for asking her to play nice with the other victors, but her determination to keep Peeta safe keeps her anger in check.

Besides, Beetee and Wiress intrigue her. Even if she didn’t have instructions to befriend them, she’d still be fascinated by how their minds work.

Unlike Mags, who quickly wins her over with her gentleness and warmth, Finnick and his overtures make her uncomfortable, and she can’t talk to Johanna without feeling exposed, but she still tries. For Peeta, she tries it all.

She only sees Darius at dinner time. The sight of her old friend still saddens her. But now that the surprise has worn off, she notices the small things she missed on the first day. Like the silent fight that’s still left in his eyes. Or the soft smile that tells her he doesn’t blame her for his fate. It doesn’t make a difference, though. She still blames herself.

Every night, she beckons Peeta back into her room.

Back on the Victory Tour, she’d always wait for him to come to her side. He never failed, joining her even when she’d already fallen asleep. But things are different now. After spending all their training months apart, they’ve finally grown closer. And she refuses to let a new void open between them again. So, every night, Katniss invites him over. All it takes is a small gesture, a smile, a nod. But Peeta always gets her meaning.

He never hesitates, never lets her down.

They spend their nights talking, sharing a handful of happy memories as they try to keep the nightmares at bay. Sometimes it works. But when it doesn’t, they’re there for each other, whispering soft assurances that push their fears away.

XXXXX

“What are you waiting for?” Cato taunts, his arm firmly wrapped around Peeta’s neck as he holds him firmly in place.

Peeta struggles to keep his eyes open. The wound on his leg is bleeding profusely, and he doesn’t have enough air. He’s running out of time.

Katniss takes a deep breath and lifts her bow. Her eyes land on Cato’s unprotected hand, and she smiles. With a steady hand, she releases her arrow and watches it fly.

Cato’s lips turn up in a sinister grimace. He lifts his hand.

The arrow pierces Peeta’s skin, lodging itself cleanly in his neck. His eyes, wide and shocked, reflect the light of a thousand stars.

Cato releases him.

Peeta’s dead body slumps to the floor.

Katniss gasps. The blood in her veins turns to ice, her body goes limp. The heavy bow slips from her slack hand, and she follows, collapsing in a pile on the floor.

Cato’s cruel cackle rings in her ears; his hoots and hollers piercing through her like daggers.

Tears run down Katniss’s cheeks. She covers her face with her hands and shakes like a leaf, desperately trying to erase the image of Peeta’s bloodied body hitting the cold steel floor.

Desperate and alone, her sobs turn into heartbreaking wails as her whole world shatters into a million pieces.

Suddenly, the cold air around her is replaced by warm, gentle hands that rub her arms and back. A pair of strong arms, tightly wrapped around her slender frame, soon follow.

Gradually, Cato’s screams are replaced by the most comforting sound. “I’m ok,” Peeta whispers into her hair, “Open your eyes, Katniss. Look at me. I’m ok.”

She´s shuddering violently when she wakes up; nestled in Peeta’s arms with his sleep shirt tightly clutched in her fists.

“I missed,” she whimpers into his chest. “You… died.”

Gently, Peeta pushes her away from him. “Hey! Look at me.”

Sniffing, Katniss does as he asks.

“You didn’t miss. See? I’m ok?”

Katniss nods. Her stormy eyes lock with his. She reaches out to cup his cheek. “We’re going back, Peeta.”

Peeta’s face hardens. It’s the first time after the night the Quarter Quell was announced that either one of them has openly referred to what’s going to happen. Even after all the training and planning, no one has ever said the words out loud. “I know.”

“What if I can’t protect you? What if I miss, and kill you instead?”

Peeta’s steady voice cuts through the dark. “You won’t.”

“How do you know?” she whines.

“Because you never miss, Katniss. Not when it matters.” His hand covers hers over his cheek. “As long as you’re by my side, I’ll be fine.”

Katniss nods. She wishes she could be as confident as he seems to be. But she doesn’t feel like arguing with him. Instead, she lies on her side and pulls him back to the bed. “I’m sorry I keep waking you,” she whispers, “You need your rest.”

Peeta smiles. “Yeah, we both do.” He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’d rather be here with you, than hearing you call out my name from across the hall. At least here I don’t feel so useless.”

The sadness in his voice tugs at her. “You’re not useless, Peeta,” she says, mimicking his motions and running her fingers through his hair. “I never would have made it this far without you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Katniss.”

Katniss smiles. His words are rough, but there’s no bite to them. He’s just trying to protect her. Somehow, he still thinks that putting up a wall between them will keep her safe.

Not too long ago, she would have gladly played along. She would have kept quiet and let Peeta have his way. But she knows better now, and she refuses to spend the little time she has left hiding and being at odds with him.

“And why is that?” she presses.

Peeta’s eyes lock with hers, even under the pale moonlight, they look as warm as a summer sky. He keeps his voice hushed but speaks with the clarity only certainty can bring. “Because nobody needs me.”

Katniss looks away, too proud to let him see how much his words distress her. Her heart aches for the kind boy who’s still willing to give his life for hers, and who expects nothing in return.

Suddenly, her mind jumps a few weeks ahead, to a world in which Peeta’s plan has succeeded. An impossible reality in which she’s alive, and he isn’t.

She’s been so focused on saving him, that she hasn’t even considered the possibility that he might get his wish. The thought, combined with the remnants of her recent nightmare, makes her chest constrict under the weight of a grief so intense she can hardly breathe.

Peeta wants her to keep on living without him. But the emptiness setting in her bones tells her that will never happen. Because, even if she escapes the arena, she will never escape him. And, while other people might recover from Peeta’s death, she knows she won’t.

She’ll still have Prim, and her mom, but Peeta’s death will damage her beyond repair.

Her eyes find his again. Her fingers tangle tenderly in his hair. “You’re wrong.”

Peeta stills. There’s something in Katniss’s tone that has his heart pounding furiously in his chest. Blue eyes search her face as he desperately tries to understand what she’s trying to say.

Katniss smiles sweetly at him, her words are as soft as a caress. “I need you.”

Next to her, Peeta’s body goes rigid. The crease on his forehead tells her he wants to argue. She can almost see his mind working, coming up with the perfect combination of words to dissuade her. But there’s nothing he can say that will change her mind. She’s done with words. She’s never been good with them anyway.

Katniss closes the short distance between them and kisses him. Tenderly, then passionately. Without guilt, without restraint.

She kisses him for all the times she wanted to but didn’t. For every moment he spent taking care of her when she broke her heel, and for every stroke of color he added to her family’s weathered old book.

She kisses him for every smile and every hug. For standing up to a rabid peacekeeper, risking his own life just to save Gale’s.

For every nightmare he’s pulled her out of, for every dream he’s had to forget.

For every afternoon he spent helping Prim with her homework, and for all the mornings when he showed up with a basket full of cheese buns and an open heart.

She kisses him fiercely, deeply, with a hunger she never knew she could feel, eagerly making up for every time they had to pretend, losing pieces of each other and their love to satisfy someone else’s demands.

She also kisses him for the beautiful stories he tells her before they fall asleep. For being him.

And for her. Because she needs Peeta, and she simply can’t go on pretending, acting like he isn’t her whole world.

She kisses, and touches, and feels him deep into the night; until she’s breathless and spent, trembling in his arms like a delicate flower dancing in the rain.

Peeta kisses her back, matching every one of her silent promises with one of his own. Sealing their fate and their bond under the light of a thousand twinkling stars.

XXXXX

Haymitch cancels their last day of training. Katniss and Peeta greet the news with a smile and spend the day together, enjoying a quiet picnic on the terrace of the training center.

They eat. They play. They laugh. They kiss.

They talk about everything and nothing, cramming as many happy memories as they can into the precious minutes they have left.

They watch the sunset. A beautiful show of pale oranges and bright pinks crisscrossing the deep blue sky.

Katniss rests her head on Peeta’s shoulder and tries her best to pretend that this is just another day.

He plays along. But when they look into each other’s eyes, they both know. Their days are almost gone.

Quietly, they make their way down the stairs and into the penthouse.

“I’m gonna drop this in the dining room,” Peeta says, gesturing to the picnic basket swinging from his hand.

“I’ll go with you, I’d like to get some water.”

They reach the dining room and find Darius there, standing ramrod straight as he silently waits by the long table. He smiles at them, his green eyes twinkling under the bright lights.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was happy to see them.

Swiftly, Darius walks over to them. He’s still smiling when he lifts his arm, wiggling his fingers to ask for the picnic basket.

Peeta hands over the hamper. “Thanks—“

Darius presses a finger to his lips, instructing Peeta to be quiet.

Surprised, Peeta does as he’s told. He turns to Katniss, who shrugs, just as confused and intrigued as he is.

With swift, urgent motions, Darius gestures to the two victors.

They nod, encouraging the avox to keep going.

Darius turns toward the empty hallway that stretches behind him and points to it.

Katniss cranes her neck as she tries to see what Darius is indicating. Her breath hitches. “Haymitch’s room?” she whispers.

The avox nods and cups his ear with his hand.

Katniss is still trying to understand this new signal when Peeta’s hand wraps around hers.

“Thanks, Darius,” he whispers, quietly pulling her to Haymitch’s room.

Intrigued, Katniss follows.

They reach their mentor’s door and stop in front of it. Katniss’s eyes widen when she notices the small gap between the door and the frame.

Quickly, she glances back.

Darius is still in the dining room, his eyes trained on them as he cups his ear once again.

Katniss nods back.

Katniss and Peeta hold their breath as they lean in, trying to get as close as possible to the small gap. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to follow Darius’s instructions, though. Haymitch isn’t exactly whispering. His words reach them clearly through the open door. “Have they set a date yet?”

“No, not yet,” Cinna answers, “they already have a hovercraft, but they need to see how things play out before they can choose a day.”

Katniss frowns. Hovercraft?

“So, they’re going in without knowing,” Haymitch grumbles.

“Yeah, it can’t be helped. But Plutarch’s already found a way to communicate with them.”

Plutarch. Katniss pales at the mention of the head game maker. Her palms begin to sweat as she remembers the intriguing man who carried a watch engraved with her mockingjay.

Haymitch’s gruff voice brings her back to the conversation. “He has?”

“It’s pretty smart, actually. Simple. He wants to send them bread.”

“Bread?”

Katniss turns to face Peeta. He’s staring blankly at the door. The tight grip he keeps on her hand tells her he’s following the conversation just as closely as she is.

She keeps her eyes trained on him, waiting for his reaction as they listen to Cinna’s reply. “Mm-hmm. The number of rolls will indicate the time. The district the bread comes from will be the day. I think it’s pretty ingenious.”

“Yeah, assuming we can break into the arena on a day that matches our allies’ districts,” Haymitch scoffs.

Katniss’s heart skips a beat. Break into the arena?

Suddenly, Peeta lets go of her hand. Before she even knows what’s happening, he’s pushing the door open, and stepping into the room.

Katniss follows.

Peeta’s voice bounces against the walls, an unexpected roll of thunder unleashing a storm. “What’s going on here?”

#things I write #a knock on the door #happy birthday 2017

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dumbledearme · 6 years

Text

chapter two—the bastard of winterfell

~~ read The Haunting in Winterfell here ~~

His astonishment was so intense it became comical. He went ahead and looked over his shoulder to see if it was really him she was addressing. But of course, the only thing behind him was the window, and beyond it, that incredible view of the northern lands. So he ended up turning back to look at Lya, and must have seen that her gaze was fastened directly on his face, since he breathed ‘by the old gods,’ in a voice that sounded rusty from disuse.

"It's no use calling on the higher powers," she informed him, crossing her arms to show him who the boss was. "In case you haven't noticed, they aren't paying attention to you. Otherwise, they wouldn't have left you here to fester for..." Lya took in his outfit, which looked considerably new. "How long has it been?"

He stared at her, his black eyes still wide from shock, and said in that low voice, "What do you mean...?"

Lya couldn't help rolling her eyes. Impatiently, she translated: "How long have you been dead?"

He narrowed his eyes like that little piece of information was too a surprise. "I died," he agreed like it wasn't obvious. And instead of answering her question, he shook his head. "I don't understand," he said, in tones of wonder. "I don't understand how it is that you can see me. All these years, no one has ever—"

"Yes," she cut him off, tired of always hearing the same thing. Ghosts were so selfish. All they did was talk about themselves. "Yes, it is shocking."

He blinked those long, dark lashes. It wasn't often Lya ran into a ghost who also happened to be… well, handsome. And this one in particular... hell, he must have been something back when he was alive because here he was totally dead and Lya was struggling against the will to catch a peek at what was going on beneath his black garments. Trying to keep it professional, she cleared her throat and gave him that feral look she did so well.

"What is your problem? Why are you still here?" He looked at her, his expression blank but interested. Lya elaborated. "Why haven't you gone to the other side?"

He shook his head again. He had a mane of black hair, so thick and so dark that made him seem ever paler in death. "I don't know what you mean."

Lya was getting sort of warm, but it was snowing outside, so she didn't know what to do about it. "What do you mean, you don't know what I mean?" she snapped, pushing some hair away from her eyes. "You are dead. You don't belong here. You're supposed to be somewhere else doing whatever it is that happens to people after they die. You're not supposed to… to stay here."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "What if I like to be here?" he wanted to know.

Lya wasn't sure, but she had a feeling he was making fun of her. And if there was someone who didn't like being made fun of it was Lady Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island. Not at all. When she was little and had just arrived in Highgarden, people used to do it all the time. That is, until Lya learned how effectively a fist connecting with their nose could shut them up. But she wasn't ready to start hitting this guy here — not yet. She was getting there, only... Lya had just traveled a gazillion miles for what had seemed like forever in order to live with a bunch of stupid kids and then had found a ghost in her chambers...?

"Whoever you are, you can stay wherever you like. Go ahead, stay forever. I don't care. But you can't stay here."

"Jon Snow," he said, not moving.

"What?"

"That’s who I am."

Lya nodded briefly. It makes sense, she thought, realizing who she was talking to. "I don't care, Jon Snow. You can't stay here."

"What's your name?" he asked seeming like he was enjoying the rough way she spoke.

Lya glued her eyes on his. "I don't have time for this. Tell me what you want, then go away."

"Lady Dacey called you... Lyanna, wasn't it?" he said, black eyes glimmering. "That was my father's sister's name. The she-wolf. The wildest damsel of all the North, they used to call her. They obviously never met you."

Suddenly, Lya felt very self-aware. Was that an insult she had heard, somewhere in what he'd said? She felt her face blush. "And you are the bastard of Winterfell," she said unkindly.

That stung, she could tell. His lips parted but he made no sound. When he did manage to speak again, he used an angry tone that matched hers. "Lord Eddard Stark is my father, yes. However, Lady Stark isn't my mother."

"Thus making you the bastard," Lya insisted. "Look, let's make something very clear, Jon Snow. Lord Eddard Stark was your father. When you were alive. In the past. Now there's a new lady in Winterfell. My mother. And this is my room. So you need to leave."

"I need to leave?" he raised a thick, black eyebrow. "I've been here longer. Why do I have to leave?"

Lya was getting really mad. Mostly because she felt so hot and wanted to open a window, but the windows were behind him, and she didn't want to get that close to the dead boy. "This is my room. I'm not about to share it with some dead bastard."

This time the message got through. Lya instantly wished she hadn't said anything. She watched his angry face contort. At the same time, the old mirror hanging over her new dressing table started to wobble dangerously on the hook that held it to the wall.

That was the thing about ghosts: they were so temperamental! The slightest thing could set them off.

"Hey," she called, holding up both her hands, palms outward. "Stop that!"

But Jon Snow was pissed off. He started complaining about a lot of things Lyanna didn't care about wagging a finger in her face. The nerve!

"Hey!" she said again, irritated. Lya violently slapped his hand away from her face and hissed: "Stop with the mirror already. And next time you raise a finger at me will be the last time you have fingers." She saw, with satisfaction, that the mirror had stopped shaking.

Then she glanced back at his face. Ghosts didn't have blood, of course. But at that moment, all the color drained from Jon Snow's face. Looking down at his own finger as if she had burned a hole through it, he seemed perfectly incapable of saying anything else. It was probably the first time he'd been touched by anyone since dying.

Lya took advantage of his astonishment, and said, in her sternest, most no-nonsense tone: "Listen carefully, Jon Snow. This is my room. You can't stay here. You need to either let me help you get to where you're supposed to go, or you'll have to find some other castle to haunt."

Jon Snow looked up from his finger, his expression still one of utter disbelief. "Who are you?" he asked softly. "What kind of… girl are you?" He hesitated so long before he said the word girl that it was clear he wasn't at all certain it was an appropriate term in her case.

Outrageous.

"I'm the girl who'll kill you a second time if you don't disappear," she said crankily. "It is up to you. I'll give you some time to consider it. But when I return, I don't wish to see you anymore." Lya turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

There was no other way. She didn't usually lose arguments with spirits, but she had a feeling she was losing that one, and badly. She shouldn't have been so short with him, and she shouldn't have been rude. Something had happened in there, something had come over her... Was it because of how he looked?

Maybe I should visit the godswood and ask for the help of the old gods, she thought heading down the stairs. What else could she do if he refused to leave?

Give him some time, Lyanna.

He'll understand. They always do.

Well, most of the time, anyway.

Dinner was very much like it'd been in Highgarden: a lot of food everywhere, coming and going, and everybody laughing and speaking at the same time. The northerner boys were definitely nothing like Loras though — they chewed with their mouths open, and ate every single lemon cake before Lya even had the chance to taste one.

Afterwards, she decided it’d be wiser to avoid her room and give Jon Snow plenty of time to make up his mind about whether he was leaving with or without his teeth. Lya wasn't a big fan of violence — although she was considered an extremely violent girl by many. It was an unfortunate by-product of her profession: sometimes the only way you could make someone listen was with your fists. A technique well mastered in Bear Island, she remembered.

Astoundingly, little Arya offered to show her around the castle. Lya thought the girl had a suspiciously mischievous grin, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. They started the tour in the upper chambers, large and warm, and then made their way down and outside. The stable had beautiful horses well taken care of. They were white, black, brown and gray. Lya was in love with horses and, by the way Arya's eyes glistened, it was likely she felt the same. The kennels weren't half as interesting and only had a few dozen hounds already asleep. But there was this particular wicket that seemed to hold a wild, uncontrollable beast.

Lya stopped in her tracks. "What's in there?"

A shadow crossed Arya's face. "Ghost," she said darkly.

Lya's heart skipped a beat. What did she mean? A... a ghost? Could she see them as well? It was too much for a single day in Winterfell. And how could she have imprisoned a spirit? It was unheard of. I didn't make any sense.

Lya tried not to show her emotions. "What do you mean?"

Arya bit her lip like she didn't want to get into the subject. "Direwolf," she explained. "My brother's. Half... half-brother,” she corrected. “Jon. He called him Ghost."

Oh. So Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, had also been given a direwolf from his father's banners. But the name... Why was it making Lya's soul tremble with fear?

"Why is he in there?" she asked.

"Because of you." Arya turned her back at Lya and kept walking.

Lya had to rush to keep up. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Since Jon—" her little voice died away. Arya took a deep breath and tried again. "Ghost liked to stay in Jon's room. He didn't want to leave. Ever. For anything. But with your coming here... Father thought you shouldn't be forced to live with something that might eat you through the night."

Lya mentally thanked Eddard Stark for that. And truthfully, it was probably Jon Snow's fault the beast wouldn't leave the room. He was probably seeking his owner's companionship. If Jon were to leave, it was likely the wolf wouldn't insist on being there. Lya had absolutely nothing to do with anything. She didn't even want to be here, much less in Jon Snow's bedchamber.

Arya kept walking, showing Lya unimportant things, until she arrived where she had been meaning to go, in the oldest section of Winterfell, near the First Keep, where she stopped before an old and heavy ironwood door.

"Where are we going?" Lya asked warily.

"You'll see.” Arya grabbed a torch from the wall.

They went down a narrow and winding spiral stone steps until Arya chose a floor and headed through a dark and chilly corridor. It contained a long line of granite pillars, two by two, between which were — Lya shockingly realized — entombed the dead members of House Stark.

"All family members can have tombs in the crypts, but statues are only made for Kings in the North and Lords of Winterfell," the small girl clarified. Lya could see the likenesses of these high lords carved into the stone, some shaggy, some clean shaven. Some had large stone direwolves curled at their feet. "According to tradition, iron longswords across each lord's lap keep vengeful spirits within the crypt. But Bran can explain this better than I can."

That's when Lya understood what they were doing down there: Arya wanted to scare her. It should be some sort of rite of passage the Starks did to their newcomers or any sort of outsider. Of course, little Arya couldn't have known it would take more than dead people to scare Lyanna Mormont.

"The older Starks are buried in deeper and darker levels," Arya continued. "The lowest level is said to be partly collapsed so we can't go there."

Lya stopped dead in front of the statue of Lady Lyanna Stark who had been kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen — which resulted in the eradication of the blood of the dragon and the ascension of the House Baratheon to the iron throne. She was pretty, in truth, otherwise irresponsible for letting that happen to her. A true northerner girl would've cut the dragon prince in a thousand pieces and fed him to the wolves. Lya didn't understand why her namesake had been granted a statue when she hadn't been king or lord of anything. By her side was yet another Brandon Stark and Lord Rickard Stark, her brother and father.

The most recent tombs were further back. The one that belonged to Ned Stark was unsealed, waiting for him, right beside his first wife, Catelyn Tully. And way further in the dark, alone and secluded, was a tomb Lya could barely look at. She knew what that tomb would say without reading it — the dead bastard in her room was enough warning.

She tried to think of whatever she knew about Jon Snow. He'd been born during the war from an affair Eddard Stark had with... whoever. He'd been raised in Winterfell among the other children of his lord father. And he had died when the last, long lost, Targaryens had come seeking vengeance for what had been done to their family.

The ‘Winterfell Inferno’ had been talked about throughout the Seven Kingdoms and back. The prince and princess with silver hair started collecting souls in the North. Their greatest mistake. They were defeated almost effortlessly. Yet, a lot of people had died that day. Everyone had lost someone. Everyone—

Suddenly, Rickon Stark came out from behind the statue, covered in flour from head to toes, his hands raised, yelling "booo!"

Lya crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You'll have to do better than that," she said.

Arya shook her head. "Jon was a much better ghost," she chastised the little boy.

There it was again, the words ‘Jon’ and ‘ghost’ in the same sentence. For the first time in her life, Lya thought she was actually being haunted by someone. Was that possible?

It was only then that a wave of tiredness hit her after the long journey across the Seven Kingdoms. Saying goodnight to the others, she gather what was left of her courage and returned to the small chamber that was now hers. Supposedly.

She went straight to the window and opened it. There was nobody in there beside her. Lya glanced around, feeling the cold wind of the North seeping in, the only sound being the occasional hoot of an owl or the howl of a wolf.

She was alone. Really alone. A ghost-free zone. Exactly what she'd always wanted.

Lya got into bed and blew out her candle. But just before she fell asleep, she thought she heard something besides the owl.

"My bear so fair... And off they went, from here to there, the bear, the bear, and the maiden fair."

It sounded like someone singing but Lya was sure that was just her imagination.

#winterfell #lyanna mormont #lya #fanfic #dfcrosas #crossover #lya stark #jon snow #the haunting of winterfell #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #the mediator #bear island #crystal reed #highgarden #shadowland

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