👏 with Theo & Tadhg, Cassie & Luke & Sophie, and Marti & the O’Donnell quads, please?
Full House ! :o
Theo & Taghd:
it isn't unusual for them to fly together when one of them feels shitty about something. Neither is very good at talking about things but they tend to just know when they need it.
Theo cursing out Taghds dead parents and Cillian vs the first time Taghd sees Theo's mom and/or grandmother interacting with her.
More than once ( usually when Theo's supposed to be at Godric's Hollow with her mother and grandmother or some pureblood function or another) Taghd has just woken up to find a Pine Marten sleeping in his room. He's stopped being surprised by it.
Cassie & Luke:
Cassie tends to draw while Luke practices fencing and it's something ppl are very "..." about because they're such different activities but like..it's about existing together.
He's one of the few people she'd show her sketch book to.
She's drawn star wars art for him.
Cassie & Sophie:
Cassie cheers Sophie on every Quidditch game no she doesn't care they're in different houses thank you for asking.
Cassie learns how to make tea specifically how Sophie likes it and it's her way of taking care of Sophie because "Sophie always takes care of everyone."
Cassie has never had siblings so she attaches to Sophie's pretty fast and just finds the concept of siblings kind of fascinating?
Cassie & Sophie & Luke:
They were the first she told Hannah and Neville aren't her parents and also why she lives with them.
Star Wars marathons when one of them feels shitty.
Both Sophie and Luke have an open invitation to the three broomsticks /Cassie's house.
These kids make me so sad they bond over not having their parents why did we do this I'm sad I love them
Marti and The Quads
Marti doesn't really come out to the quads so much as she just talks about how pretty everyone is.
Snape may drive her to tears but she goes off on him or anyone picking on Connor for his stutter.
She tends to tackle,-hug Ryan and when he gets taller than her just stays attached to him like a Koala lmao like this is a normal greeting.
I haven't figured out her relationship with Quidditch but friendly games and broom races.
Sara's the one Marti goes to when she needs advice she feels she can't talk to her siblings about.
Marti has at least once tried to tell people she's a Quintuple to see if she can get away with it.
She and Cara spend the most time together because they share a house/dorm
Cara's the only one that probably knows Marti still has dreams about her brother/her Jacob.
Marti's rants about the Quads' uncle are Legendary.
Marti: Daddy you're a lawyer is there a way to legally kidnap my friends and not give them back to their guardian... theoretically of course.
Marti's dad: ... I'm not acknowledging this as a thing you have said without more caffeine.
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A huge WELCOME BACK, love!!! And an even more huge congratulations <3
Also 44 for Feysand, for the fic prompts if you're still taking requests?
MY LOVE I missed you 🥺 I'm so happy to be back and to finally have time to read fics again! I have a lot to catch up on, but today I have my eyes set on Book Deal and Bruise 😌 And for you, prompt requests will ALWAYS be open. Gorgeous was made for Feysand if you ask me <33
Guess I’ll just stumble on home to my cats, alone. Unless you wanna come along - Rhys/Feyre (999 words)
Feyre took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before she knocked on the heavy oak door. Which quickly swung open, welcoming her to warm lighting and the sound of idle chatter.
“Feyre! You made it!”
Mor stood on the other side of the doorway, bright eyed and gushing with an enthusiasm Feyre almost envied. She was ushered inside with little preamble, but it took as few as five steps from Mor’s entryway for Feyre to contemplate fleeing.
Because among the blend of voices, she heard a laugh that was low and rich enough to scrape along her spine. That laugh was unmistakable. Feyre knew he’d be here, and yet turning the corner to see his face felt more daunting than giving Mor some embarrassingly obvious excuse.
“Acutally, Mor, I just remembered—”
Too late. The two of them came around the corner, and while most of the party paid no notice of their arrival, Rhysand’s eyes slid over to them. And he smiled. It was the worst thing in the entire world.
Mor gripped Feyre’s wrist, preventing her from tugging herself free to dash toward the door as Rhysand walked over to them.
“Feyre darling,” he said casually. His long, elegant fingers were twined around a whiskey glass. He took a sip, completely oblivious to the way her entire world imploded on itself watching his lips press to the crystal. “It’s good to see you again.”
Did he have to call her darling?
“Hi,” she said curtly, doing her best to feign disinterest as she frantically scanned the party goers for someone else to talk to.
Rhysand was the worst. If only because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and Feyre harbored more than a small crush on him. Which was a small problem, because she had a boyfriend. So the best thing she could do for the both of them was avoid him.
“Pleased to see you remain an expert conversationalist,” he quipped lightly, eyes crinkling with a warmth that made Feyre want to strangle him.
“I just remembered,” she said, eyes darting furiously around the party until she spotted someone familiar, “there’s something really urgent I need to tell… Cassian!”
She broke away from them, like a coward, lunging herself towards her sister’s boyfriend without sparing a second glance at Rhysand. Mor followed, intercepting Feyre with a hand at her elbow. They stopped just out of earshot of Rhysand, who watched them curiously with that same air of nonchalance that made Feyre want to pluck each of his pretty eyelashes out. Of course he didn’t care that she didn’t want to speak to him—why would he?
“What was that?” Mor hissed. “You’re being rude!”
“I have a boyfriend,” Feyre reminded her. “Tamlin hates him.”
Mor’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you were on a break.”
“I… We are, but—”
“But, nothing! You’ve had a crush on him forever!”
Feyre sighed. “Tamlin will apologize in the morning, okay? But not if he hears I talked to Rhys.”
For a moment, Mor looked as though she were weighing speaking her mind. She said gently, “Would it really be the worst thing in the world? If you and Tamlin didn’t get back together? Especially if you and Rhys—”
“There is no me and Rhys,” Feyre snapped, cringing inwardly at how defensive she sounded even to her own ears. “Besides, there’s no way he feels that way about me.”
She glanced back towards Rhys, who was now chatting up some red haired woman who seemed to be flirtatiously flipping her hair every five seconds. Feyre shot Mor a look that said, see?
Feyre spent the rest of the party finding the bottom of her drink far more interesting than anything else. At least then she could pretend not to notice the violet eyes that haunted her peripheral vision every time she turned her head. Why was he staring at her so much? Had she offended him? Well, she thought, good. Because Feyre happened to find him extraordinarily offensive just for existing, so it was only fair the tables were turned on this occasion.
She stayed only until it was socially acceptable to leave, not bothering with any goodbyes as she stumbled towards the door—admittedly more drunk than she should feel comfortable walking home.
“Stupid Rhysand,” she grumbled to herself as she shut the door behind her. “‘Pleased to see you remain an expert conversationalist.’ Pompous assh—heey, Rhys!”
Because of course he would be standing on Mor’s porch, jacket slung over his shoulders as he stared up at the stars like some forlorn character in a novel. Afterall, he had a knack for being precisely where Feyre wished he wasn’t.
Rhys looked even more ethereal in the moonlight, the shadows making his features sharper, his hair sleeker. He offered a cheshire grin as he turned his head towards her. “I think you can do a better impression of me than that.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, thankful that her burning cheeks were hidden in the dark. “I haven’t been practicing my prick impersonations.”
Rhys shook his head, stepping forward to offer Feyre his jacket. “I’ve sure made an impression on you, given I can count on my fingers how many conversations we’ve had.”
She accepted the jacket begrudgingly, only because she was shivering against the night air in her thin dress. The jacket was still warm from when he’d been wearing it and—damn him—it smelled so strongly of his cologne that Feyre had to resist inhaling too deeply.
“I…” How did she explain why she felt so passionately about him? Like he said, they were little more than strangers. “I should probably get back,” she said evasively. “Need to feed my cats.”
She stumbled forward, nearly slipping on the steps if not for Rhys shooting out a hand to steady her.
“Let me walk you,” he offered.
The rejection was on her tongue, but Feyre hesitated. “Okay,” she said softly, like it was a secret she didn’t want the wind to overhear. “I guess you can come along.”
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