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esta-elavaris · 2 years

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Flufftober 2022 - Day 13 - Secret family recipe

James/Theodora -- [James Norrington/Modern!OC]

Main fic for this pairing -- AO3 // FF.net

When Theo woke up sometime during their first week back in Port Royal to a bed that was woefully empty, she found herself blinking in surprise. Even since they'd been reunited in Tortuga, this was not a normal turn of events. Had his shiny new Admiral duties called already? God, she hoped not. It seemed a bit early for it, but it was a very twenty-four hour job - she remembered that even from her previous, and first, stint in Port Royal. But surely he'd have woken her if so?

Stretching like a cat, she yawned and kicked the covers away from herself, slipping from the bed and grabbing her nightdress from the floor. Having yet to find a cook, nor a maid, they were the only ones who were ever home - but while that meant she could comfortably forgo a housecoat, wandering around naked still seemed a bit too far. At least until they finally got new curtains put in downstairs. Unfortunately by that time they'd probably have employees, so her dreams of bringing nudism to the Caribbean would have to wait.

Trailing down the stairs once she was somewhat dressed, she combed her fingers through her hair and listened for signs of life. The living room was empty, as was the dining room, but by that point she was certain that she could smell bacon - so she followed her nose down the stone steps and into the basement kitchen. That was where she found her husband, clad in a nightshirt and his breeches, standing before the eighteenth century equivalent of a "stove", a frying pan perched atop a stand that had a fire burning steadily beneath it.

"You're supposed to be in bed," he greeted.

"Yes, Admiral," she said with a lazy salute "Is that an order?"

"I would never be so foolish as to try doling out orders to you."

"Mm, I wish you would. Might be fun every now and then."

It was the sort of joke that would once have had him spluttering and fighting to summon words with which to string together a retort. Now? Well, there was still a flush that threatened to spread across his cheeks, but it was paired with a smirk and an amused look that suggested she should probably behave herself. Descending the steps, she approached and looked over the set up.

"Breakfast?"

"Indeed," he nodded, prodding at the thickly sliced bacon.

"For us?"

"No, I'm afraid our house is quite the thoroughfare for all those who live in Port Royal - the eggs are for the butcher, the collops for the blacksmith, and the bread for whomever else might appear. I often make a habit of cooking breakfast for vague acquaintances, it's how I ensure loyalty from my men. Through well-cooked eggs."

Theo grinned as he needled her - she couldn't help it. She loved it when he was like this.

"But what will I eat?"

He rolled his eyes at her, but it was paired with a chuckle "You have cooked dinner for us here endlessly while we still search for a cook. While much of it was strange, all of it was good - even if I remain amazed by how many of your go-to foods consist of bread and cheese in some manner or another. I thought I might return the favour."

Her attempt to recreate pizza had been a surprising hit. The only slight hiccup being when she resolutely refused to let him eat it with a knife and fork, insisting instead that he used his hands. They got through it, though, with their marriage firmly intact and were stronger for their trials by the end. And it turned out that James Norrington was a fan of pizza. Who knew?

"It looks good," she commented, surveying the pan and then backing up so she was out of the way of any errant sparks "Damn good."

"You must postpone judgement until you actually eat it, lest your praise prove premature."

The nonchalant nature of his response was ruined a bit by the pleased smile on his face in response to the praise, but she wouldn't fault him for that because it was adorable. Although she also wouldn't tell him that, either.

"I didn't know you could cook," she said.

Normally she wasn't a fan of weaponised incompetence in a lad. Whenever she drummed up the strength to date, it was always a red flag if she met a guy her age who could barely microwave some noodles and she didn't have much time for it, but cooking was a whole different kettle of fish here, and she struggled to find much fault with those who could not. The only reason she could manage it was because of all of the camping she'd done, and her knack for improvisation.

"A man who must permanently rely on others for something so vital as eating well is a man who isn't up to much," he said.

There was something about his tone that suggested he was repeating words another had told him.

"Your father?" She ventured.

"Yes," he nodded "I could hardly provide for a dinner party, but this? This I can manage."

"It's still a common breakfast in my time - a staple. It's weirdly comforting to see it here. Things are different, but people are the same, you know? At heart."

He hummed his understanding "And here I thought I was sharing a secret family recipe with you."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

He gave her a warm look "You never disappoint."

Theo's cheeks blazed at that and she ducked her head until she could trust herself not to giggle like a schoolgirl.

"You had this often back in your former home?" He asked.

"Mm. Versions of it. We call 'em fry-ups - we add all sorts. Or slap it all between two slices of bread with an ungodly amount of tomato sauce, which is heavenly hangover food."

"Oh?"

"Almost as good as your watermelon trick, if you're up to forcing it down," she nodded "I'll make you one sometime. I put cheese in mine."

James laughed "Of course you do. I struggle to believe I've married an overgrown mouse."

"Hey, if you'd've learned it sooner you could have used it to your advantage - distracted me and kept me out of trouble."

"What, by filling the house to the brim with cheddar?"

"I'd have settled for mozzarella."

"I'll keep that in mind for the future."

#flufftober2022 #flufftober 2022 #flufftober #james norrington/oc #pirates of the caribbean fanfic

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luveline · 3 years

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a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn’t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

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fairestwriting · 3 years

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Hello! I was wondering if you could do headcanons for diasomnia (separate) dating Jade and Floyd’s little sister? Thanks for reading and have a good day!

so like a contest on who can be the most insane, your brothers or your boyfriend

+ ko-fi link, if anyone feels like financially supporting my writing

Malleus Draconia

They seem happy for you when you break the news, full of pride. Floyd puts an arm around your shoulders, look at you, his little sister about to be queen! Jade congratulates you on your relationship, but following it with a warning that it might attract unwanted attention, because of your boyfriend's status...

Things start feeling strange soon though. They make sure to let you know they're both excited to have Malleus over and... get to know him. What, why are you looking at them like that? They mean it! They won't do anything bad, they promise!

When Malleus is over it's... god it sure is. The twins aren't one bit afraid of him, and he's not one bit afraid of them, their terrifying auras just condense into something weird. At least it's mutually entertaining.

Jade serves dinner and Floyd circles around Malleus, bombarding him with questions. He's like a child at a recently-opened amusment park, never really seeing a dragon fae like Malleus in real life. Jade scolds him when he gleefully asks if he's ever burned someone when breathing fire, but just for the crudeness in his tone -- He's actually curious about it too.

Malleus will be pretty amused by everything? It almost feels like a normal, lively dinner. He doesn't mind all of the questions, it's refreshing to see people that just don't fear him at all. But, even then... you just have this bad feeling that won't leave. Like if the situation called for it, the three of them would break into an all out fight, ruining your entire home in the process...

When Malleus is gone, Floyd praises you for having such a fun boyfriend, patting you on the head while Jade nods along, agreeing that everyone had a wonderful time tonight, and he was welcome to come back whenever he wanted.

So, it actually went really well, you sigh to yourself in relief, glad none of your worries about the situation actually came to be. You thought Jade and Floyd might get overprotective, threatening Malleus in a million different ways--

Then, as Floyd rambles about how much fun he had, you hear him insert in a comment about how he wanted to see how long Malleus would last if he tried to squeeze him, and you think that maybe this didn't o as perfectly as it seemed.

Well, it was still pretty good, either way -- They’ll pester Malleus with questions everytime he comes over, though, and you might not get any alone time at all.

Lilia Vanrouge

You break the news, your brothers immediately look at you like they'd bitten into a lime. Displeased, strained expressions.

They know Lilia, he's powerful and a vice dorm leader, the sort of person Azul would want them to keep tabs on, so they had followed him around a couple times... and what they think about Lilia is, well, that he's like when you bite into a piece of candy and taste something bitter and savoury instead. There's just something so wrong about him. His smell is all off.

Floyd whines about it. Why pick Lilia? He's so weird, and not even the fun kind! He looks just like defenseless prey and yet he's not, that's just disturbing to him. Jade places a hand on his shoulder, adding that he should give their sister's boyfriend a chance, if she's chosen him then there's definitely some sort of... appeal to him that they hadn't seen yet. Well, that's what he says, but you can tell his smile looks plastic. You're immediately exasperated.

Lilia's arrival isn't really met with a warm welcome. It's you and Jade at the door, him visibly faking the politeness as he leads your boyfriend into your home, and Floyd stays in his room, refusing to come out until the food was ready.

Jade and Lilia's initial conversation is uncomfortable. Just small talk and polished greetings, and yet you can tell Jade is at his wits’ end talking to him. Why does Lilia bother your brothers so much? Even them can’t fully understand it, honestly.

Things lighten up when you’re eating, Floyd comes along and while he’s glaring at Lilia, who you know is deliberately acting oblivious, the whole time, Jade’s food is very good, and he’s still curious about the fae even if Lilia makes him uncomfortable, so conversation flows a little better.

When it’s time for Lilia to go, they both exhale heavily -- And looking straight into your eyes, tell you to never bring this guy over again. Date him if you want, just don’t... let him set foot into your home when they’re there.

Silver

Silver? As in the guy from Diasomnia they care the least about? Okay, sure, but like, why?

Jade feels neutral about it, if only a little disappointed. Floyd will complain about him looking so boring, what the hell do you even see in this guy? He just doesn’t look too fun to mess with, and that was the main thing they were looking forward to when you started dating someone.

Floyd tells you to get a cooler boyfriend, while Jade shrugs and says you’re welcome to bring him over anytime, if you wanted. Emphasis on if you wanted, he doesn’t particularly feel like interacting with Silver either.

You have a very normal dinner when Silver comes over. Floyd asks him some crude questions about how it’s like to serve Malleus, Jade serves dinner and asks about your relationship, how you met and such.

If he happens to fall sleep, Floyd is going to doodle on his face like they’re kids at a sleepover. And Jade will just watch, grinning as he fake-complains about how he shouldn’t treat their dear sister’s boyfriend like this.

After the introduction dinner, you ask them what they thought about Silver, and you receive a double shrug. They don’t really feel any particular way about him. He’s just some guy. Not worthy of much attention in that he isn’t someone they feel like they have to protect you from, and isn’t that fun to mess around with.

They check up on you every now and then when Silver comes over, but they don’t care if you leave the door closed. If you do, Floyd is going to barge in anyway, and linger around to get under your skin.

Sebek Zigvolt

I feel so bad for Sebek dear god.

So he knows you’re a Leech, right? He was likely aware of the risk that came with dating you, especially if you two wanted to be serious about it, he’d have to talk to your absolutely fucking terrifying family at one point. He’s willing to do that for his lady, of course!

Doesn’t mean it’ll be fun for him, though.

When you tell Jade and Floyd you’d been dating Sebek, they’ll grin wide -- Now that’s a fun Diasomnia member. They’re gonna make his life a living hell.

Sebek will come into your house with the mindset that he needs to do this properly, just the way he approaches everything else, but even he feels a heavy dread settling over his chest when he’s being greeted by the visibly excited, grinning twins.

They have a kind of good cop, bad cop scheme going on when Sebek is there. Floyd will pester him until he’s about to explode, asking questions at the pace of a machine gun -- Mostly rude ones about Malleus -- to see his reaction, while Jade lightly scolds him, smirking and doing nothing about.

They somehow find out that Sebek doesn’t like bitter flavors, and get together to make their dish as bitter as their and your palates can stand, then tease him endlessly about visibly not liking it.

They just... turn your boyfriend into a whole toy. You can ask them to stop all you want, but they won’t do it.

It’s just a mess. If you take him to your room, one of them is gonna stand by the door and tease you about how they won’t let you keep the door closed yet, what if Sebek isn’t as serious about chivalry as he seems to be? You never know!

Needless to say, they do like Sebek. Just... in the way that a cat likes toying with a mouse before it kills it. Jade tells you eagerly about how he’d love to have Sebek over again when he’s gone.

Don’t humor him. They will not grow out of bullying your boyfriend, he’s too earnest for his own good.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twst x reader #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #silver twst #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #silver x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #lis writing

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pilothusband · 3 years

Text

it’s in my honey, it’s in my milk

Rating: G

Pairing: Frankie Morales x reader

Warnings: HOLY ANGST. ANGST ANGST ANGST. Grief, hurt/comfort, mentions of loss and death (doesn’t get specific as to who it is), wine is mentioned once but not ingested. This one is really heavy folks, just be warned.

Word count: 1.1k

Description: Grief is an ever-present, all-encompassing emotion that swallows up everything in its path and dulls the senses. Frankie does all he can to help you navigate it, but he can only do so much when you start to break away from him.

Author’s note: Without getting too into it, I lost an incredibly important person recently. I wrote this to process my grief, conceptualize it and find a way to accept small comforts, even on the bad days. If this subject matter is too heavy for you, please don’t feel pressured to read it.

Sometimes the darkness threatened to swallow you where you stood, like the floor was going to open up underneath you. There was a person-shaped hole in your heart that couldn’t be replaced. There wasn’t any other kind of pain in the world that was comparable to this.

You had been dating Frankie for about 6 months now, and he knew what you had been through in the last year. He was endlessly patient with you on your bad days. Despite Frankie’s best efforts to cheer you up and support you through your grief, you still felt like you were drowning, unable to muster the energy to kick your way back up above the surface.

The grief normally came in waves. You would have a bad day here and there, but bounce back fairly quickly. This wave seemed to stretch on for weeks, just how it had been when the loss was fresh. Every morning your body felt like it was filled with rocks, you couldn’t get out of bed. You were so tired, so weary to the bone, that eventually you gave up trying.

The worst part of it was the toll it took on Frankie. Sweet, steadfast Frankie, who was the strongest person you knew, who deserved the entire fucking world. He could sense you had pulled away, hell, you sensed it too despite the permanent haze you were suspended in.

You saw the pain bloom within him– there was the constant furrow in his brow, the furtive glances when you fell quiet, the way he chewed on his lip when you looked down at your feet. He did small things to put a smile on your face. He bought you flowers on his way to your apartment to brighten up your kitchen table for your dinner date. It was an arrangement of wildflowers and they bursted with hues of purple, orange and pink. One night he picked up a bottle of full-bodied red wine because he saw the dog on the label and he knew how much you loved dogs (and wine).

He didn’t deserve this treatment. He didn’t deserve to be dragged down into the rip tide.You had become a vacuum, or a black hole, sucking up everything around you until there was nothing left. It would be unforgivable to snuff out his light just because you had lost yours. You started reaching out less. Texts went unanswered, calls silenced.

“This is for the best,” you thought, arms clutched around your knees, curled up inside yourself. You picked at a thread on the cushion by your feet, briefly visualizing the entire couch unravelled, the insides of it spilled all over your living room floor.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting there, staring at the loose thread when you snapped out of it, jarred by the sound of the lock on your front door, followed by a gust of wind as the heavy wood swung open. Frankie stood in the entry; he held the spare key you had given him a couple months ago in his shaking hands.

He looked disheveled, more so than usual. His orange and tan flannel shirt was wrinkled and his beloved baseball cap was nowhere to be seen. His hair was a wild tangle of curls perched atop his head that fell down in sections on his forehead. He must have tugged on his hair on the drive over, something he did often when he was distressed.

He closed the door gently to prevent it from slamming shut, carefully walked over to where you were huddled against the arm of your couch, and lowered himself to his knees to appear smaller, as if he thought he was going to frighten you.

“Frankie,” you croaked, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You couldn’t do this.

Frankie placed his hand on your knee and squeezed it lightly. His hand was large and warm as it wrapped around your leg, a familiar and reassuring touch that tethered you to the moment.

His other hand touched your chin and tilted your head up to meet his gaze. You felt a stab of agony deep in your chest as you looked into his dark eyes, rimmed with moisture. He looked absolutely wrecked, the expression on his face was open and raw, as if you had just slapped him. You were startled by how exposed he looked, normally he was stoic and pensive.

“If you’re doing this because you don’t want me around, I’ll leave. No questions asked,” He said, his voice firm, despite the tremble in his lip. “But if you’re doing this because you feel guilty, I’m staying here with you through it all.”

The tears cascaded down your face in fat droplets. Your throat burned from the fire that was ignited in your chest.

“I can’t keep doing this to you.” You sobbed, unable to hold in the deluge any longer as you hiccuped into his shoulder. Tears soaked through his flannel shirt as he rubbed soothing circles on your back and held you through it.

“Baby,” Frankie cradled the back of your head and leaned back so you could see him. His eyes searched yours out, watery and soft. “You have to stop beating yourself up like this. I’m here for you for all of it, not just the fun parts.”

You had spent so much time picturing your grief as a blanket that smothered everyone around you, when in reality the only person who was smothered was you.

Frankie placed a tender kiss on your forehead. You gasped at the warm feeling that pulsed through you from the gesture.

Frankie shifted to stand and used the cushion in front of him as leverage. His knees cracked a little at the effort and he grunted.

“I’m going to make you a cup of tea, grab that soft blanket you love and some tissues, and I want you to tell me all about them if you’re up for it. Anything you want to talk about– the good and the bad.”

You swallowed painfully around the lump in your throat and nodded as you gave him a frail smile. Frankie gave you one in return, wide and genuine.

“That’s my girl.” He squeezed your shoulder and set off to the kitchen to fill up the kettle.

You sat there for a moment and slowly unfurled your limbs like a flower in early spring.

You didn’t know what you did to deserve Francisco Morales, but you knew deep in your bones that you found each other by cosmic intervention, as if someone had searched him out for you and ensured he would stumble into your path. You were certain you knew who was behind it. A fresh set of tears escaped from your eyes as you whispered a quiet “thank you,” hoping wherever they were, they heard you.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #francisco morales pilot of my heart

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kjack89 · 3 years

Text

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 1/?)

Because nothing says ‘independence day’ like writing the participants in a French rebellion as members of the British upper class...

The Bridgerton AU that no one asked for. Will be at least 4 chapters, probably, to be published on a schedule only God herself can predict. Developing E/R, hijinks and shenanigans. All of the shenanigans.

One might recall when, not too long ago, the author of this paper hung up her pen and retired from reporting on the drama that each new season of fresh-faced debutantes and their endlessly anxious mothers brings. But alas, dear Reader, the excitement of this season has proven too much for this Author to suffer without company – which is why the pen has been passed to a new scribe.

But the fortuitous timing of the season has not been met with equally thrilling events for sharing here, as indeed, the most recent ball, hosted annually at the start of the season by the ever-insufferable Thénardiers, was positively under-attended. Not by the eager mothers that are the backbone of any season or their equally eager daughters, but by the young, eligible men who usually at least deign to make an appearance, dance a few dances, and exchange niceties as is expected for men of their station.

Instead, the only poor sap who wandered into the Thénardiers’ den of matchmaking was the Baron of Pontmercy, who was positively beset by hopeful ingénues, the most brazen of which was undoubtedly the Thénardiers’ eldest daughter, Éponine. While this Author notes that Miss Thénardier has had a patchy history with suitors and thus cannot be fully blamed for attempting to sink her claws into one as eligible as the baron, this Author must also sympathize with Baron Pontmercy, who seemed only to find himself with one moment to himself.

Then again, rumor has it that his single moment was interrupted by an unknown young lady with an equally unknown chaperone who whisked her away posthaste. Her identity is one mystery both this Author and Baron Pontmercy are equally eager to discover, but the more pressing question is where the others of Baron Pontmercy’s gender were when they should have been equally beset by potential brides.

Never fear: Whatever answers I find, dear Reader, I shall certainly share with other enquiring minds. For a nominal fee, of course. While there are rumors of young men meeting in the backroom of a certain gentlemen’s club to discuss the overthrow of society, capitalism, and the King himself, this Author, being of the gentler sex, finds herself unable to obtain an invite, and as such, alas, cannot bring herself to comply with their lofty goals. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 20 MARCH 1831

The air in the backroom at the Musain Gentlemen’s Club was hazy with smoke and thick with plentiful conversation as its guests, all young men dressed in their dinner best, traded stories and jokes in between sips of their drinks.

At least one among them was not drinking, though – Enjolras, who sat in an overlarge armchair towards the back of the room, his back to one of the large windows that spanned almost the entire height of the wall. He alone was also not joining his friends in their merriment, his brow instead creased as he read over something.

When he had finished, he glanced up. “Combeferre,” he called, barely raising his voice despite the cacophony of the room.

Not that he needed to: the moment he spoke, the room fell quiet as all eyes glanced at him as if waiting for him to continue. In return, he just arched an eyebrow at them. “Well, don’t let me put an end to your fun.”

A dark haired man sitting at a table in the far corner playing cards with two others raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Worry not,” he called in return. “You won’t.”

Laughter broke out yet again at that, and most of their number returned to their previous conversations as Combeferre pulled up a chair next to Enjolras’s. Enjolras pursed his lips, looking unamused. “Why is Grantaire even here?” he asked Combeferre, who, quite to the contrary, looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“I imagine because you have not yet told him that you wish for him to leave and never return,” Combeferre said evenly before giving Enjolras a rather assessing look. “Assuming, of course, that is what you wish.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “That’s not the point—”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “No, the point is that you had a comment, I assume, about the pamphlet I gave you to review.”

Enjolras still looked disgruntled, but seemed more than willing to allow the change in subject. “The pamphlet is fine, but I imagine you already knew that.” He handed the pamphlet draft back to Combeferre before asking, “What do you imagine the distribution schedule to look like? With Parliament sitting this week—”

He was interrupted by a thin, rather-nervous looking man appearing at his elbow, the doorman to the establishment who was paid a decent sum by each man inside the room to not interrupt them and to report nothing of their comings and going to any who might enquire. When Enjolras had made that arrangement, he had been thinking of the police; when his friends had followed his lead, most were thinking of their mothers.

“M’Lord Enjolras, I do beg your pardon—” he started, sounding almost as nervous as he looked.

Enjolras’s brow furrowed again. “It’s fine, what is it?” he asked, a touch impatiently.

The doorman bobbed his head and cleared his throat. “There is a, ah, a woman seeking entry.”

Bahorel, seated nearby, let out a wolf whistle. “The young ladies of the season are getting restless!” he crowed, to much laughter.

“Restless, and bold, if they are coming into the city to seek their groom, and without a chaperone to boot,” Bossuet said with a grin.

“Leave to Enjolras to be the one to cause all tradition to break,” Jehan sniggered.

Enjolras could feel his ears burning red but he studiously ignored the jeers and catcalls from his friends, instead frowning at the doorman. “May I ask why are you telling me this?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even. “Last I checked, it was your policy to restrict admittance to men, despite my protestations to the contrary.”

“Of course, M’Lord, it’s just…” The doorman quailed slightly at the look Enjolras gave him. “The woman in question claims to be your mother.”

Immediately, all jokes ceased as identical, horror-stricken looks crossed the faces of each of his friends. Enjolras blanched, all the blood draining from his face. “Did you confirm that I was inside?” he asked, a little desperately.

The doorman shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, of course not, m’lord’s discretion being of utmost importance to this establishment.” He hesitated. “That said, she did not appear to believe our denial, and is threatening to come inside and verify for yourself that you are not here.”

Enjolras groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course she is,” he sighed. He glanced at Combeferre as if considering asking for his assistance, but seemed to think better of it, instead standing and drawing himself up to his full height. “Right,” he said. “Well, I think you’ve got everything handled here, so I suppose I’ll just go, er, handle this situation.”

Combeferre again looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Of course,” he said. “And, if you do not return, I shall call upon you later this week, shall I?”

“Yes, but the question will be more whether you should call upon me at my house or at the hospital,” Enjolras muttered, and it was to Combeferre’s credit that he still somehow managed not to laugh.

The same could not be said for Grantaire, who started humming what Enjolras recognized vaguely as a funeral dirge as soon as he headed towards the door, and Enjolras gave him the nastiest glare he could muster. Of course, Grantaire was unaffected – if anything, it only caused his grin to widen, and he raised his cup in yet another mocking toast as Enjolras swept out of the room to go deal with his mother.

It was anyone’s guess whether his mother or Grantaire irritated him more.

He started to ask the doorman where his mother was, but found that he did not need to ask – her voice was echoing all the way from the entrance hall. “I am the Dowager Marchioness of Enjolras,” she was practically shrieking, and Enjolras winced, mentally calculating how much money it would take to smooth this particular incident over. Certainly less than when Courfeyrac almost burned the place down, but almost certainly more than when Bahorel and Grantaire had gotten into a fistfight and broken two statues and a chandelier.

He really needed better friends.

And a different mother.

“I demand to speak with my son!” his mother continued, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. “And do not give me this nonsense that he is not here, I know quite well where my son is!”

“M’lady, I apologize, but as I have said, we cannot confirm that your son—”

“I shall confirm it for myself,” Enjolras interrupted, saving the poor proprietor, who had never looked more relieved to see him. “Mother, kindly stop screeching at these gentlemen for doing their jobs.” His mother spluttered incoherently but Enjolras knew better than to allow her the chance to regroup.

Instead, he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to the door, glancing over his shoulder to nod his thanks at the proprietor. As soon as they were outside the building, Enjolras dropped any pretense at propriety. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, not releasing his mother from his grip. “Coming all the way into the city to find me? Pray tell what could possibly have been so important to cause such a scene!”

His mother yanked her arm from his grasp and glared up at him. “A scene?” she repeated, her voice deathly quiet. “My dear son, if you consider that a scene, you are ill-prepared for what is soon to follow.”

Enjolras sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “There is no need for theatrics—”

Without warning, his mother slapped him across the face. “Theatrics?” she hissed. “When I have spent every waking moment these past several years trying to ensure your future and the future of our house!”

She made as if to hit him again but Enjolras caught her wrist, staying her hand. “Madam, you may be the Dowager Marchioness but I am the Marquess of Enjolras, and I will not permit you to assault me in the streets, my mother or not.” He released her arm before adding sardonically, “Besides, think of the gossip.”

Again his mother gave him no warning to gird himself, but this time, she burst into tears, sobbing into his shirt. “Oh, for the love of—” Enjolras took her again by the elbow, gentler this time, and led her to where her carriage waited. “Get a hold of yourself,” he snapped. “You have already made enough of a scene this evening.”

“Perhaps a scene is what it will take!” she half-shouted in return. “For you to finally listen to me, to hear what I have been telling you!” Enjolras rolled his eyes, holding out his hand to help her into her carriage, but she stubbornly refused to move. “Since you clearly don’t listen to me when I make arrangements solely for your benefit.”

“I assure you, you have never once done anything solely for my benefit,” Enjolras said tiredly. “But if it will stop your screaming then please, tell me the latest way in which I have ruined your plans for my future.”

“The Thénardier ball!” his mother wailed, crying again. “All those eligible young ladies, and you could not even deign to show your face! How am I to get you married at this rate?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard he half-feared he would pull a muscle. “Hang the bloody Thénardier ball,” he ground out, hesitating for only a moment before picking his mother up and placing her inside the carriage, swinging up after her before she could protest.

“What are you doing?” she cried as the carriage moved off at double speed, and Enjolras thanked whatever higher power there was that his mother’s driver also clearly did not wish to linger.

Enjolras sighed. “You wanted me attention,” he said tiredly. “So you have it, albeit not in public where you clearly wanted it.”

For one long moment, his mother just glared at him, tears shining on her cheeks. Then she sighed and sat upright, her pose turning almost prim as she drew a linen handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “Very well,” she said calmly, all traces of earlier hysteria gone in an instant, and Enjolras realized immediately that he had been duped, that he had played directly into her hands.

She had anticipated that making a scene would be the easiest way to get him to leave with her.

And now she had him as a captive audience for however long it took for her driver to reach her house. And while he was not a betting man, he would wager all his money and lands that she had directed her driver to take the long way.

His mother was smiling at him, a cold, unpleasant smile, and Enjolras groaned, tipping his head back against the pillowed cushions. “Please don’t tell me that you really pulled all of that because you wished to discuss the Thénardier ball.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said before tapping his knee. “And sit upright, you will cause your clothes to wrinkle.” Enjolras groaned and reluctantly sat upright, glaring balefully at her as he waited for her to continue. “No, I merely wished to discuss something and this seemed the easiest way.”

“Then by all means, please tell me: what do you want to discuss?”

“Why, what else?” she asked, a small smirk lifting the corners of her mouth. “Your marriage.”

----------

There were few things that Enjolras loathed more than being hoodwinked by his own mother into a conversation he’d been spending the past several years avoiding, but as he stood staring up at the rather imposing façade of a house he had been to only perhaps a handful of times, he thought this just might rank.

Still, his options were decidedly limited, and he hesitated only a moment more before climbing the stairs to the front door, knocking briskly. In telling of a house less used to visits during the season, it took a moment for the butler to answer the door, and Enjolras shifted uncomfortably on the stoop as he waited.

“May I help you?” the butler asked as he opened the door.

“Yes,” Enjolras said. “I’m here to see Grantaire.”

The butler eyed him warily. “And who should I tell Mr. Grantaire is here to see him?”

It took everything in Enjolras not to roll his eyes. “Tell him that the Marquess of Enjolras requests his presence,” he said dryly, hating the way the butler’s eyes widened when he realized just who was standing in the doorway.

“Of– of course, m’lord,” the butler said, immediately opening the door wider to usher Enjolras indoors. “Beg your pardon, m’lord. I’ll just, ah, go fetch Mr, Grantaire.”

He retreated up the stairs and Enjolras finally did roll his eyes, sighing heavily as he wandered a little further indoors. He had spent half his life, it seemed, going from one grand house to another, so very little surprised him, but he was intrigued by what he might find in Grantaire’s house. While his own park-adjoining manor had been in his family for generations, and was decorated accordingly, Grantaire came from new money, and this house had belonged to a different family entirely not even a decade before.

He paused to examine a small portrait of two young children, a boy and a girl, when he heard footsteps clattering on the stairs and he turned to look up as Grantaire joined him, a jacket rather hastily thrown on and buttoned incorrectly.

“My Lord.”

Grantaire’s voice was pitched just slightly higher than usual, in a way that indicated genuine surprise at finding Enjolras standing in his foyer, but somehow still retained the telltale lilt that Enjolras had long since realized meant Grantaire was making fun of him.

He scowled automatically. “Enjolras,” he corrected with an exasperated half-sigh.

Grantaire inclined his head, a smirk twisting his lips. “My lord Enjolras,” he said, and Enjolras’s scowl deepened.

“Just Enjolras,” he said flatly, not waiting for Grantaire to escort him into the house, instead crossing the foyer to peer into the front sitting room.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Grantaire said, following him.

Enjolras twisted his head to give Grantaire a smirk of his own. “As you seem so keen to remind me, I outrank you,” he said. “And believe me when I say this is one time I will feel no guilt using the trappings of the nobility to my advantage.”

Grantaire just snorted, brushing past him into the sitting room, ignoring the tea that had been set on the table and instead making his way over to the drink cart against the far wall. “Forgive me, but I can think of many instances where you undoubtedly used your title and your family to your advantage without any guilt,” he said dryly, pouring himself half a glass full of amber liquid before pausing, considering it, and adding another finger. “But let’s save that particular fight for a different time.” He turned back to Enjolras and raised his glass in a mock toast. “For now, before I forget my manners any further, let me say welcome to my home, and please, allow me to pour you a cup of tea.”

“I am capable of pouring my own tea, thanks,” Enjolras said, a little stiffly, and he sat down on one armchair before leaning forward to rather stubbornly do just that.

Grantaire did not join him, as if he thought keeping physical distance between them might keep things civil. “Only you would think that hospitality was an insult.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “The way you said it, it was.”

“You underestimate my capacity for being genuinely polite,” Grantaire said dryly, taking a large sip of his whiskey.

“Do I?”

“Tell me, my Lord—” Enjolras gritted his teeth but chose not to interrupt him. “—if not to insult me to my face in my own home, what brings you here, and at tea time no less?”

His voice was calm, pleasant even, but Enjolras felt himself flush in realization that he had done exactly that. And no matter how frequently he might wish to throttle Grantaire with his own hands, that was offensive even for him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his tea as he stirred it. “I have been rude.

Grantaire looked briefly surprised, as if he had not expected an apology. But then his smirk was back in full force. “All is forgiven...my lord.” Enjolras really might shatter his teacup at this rate. “But you still didn’t answer my question as to why you are here.”

Enjolras set his teacup down and straightened, looking Grantaire in the eye. “I came to ask for your help.”

Grantaire laughed. “So you come to my home, uninvited, you insult me to my face, and you still have the audacity to ask for my help?” He drained half of his whiskey in one long gulp. “You are lucky you have been granted the face of a Greek god, Apollo.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras sighed, though he knew it was a losing battle. Grantaire had called him that on the first day they met, when Grantaire was finishing college and Enjolras just beginning, and he had continued to call him that for all the years since. “Look, I am sorry, and not just because I need your help. I am ill suited to polite society and the longer the season drags on, the more foul my temper becomes.”

Grantaire made a small noise of agreement. “You and I both,” he murmured, draining his glass and pouring himself another before finally joining Enjolras, settling into the armchair across from him. “Very well. You have my attention.”

Enjolras leaned forward, sudden urgency in every line of his body. “Word has it that you were instrumental in helping Lord Joly and Mr. Lesgle avoid scandal last season when both were in love with Lady Musichetta.”

“Well, we avoided a big scandal at least,” Grantaire said, eyeing Enjolras carefully. “There must always be a little bit of a scandal or none would believe it.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Either way, all three are happy, and living at Lord Joly’s estate, and not a word about them has been wasted in Lady Whistledown’s papers this season.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I am astonished to learn you have read any of the newly-revived Lady Whistledown’s papers, let alone with enough frequency to speak with such authority on the subject.:

Enjolras flushed a mottled red and looked away. “It’s an easy conversation topic,” he muttered, “when I am forced to speak to those with whom I have nothing in common.”

“Such as the twittering nitwits your mother foists upon you at every turn?” Grantaire asked lightly.

Enjolras met his eyes evenly. “Exactly. And exactly why I am here.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here to better learn how to talk with women?” he asked, almost certainly purposefully obtuse. “I admit, I am an expert on the subject, but—”

“Of course not,” Enjolras snapped. “Not to mention if I did need help in that arena, you would be the last person I would turn to.”

Grantaire laughed. “Your loss, he said cheerfully. After all, to have bedded as many women as I with a face like mine requires quite the expert hand at wooing.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire smirked before taking another sip of whiskey. “Very well. If you are not here for my help in speaking to young ladies to finally secure a marriage match, then why are you here?”

“Because I do need to marry someone,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “But I need it not to be real.” Again he met Grantaire’s eyes. “And you are the only person I can think of who can help me pull that off.”

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras's mother #les amis #les miserables #fanfiction #bridgerton au #lady whistledown #developing relationship #hijinks and shenanigans #and eventually #fake marriage #canon era sorta

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henlex · 3 years

Text

@bonknanab here's your taeho reading💕💖💕💖💕 get ready to be emotional

This is so long rip

P1harmony:

Theo🤝Keeho

Sun

Theo: Cancer, uwu. Protective sweethearts. That mom energy. But can be v protective of themselves too. That's the kind of the hard exterior you could see A Lot when he was first in camera, and the shy aurora even tho he's an extrovert. He's just trying to protect his soft self from the world. They really like to feel safe (kinda like taurus) they like to have a home that's secure so they tend to resist change. They can be pretty sentimental. They're guided by their emotions. They're pretty vulnerable and have a deep capacity for love. Very sensitive, can get hurt easily. Can be touchy, dependable and caring

Keeho: libra, air. Very sociable, just really love being with people. Very approachable. They really like balance but they can unintentionally cause problems because they spread themselves too thin. They really have good intentions but they could 100% lie to not create waves. Theyll kind of do anything to keep the peace. They can be pretty indirect/ hate confrontation, which can drive some people mad (🙋🏼‍♀️its me😂)Real masterful at avoiding things. They have high expectations and tend to compare things.

Moons

Theo- scorpio: I love this boy so much wow😭

He's and emotional boyyy. So he really likes emotional intensity. He feels things really deeply. They can really see through to the soul of a person. They unconsciously get uneasy when things are too calm/ easy and might seek emotional excitement/ drama. All or nothing. They dont want flings, they dont start things unless they'll finish them. Ok so they love commitment, they seek it ok, but they're also super cautious and suspicious of everyone. They tend to unintentionally test the people in their lives for loyalty...But after theyve committed they're incredibly loyal and protective😭Some people can be intimidated by them but others are drawn to them. They seem to just know things, crazy good intuition.

Keeho-Aqua, air. Unique, used to being different, shy kids. They're kind of detached and like to observe and try to understand others. So he has pretty strong barriers. They're pretty sociable but still have the heart of a loner☹. They really love letting other people know they're different and possibly shocking them. They brag about their loved ones uwu. General kindness towards others. Can be willful. The need a certain amount of freedom, and are pretty independent, at least emotionally.

Mercury

Theo- gemini, air. Scattered, eclectic interests. They have a basic knowledge of a lot of things. Quick learners, take in a lot from their environments. Can become restless. They can be very logical (but his water definitely adds the emotion and intuition) Very adaptable, not very attached to their ideals. Smooth talkers, possible deceptive humor (like poking at someones weakness, but lightheartedly) Good communicators and decision makers.

Keeho- libra....this boy is all air wtf. These people irk me because if you take a stance they automatically take the opposite "so it's equal"

Anyway they strive for that equality and diplomacy. Very pleasing communicators. They might be focused on trying to sound smart they forget to listen to the other person😂 They're gentle and adapt to others comfort levels. They are always looking for compromise, they hate absolutes in opinion. Great mediators (wow great leader) They can get lost in indecision because they weigh the good and bad almost endlessly. HELP it's hard for them to give a compliment without adding something 😂BOY. They try to make everyone happy. They tend to need other people to make a decision....but when they give input this mf will probably choose the other option💆🏼‍♀️

Venus

Theo- taurus- I want to give this boy a hugggg😭

So they need to be comfy. They need dependability in their relationships. Can be possessive in love. They're very touchy in their affection. They do hate change but they are incredibly dependable. To win them over you need to show your loyalty and show how much they mean to you. They can take a while to warm up but that's just because they're a slow/ cautious earth sign. Dont push them, but get comfy with them, do cozy things together. " Harmony and peace are important factors in the art and music they are attracted to." They really said harmony💖

Keeho- virgo, earth. Not flirty👀👀 pffft ok. Tries to win someone over with devotion and showing them a ton of attention. Cautious, slowly makes his way into their heart. Sensitive and insecure in love😭 They need to know feelings are mutual before they make a move..... Can childishly tease their crush💆🏼‍♀️ But they have good intentions. They arent attracted to show offs, they like understated, unnoticed people. These people love quietly helping and doing the little things. You'll win them over if you recognize their efforts, they just want to be appreciated.

Mars

Theo- sagittarius, fire.

When they feel attacked or threatened they have the need to run and just go do something else. Then they come back. It's really go for these people to be physically active, they need a healthy outlet. Can be pretty scattered, they just do what they want to in that moment which can mean leaving a ton of projects unfinished. Optimistic, fun loving. Love a good debate, but with his gem mercury I highly doubt it would get as heated as with a less flexible sign (like me). Passionate, open-minded, but can be blunt. Lol they can be confusing because they go from fun loving to intense. They need space and freedom, probably not a ton cuz he is a cancer, but like freedom to express himself. They have grand and idealistic ideas.

Skip S*x mentions: ok so doesnt have a lot of patience for anything too complex. Loves to have fun and laugh. Lowkey selfish. Can be very direct but almost innocently? Not a fan of people playing hard to get. They dont care for anything to serious in the bedroom (idk this might not be so true with his other placements, but the emotions probably come right after.

Keeho- cap, earth: this boy is v interesting.

Lowkey energy LOL. Very determined. Very goal oriented and focused. They like to be on top of everything. They have a lot of self control. They like to be in control. Really reliable, great leader.

*Straightforward and simple. Will want to keep it v private. They like when they're with someone who's experienced and powerful.

Messy thoughts

Ok but keeho would love theos mercury because hes unlikely to have extreme opinions and they're both very adaptable, I can imagine them getting into any serious arguments at all. I know keeho would annoy me so much but theo is probably totally fine. K- want to go to A ot B for dinner? T- B, K- ok but what if we go to A. T- ya that's fine. Like wow🤝

Earth venuses😭😭😭😭 they're actually perfect dont touch me. Needs dependability/ wins you over with dependability. Perfection. They both play the long game, slow burn. Keeho literally is attracted to wall flowers goodbye. Just say theo is your soulmate and leave. Keeho called theo his love for a reasonnnn also theo fr didnt say anything cuz yes we are each others love.

They both need their own space

Ok so I think theo would really appreciate keeho non-confrontational self because theos pretty sensitive 😭

It's really looking like theo is the type of person to get lost in their emotions and keeho could really help pull him out of that and help him just chill? Have fun?

Ok sooooo their moons are not the bestttt. Cuz scorp is super emotional and deep and aqua is like... detached. Their emotional selves are very different. But also they could be so intrigued by each other, like trying to understand wtf is going on in their heads.

Ok but theo can 100% see passed keehos emotional barriers and like See him. And I feel like keeho might not have ever felt that before and😭😭😭 idk they could be really really close.

Keeho sounds so sweet and perfect for theo. Always making sure hes comfy😭

(They really both said keep it simple in the bedroom. Like damn ok, keep being a perfect match)

#asks #kpop astrology #taeho #ships #p1harmony #p1h theo #p1h #p1h keeho #keeho #choi taeyang

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milkygcf · 3 years

Text

UNDER THE MISTLETOE

Pairing | knj x gender-neutral reader

Genre | tooth-rotting fluff i think, established relationship

Warnings | just a tiny bit of cursing, the boys are a chaotic mess

Summary | ❝ Nothing can beat a holiday spent with Namjoon.❞

Word Count | 4.1k

Author’s Note | THIS IS AN ABSOLUTE MESS I’M SORRY 😭🙏 i rush wrote this so i could put up something for christmas. nonetheless, i hope whoever reads this enjoys it! also, big thanks to @youarejesting for the banner! i love it, it’s so cute :( another little side note is, this is also part of @btscreatorscorner‘s Crystal Snow Event! make sure to take a look at all the other works :] happy holidays!

Christmas with Namjoon is always a wild ride. From hectic decoration shopping to disastrous baking, to actual decorating and singing Christmas songs together. However, it's not like you're complaining, because as rowdy as Christmas time can be with your significant other, nothing can beat a holiday spent with Namjoon.

Every year is an open door to new shenanigans, handmade gifts and memories that embed themselves warmly into your heart. This year isn't any different, except for the fact that the rest of the group were joining for dinner - along with the chaos they always brought along with them. As close as you are with your boyfriend, not even your connection could beat theirs. It's heart-warming - as much as they argue, nothing could possibly tear them apart. Nothing could bring you any more serotonin than the jovial smile that attacks Namjoon's handsome features whenever they're around.

Now, you’re all nearing your thirties - except for Jungkook, he was still bearing life without early back problems - and you suppose you all look the part as well. Unless it's Christmas season and the young man himself proposes they all compete in a Best Decorated House competition between themselves. The winner earns himself an extra present from every participant - which you find rather amusing because you're pretty sure they were willing to buy each other the world in a blink of an eye. The loser, however, gets to wash every dish used during dinner. Ouch.

"Deal!" Namjoon hollers, finger pointed up in agreement, his chest puffed out in pride. You know he's going to stress about it later on because as much as you love the man, he's absolute shit when it comes to decorating. If it weren't for you, his house would be a shit-show. Sorry, Namjoon.

"Can't wait to beat all of your sorry asses!" Seokjin yells even louder, an arm hooked around Yoongi's waist. The energy he radiates astonishes you because even if he's the eldest from the lot, he's always the energetic one. Seokjin might as well be your icon.

And that's how it all began - the calm before the storm. But then again, them proposing this very idea wasn't exactly calm.

You feel a shy tap on your shoulder while you're busy scanning through your fifth isle. Namjoon holds out a tiny Christmas tree to you, his eyes round and shiny. You already know you won't be able to refuse. "Can we get it? Please - my bonsai needs a new friend."

"I think your bonsai would be sad to know their friend is made out of plastic, Joon."

"Well, they wouldn't be sad if they didn't know, right?"

His grin is brimming with mirth. He knows what you're going to say - there was no need to even ask you in the first place because he knew you could never resist his puppy eyes. "Fine," you sigh softly, offering him your sweetest smile. "Make sure Mon doesn't swallow it whole. That dog is a menace."

"He has a restless soul. We'll buy him reindeer ears on our way home."

"Yes!" It elicits giggles from both of you - Namjoon had introduced you to Rapmon just two months into the relationship, claiming you must meet your competition because it's only fair. Frankly, you think the dog himself is competing with your boyfriend - the second you set sight on his silky fur you’ve vowed to never leave his side. Rapmon was an absolute gem. From then on, he was a big part of the events you celebrated together - the main character in your little shenanigans.

Once you've both paid whatever you needed for the day, heaving a ton of shopping bags, you step out of the shop in a fit of giggles. As sophisticated and stern as Namjoon may look, he's quite possibly the clumsiest giant you've ever met. Unfortunately for him, he had accidentally ripped one of the bags you had brought along and as he readied to lift it, all contents came tumbling out as he gawked in terror. Red instantly rushed to his cheeks and you found it hard not to burst out laughing in his face. He wouldn't want to become more flustered than he already felt.

"Every day I wake up to the face of embarrassment," he mumbles ashamedly, shaking his head in dismay. You could only continue to chortle before leaning in to place a tender kiss on his cheek. "It's okay dummy," his cheeks redden even more, "Would some hot chocolate fix your mood?" The second the words slip out of your lips, his face no longer holds a grim expression.

Getting hot chocolate from Pixie’s Magic! is like a tradition between you and Namjoon. Not only was it where you both had met, but it served the most delicious brews you’ve ever tasted. Nothing could possibly beat this little shop in the corner of the mall you were currently in.

Although it was usually calm and quiet, it seemed to be bustling the day you both go out to buy Christmas decorations. There’s a myriad of people piling up in plan of buying themselves the warmest cup of cocoa - a cup of happiness that would complete their own Christmas. Within that queue of people were families, couples and even people who spend their time alone during the festive season. Pixie’s hot cocoa never failed to brighten days.

You scout through your newly bought items for anything that might pass time. Namjoon stands beside you with his phone in hand, thumb clumsily scrolling through whatever he’d missed from the boys’ usual spam session. “Hoseok’s already got most of his decorations up. Something tells me we’re not winning this so easily.”

“We’re literally up against Seokjin and Jungkook.”

He pulls his lips in a taut line - going up against those two was a one way stop to instant loss. Nothing, absolutely nothing could beat either one of them. The competition was and will always be between Seokjin and Jungkook because both were as dense as a brick and would stop at nothing to earn themselves a victory. Frankly, you found it entertaining, even if they were constantly at each other’s throats and threatening to burn each other down - jokingly, of course, you’d never condone violence. Brotherly love if you’ve ever seen it.

“They’re out of the question. We’re up against the rest, those two idiots can eat an egg.” His bluntness makes you burst into fits of giggles, earning the clear attention of those either ahead of you or waiting (im)patiently behind. Namjoon always had a rather poetic way of saying things. “An egg? You’d be doing them a favour.”

He doesn’t quite realise what you mean until a few seconds later when he breathes out a dejected sigh and massages his temple soothingly. “They’re a whole mess.”

And he’s right, because when you’re back in the comfort of your humble abode with a warm cup of cocoa waiting for you in the living room, Namjoon’s phone keeps endlessly buzzing.

“You can’t keep ignoring them forever, you know.”

Namjoon sometimes thinks about how difficult his life would be without you. Go figure that there was no way of avoiding them, right? If you hadn’t told him, he would’ve never guessed so.

The couch sinks underneath his weight as he plants himself beside you, placing a mushy kiss onto your cheek. He’s quick to hand you his beverage once Mon literally hops onto him, wagging his tail like the euphoric little rascal that he is. And there’s peace and quiet, the sound of the crackle of the fireplace, until Namjoon’s thumb slides over the tiny green button making his phone constantly vibrate.

“Namjoon! What took you so long?!”

Seokjin’s voice comes booming out of the device nestled in your boyfriend’s palm. You must admit - it startled you just a bit, but it’s not like you weren’t used to their rambunctious behaviour. “We thought you died. Almost worried us for a while there.”

“Actually,” Jimin so pridefully interrupts, “He was just about ready to forget about you. Don’t act like you didn’t see cloud nine when Tae suggested Joon backed out.” It was all fun and games, affectionate brotherly love between the lot until suddenly, it was a trademarked apocalypse. Truly mind-blowing.

“You tattletale-!”

“Don’t worry Seokjin,” you snort, “He’s still up and running.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!” Offence washes over Namjoon’s face - perhaps it really is him against the world. Kim Namjoon could trust no one. You could only poke your tongue out at him, earning yourself a blissful smile. “Not at all.”

“Ew. Stop flirting - this isn’t about you, this is about the progress you’re doing.” Seokjin scoffs, making the latter silently giggle to themselves. He has absolutely no filter - nothing could get in the way of the man’s priorities. “Tell that to Yoongi.” His boyfriend was sitting right beside him - and poor him, because Yoongi has to be the strongest man to ever set foot on earth. He’s been dealing with Seokjin’s shit for over a good year or so now.

“Believe me, I might just knock him out.”

“No way - who’s going to peel your tangerines for work then? Ungrateful imp.”

Their bickering continues to produce light laughter from the lot of you until you decide it's about time you update each other on your progress. Surprisingly enough, Hoseok was much farther ahead than you all anticipated, and it earned you another fifteen minutes worth of competitive yelling between the youngest and the eldest.

But that was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Move it a little bit to the left," you instructed stringently, hands planted firmly on your hips as your boyfriend does whatever he's told. The tree jiggles with every waking movement, making Namjoon groan at the heavyweight it settles upon him. "Is this alright?" He mumbles tiredly, eyeing you from the depths of its branches.

You could only nibble on your lip, your eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Maybe a bit to the right."

Even when he's exhausted, even when he's sick and tired of turning a piece of mere decoration to countless directions, he doesn't complain. Namjoon wasn't exactly fond of religious festivities, but spending Christmas with you is always something he looks forward to. Setting the deal aside, it was always enjoyable bringing a little life to the house with someone he adores and his heart beats for. "Perfect! Could you grab the baubles? I'll get the ornaments."

Teamwork makes the dream work. An idiom he liked to say on the daily - it always worked between the two of you. Six hours worth of work put into four and the mess that bested every nook and cranny of your house now lessened. You hang the last bauble and sigh in content. "Doesn't it look pretty? I think this is our best one yet."

"Well, technically speaking, I couldn't expect any less from you, bun." His tone of voice resembles that of a young boy in love, his eyes sparkling under the colourful Christmas lights nestled comfortably in the tree's branches as he looks at you with a bashful smile. It's moments like these when you're so caught up in the things you do together, these blissful moments that you realise just how grateful you are for Namjoon. You love him, you love him so much. Nothing could be a better present than spending time with him. He's your bundle of pure euphoria.

"The tree's feeling a little bland, don't you think?"

It takes you a moment to take notice of what he actually meant before you feel extra weight added on top of your head. He teasingly hangs the finishing piece away from you, puckering his lips in hopes he'd earn himself something sweet in return for the star. You could only roll your eyes, but nonetheless, nothing stops you from latching your lips onto his and giving him your love.

Without hesitation, Namjoon scoops you up onto his shoulders, he guides you towards the crest of the tree and watches with bright eyes as you ecstatically plant the finale to the first phase of your decorating. Monnie scratches at the latter's legs in pure joy, barking at you both to signal his presence as well. It elicits laughter, and as Namjoon gently sets you back down, you let your fingers ruffle his fur as he licks at your face.

However, your hours upon hours of decorating doesn't end there, the tinsel messily spread underneath you is a clear indication of this.

With an exhausted huff, you look at Namjoon with hopeful eyes. There's still much to be done.

---

Looks tend to be deceiving when it comes to Kim Namjoon. People tended to deem him as a friendly giant, however, when it came to snowball fights, he was far from that. Like a devil crawling out the pits of hell.

The day you decide to pamper the outdoors of your house, snow starts dribbling from the skies above you. A miracle, because it’s never really snowed so early in December.

You’re busy setting up mistletoe in front of your front door until you’re barreling forward from the force of something wet on your back. It couldn’t have been Mon - he was sleeping soundlessly inside. But your boyfriend wasn’t - instead, he was childishly running around the front lawn bearing snowballs.

“Namjoon!” You shriek in utter disbelief, turning around only to face a devious grin. Pure evil dripped from him - Namjoon was no longer the soft bear who insisted you play with his hair. He was now a foe. “You’re going to pay for that!” As quickly as you could, you bear your own weaponry to pay back his foolish actions.

His giggles echoed across the small space you’re in and before you could even comprehend what was happening, he was already aiming another shot at you. Unfortunately, you were too slow against him.

Splat!

Three points for Kim Namjoon!

At your absolute suffering, his laughter only gets louder over Mariah Carey’s gorgeous singing coming from inside. “You’ll pay for this, you evil man!” However, your threats are only drowned out by his boisterous laughter. “I’d like to see you try!”

And you do. Because while he’s busy laughing his ass off at your misery, you earn yourself the rightful chance to aim a snowball right into his face. Three points? You just scored a whole seven.

He’s baffled - completely, utterly speechless at what’s happened. Well, you definitely weren’t going to stand there and let him conquer victory, he knew that for a fact. He just didn’t think you’d be so blunt. Now you’ve earned him a pink nose. But was he going to let you get away with it? No, Namjoon’s a Virgo.

He charges towards you like a clumsy child. You almost screech in surprise, instead, busting out in fits of laughter as you tumble and trip away from him. “Hey-! Get back here!” He cries out, almost face-planting into a hefty pile of snow. That would’ve been outright hilarious.

“Just try and catch me, big man!”

It’s light-hearted, it’s all lively and pleasant. You were both adults, but nothing stopped you from feeding into the fruits of life and feeling youthful sometimes. You both did it for the hell of it because you knew that with each other, you could be anything.

You’re too busy laughing to actually take notice of where your feet were taking you, feigning into the mess beneath you and tripping in your own feet. A loud thud leaves your descent, and with that, your boyfriend tumbling down on top of you because he was too clumsy for his own good. It was cute, really. Namjoon lets out a terrified shriek, his arms landing just beside your head - luckily because you’re pretty sure you would’ve earned yourself a long-surviving black-eye.

“Got you,” he says rather flusteredly. There’s a hint of panic in his eyes that almost seems as if he’s seen God himself. Had the fall really taken the piss out of him?

“No,” you state, shaking your head as best as you can. “Technically speaking, I got you.” You place a quick kiss on his pretty pink nose just for good measure, because in truth, you really did get him. He was on three points while you were on a steady seven. Namjoon pulls his lips in a taut line ever so shyly, hiding the growing smile planting itself on his face. No longer was he your arch-nemesis - your boyfriend was back to being your friendly neighbourhood giant. “Shouldn’t we get back to decorating? I thought you wanted to beat the others.” Perhaps it slipped through his mind because the second those words slip through yours, he’s already hoisting himself up and pulling you along with him. Kim Namjoon does not give up in the face of competition, that much is clear, even when he’d previously been working off a snowball fight.

“I couldn’t help myself!” He defends nonetheless, his palm scratching shyly at his mess of a mane. “But now that I think about it, we can have as many snowball fights as we want when we kick ass. A win-win situation, if I do say so myself.”

A win-win situation indeed.

When the boys call later on in the evening, it becomes clear that Namjoon was second in lead - Jimin taking first place. While the rest were busy taking things easily, he’d effortlessly managed to get things done in only a short matter of time. He definitely wasn’t there to play.

“No way. You’re cheating!” Taehyung accuses, astonishment evident from the little you could see of his face. His lighting was absolute crap. Despite his belief, Jimin easily shakes off his accusation with a mischievous grin. “I don’t know Taehyung, maybe if you hadn’t been slacking off at Taco Bell you would’ve been catching up.”

“Wha-! What a heathen - I’d choose Taco Bell over this any day!”

“How dare you! This is Christmas decorating you red-headed scoundrel!”

“This isn’t about you Seokjin!”

“Might as well be,�� Yoongi mumbles from beside him, lazily scrolling through his phone as a yawn escapes his lips. You might just think he’s aged by a couple of years because of this ordeal. “You’re all complete losers,” Jungkook comments, face completely mushed against his phone as he nibbles on whatever was in front of him. The kid feared absolutely nothing - the wrath of a butthurt Kim Seokjin wasn’t any different.

Namjoon squints at his phone. He clearly wasn’t wearing his glasses, nor his contact lenses, and you knew he’d face the consequences later on. You’ve spent countless days by his side tending to his colossal headache. “Are you… Are you eating raw pop tarts?”

“Yes.”

“Raw. Aren’t you supposed to toast them?” There’s confusion laced in his tone, and in between, intense fear. “That’s like, a felony.”

Jungkook lets out a scandalised gasp. “No way! I’m not letting this piece of divine heaven be tainted by modern technology! I don’t even have a toaster, and there’s no way in hell I’m touching the microwave.”

Hoseok snickers. “He thinks it’s going to explode.”

“Don’t test me! I know the evil that sits within that thing.”

As complex at it was, you’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no explaining what these men are made out of. They’re simply built differently. In fact, you’ve grown out of trying to comprehend them, because you could be on your death-bed and they’d still be saying and doing things that would make you sigh and shake your head.

---

Alas, the day has come, and so have the boys, who just wouldn’t stop rambunctiously banging on your door. You’re busy setting up the table, Mon at your feet wagging his tail excitedly. “Namjoon!” You call out, balancing a few plates on the palms of your hands. “Namjoon! Could you get the door?”

However, as much as you yell, Namjoon doesn’t respond. You suppose it’s because he hasn’t come back from wherever he had gone earlier during the day. Odd.

Nonetheless, you set a few plates down on the dining table, hurriedly skipping over to your front door only to be trampled by none other than your special guests for the night. “Finally!” A rather over-dramatic Seokjin sighs, patting away the invisible sweat dripping down his forehead. “Waiting for you to open was like running a marathon. I swear!”

You could only laugh as Jimin pulls you in for an embrace - it was in his habits to do so whenever he saw you. It’s not as if you mind, his hugs were by far the best you’ve felt. They were full of love and warmth, something that perfectly describes the man himself. “Don’t mind him,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at the dramatics his friend was making. “He really needed to piss.”

“Sorry for taking so long - Namjoon hasn’t gotten back home from this morning.”

“He hasn’t?” Yoongi neatly sets his shoes by the door, unwrapping a thick scarf from his neck, dangling it on your coat hanger. “That’s pretty unusual, he doesn’t like being out in cold weather.”

“He probably got into some traffic,” you assume, “Hopefully he’ll be back soon. Until then, make yourselves at home. We’ll order take-out soon!”

All of you were like a proper family when it came to celebrating Christmas. Each year, sleepovers are taken in turns going from eldest to youngest. This year just so happens to be Namjoon’s turn - it’s not as if you mind, the house seems more lively when they’re around. They had that thing about them, that wherever they went they tended to make things brighter. Not once have you felt gloomy or perhaps left out. The seven of them all had qualities in contrast to one another, all showing you different ways of happiness. You’re lucky to say you have them in your life.

The wait for Namjoon continues. You all settle with playing board games, for the time being, the living room turning into a whole battleground because Yoongi can’t go by without cheating once in a while. He was really cunning, you could see Taehyung trying to pick up on his tricks.

“Uno!” Jimin yells, shoving a proud middle finger in Seokjin’s face. The man could faint from the amount of disrespect he was receiving. “Try beating that, old man.”

“I’ll tell you I’m more than an old man! I want a rematch. You’re all cheats, all of you.”

“You’re just a sore loser.” Jungkook was on thin ice. His nitpicking on Seokjin was getting him nowhere but pure, utter hell while he was sleeping. You admire his courage - he was fucking insane. “Sore losers don’t win, old man.”

Seokjin almost gets up to throttle him for his constant bullying when the door swings open and you’re all met by layers upon layers of clothing stomping inside. He’s carrying a bunch of bags you can’t seem to decipher, and you could see his nose poking out from his scarf.

Finally, Namjoon’s back home.

“Hey __, I’m back. I’m sorry I took so-”

“Joon, you idiot!” Before you could even bat an eye, Taehyung and Hoseok were on the man like hungry beasts. He was already eaten up by whatever garments he was wearing, the only pieces missing were the duo for him to finally disappear. “What took you so long? We were worried sick! Jimin can’t DJ for the life of him.”

“Hey-!”

You hoist yourself up and dust off whatever remnants of gingerbread cookies were left on you. All the concern that had been building up over time of Namjoon not being home had now diminished. Sudden relief washes over you because you hadn’t really noticed how worried sick you’ve been until he’d stepped into the house. Namjoon can be really impulsive sometimes.

“Joon,” He wraps his arms around your smaller figure and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Where have you been? Had me really worried for a second there.”

There’s this cheeky look in his face that makes you swoon. He’s so lovely, in all his ways, you just can’t help but be filled with so much love. You love him.

“I kind of… I kind of forgot to pick your present up. Sorry - Didn’t want to worry you, just a clumsy move.”

He’s all you’ve ever imagined.

“Get over here you two - we’re ordering take-out!” Your little moment is easily interrupted by the guys hollering you over, to which you oblige because you wouldn’t want to waste another second. You could hear Namjoon’s stomach grumbling a bit. “Have I been out for that long?” He queries, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Dummy, it’s six in the afternoon. It’s already dark.”

“Well, I’m finally back home now, right where I need to be.”

You don’t notice it, but there’s a little mistletoe just above your heads. And Namjoon knows this because he points up towards it with mirth laced in his pretty eyes and a pretty smile. “Merry Christmas,” he tells you before he leans in and gives you what you rightfully deserve.

#btscreatorscorner #bcccse #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #bts au #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jeon jungkook #park jimin #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon reader #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon fluff #namjoon fic #kim namjoon fic

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be-your-fantasy · 4 years

Text

~ Loved ~

Reader x Chan (couple) + the rest of Victon being sweeties 💗

Genre: Fluff + slight angst (stress from work)

Warnings: none Word Count: 1,800

The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard through the hall, you were finally off of work for the week and what a week it had been. Aggravation, stress, and fatigue placing heavy weights on your shoulders, ready to break you. You hated crying in public, but you couldn't help the tears that escaped your eyes and rolled down your cheek. The bright light at the end of the week was always dinner with your boyfriend Chan and his group members, but you didn't want them seeing you like this, you stood outside the front door to their dorm to try and collect yourself before going in. Your breathing steadied as you entered the code and turned the handle, you were greeted with the faint smell of burning food and a commotion coming from the kitchen.

"SEJUN!" Came a half-hearted yell from Subin followed by laughter from them both, you couldn’t see what was going on from where you were but you were already quite familiar with the cooking shenanigans that happened when they were all in the kitchen together.

You would normally be helping them make dinner, well, helping Seungsik keep the others from burning down the kitchen more accurately, but when you texted them that you were stuck at work late they decided to get started to surprise you with dinner hot and ready.

Before you could put your bag down, the face you love so much peeked around the corner.

"Hunny!" Said Chan with a bright smile on his face, rushing forward with arms wide open. His strides slowed to a shuffle and his shoulders began to fall though as he was now close enough to see your face clearly. The tears may have stopped but he could see your puffy and blood shot eyes, red nose, and forced smile. 'Heo-caron' was very familiar with this face.

"Y/N are you ok? What happened?" He said as he cupped your face with warm hands, bringing his face down to meet yours. His expression deep with concern. You were really hoping he wouldn't ask that question, you had already been fighting back the flood to come and his question prompted the dam to break. You began to sob as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You began to hear the fuss in the kitchen settle down and quiet footsteps shuffling closer.

You tried desperately to steady your breathing once again as Chan brought his hands back to your face, running his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe the tears away. As your eyes began to clear you could see 6 familiar faces just over Chans shoulder, standing a little ways back, faces filled with confusion and concern. You had known them all for quite some time now but this was the first time the other members saw you cry.

"Do you want to go lay down?" Chan asked you quietly, you gently nodded your head while choking back your overwhelming emotions, feeling them claw their way up your throat. He tucked you under his arm and headed for his bedroom.

Chan brought out some of his clothes for you to change into, he knew you loved wearing his clothes and his immediate goal was to make you happy again. He helped you change before pulling you onto the bed with him, pulling your favourite fuzzy blanket up to your shoulders. You rested your head on his chest and snuggled deep into his side, moving gently with the rise and fall of his chest, your tears dampening the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He didn't press you for answers, this wasn't the first time he'd seen you cry and knew that you would talk about it when you were ready. Chan gently rubbed your back as he placed sweet kisses on the top of your head, quietly whispering how much he loved you. The mood outside the bedroom door was decidedly different however.

The 6 men looked at each other quietly, unsure what to do. You had become family to them, you may have only been dating Chan, but that means you also adopted 6 other precious humans into your life as well. From lighthearted fun like karaoke night and painting each others nails, to staying up late and night talking endlessly until the sun came up, and who can forget all the snuggles. You and Chan were very comfortable in your relationship and Chan was not the jealous type, he trusted both you and his members so snuggles were as normal with you as they were with any of the other members.

Without a word Seungsik turned toward the kitchen, turned the stove back on and continued cooking in silence. The others just looked at him, unsure of what to do next.

“I’m sure she’s hungry, let’s do what we can to cheer her up.” Seungsik said without raising his gaze from his task, his cheery disposition now changed to one of focus. The others quickly followed suit, now with a mission before them. Sejun and Hanse decided there was enough help making dinner already and made their way to the front door.

“We’ll be right back!” Said Hanse with a smile before slipping on his shoes and following Sejun out the door in a hurry. Their hasty exit prompted a quizzical look from Byungchan who peered around the corner at them as they left, followed by a shrug and returning to his task at hand.

Subin and Seungwoo kept finding themselves distracted however, it was really hurting them to see you so upset, as it was for everyone. Seeing you crying reminded them of their own sisters and the hurt they felt seeing them upset. Subin was the first to leave his task and grab his phone to text Chan, after some time of no response he decided on a different tactic. He grabbed some paper and a pen, he wrote ‘Is she ok?’ on it before sliding it under the bedroom door and gently knocking. He didn’t want to open the door and intrude so he felt this was the next best thing. He squatted down in front of the door hugging his knees, waiting patiently for a response.

You and Chan looked up at the noise, you had calmed down quite a bit at this point, the torrent of tears now just a gentle trickle. You knew that you had worried them, you certainly didn’t mean to, you knew how much they loved and cared for you. You reminded yourself that you were safe with them, safe to share your emotions and lean on them when you needed to, just like you had done for each of them so many times before. You and Chan walked to the door, he grabbed a pen on his way, he sat on the floor and placed you in his lap, giving you the pen to respond if you were ready.

Subin heard the footsteps coming closer to the door and watched the bottom of the door intently. He saw the paper emerge from under the door, being pushed by your fingertips. Your response written underneath his question.

‘I will be ♡’

Subin smiled, this little reassurance he needed fueled him to return to his task, paper in hand placing it on the kitchen counter for the others to see. A warm smile and renewed focus was shared among them as they finished up.

Before long Byungchan was grabbing the serving bowls, placing them on the counter in a row to serve dinner. Just as they were finishing the last plate the sound of the front door could be heard and Hanse and Sejun appeared triumphantly with bags in hand.

“What did you get?” said Seungwoo as he came closer with hands open to help take the bags.

“Well, we just grabbed what we thought Y/N would like. So we have cupcakes for dessert, a plushie, some candy...” Sejun continued to explain before being cut off abruptly by an excited Hanse.

“Don’t forget the candle!”

“Ah, yes we found a giant heart candle we want to put on Y/N’s cupcake.” Said Sejun finishing what he was saying.

“This is perfect! Well done!” Said Seungsik sounding like a proud mom. Everyone busied themselves with final touches, including the surprisingly large heart candle that was threatening to topple the poor cupcake it was sat upon. Subin returned to the door and wrote another question before sliding the paper back under the door.

‘Can we come in?’

You didn’t bother writing a response, instead you and Chan stood up and opened the door, your cheeks turning pink and shy when the sight of these 6 men standing there with dinner, dessert, presents and the brightest smiles was in front of you. Subin was the first at the door, holding your new plushy with a little bow on its head in his hands, you practically tackled Subin in a tight hug, burying your face in his chest to hide your flustered expression. Chan rubbed your back and chuckled as he gently moved you two to the side to allow the others into the room. Everyone took a seat around the room within reach of dinner, all taking turns coming to sit beside you and check to make sure you were ok.

Before long everyone had had their fill of food, Byungchan, Chan, and Seungsik were taking in the dishes when you started to feel your fatigue return and you couldn’t stop yawning. You shuffled yourself back on the bed, grabbed your fuzzy blanket and curled up. Seungwoo watched you as you made yourself cozy and could not resist this opportunity for snuggles, he layed down facing you, placing his forehead against yours and took your hands in his own. He pulled them to his chest and held them there, you could feel his steady and calm heartbeat as he hugged yours hands to his chest tightly.

The others returned from dish duty and settled back into the room, Chan crawling back up the bed behind you. He layed down and wrapped his arms around you, squeezing tight as he tucked his knees in behind your own, pulling you into him. One by one the other members made their way to the bed, thank goodness Chan had a Queen size bed. The empty space on the bed became non-existent as you were slowly buried in their care and affection, it was so warm and so filled with love that you didn’t mind at all.

It wasn’t long before you drifted off to sleep along with a few of the members who were situated comfortably on the bed, the rest tip toed out of the room to return to their own beds for the night. Their mission a success.

~ I hope you enjoyed this comfort piece! Have a lovely day!

#victon #victon scenarios #victon fluff #victon imagines #heo chan #chan #seungwoo #seungsik #sejun #hanse #byungchan #subin #ilovetheseboys #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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highqueenofelfhame · 4 years

Text

acowar reread thread

so i think i’ll update this post every few chapters unless anything super major happens that i want to immediately react to, that way you get my commentary but i’m not totally flooding and flooding and flooding your feed with a super super long post. i think i’m going to edit it under the cut and reblog it every time it gets updated and i’ll also number every update so it’s easy to find where i left off. if you guys prefer the other way i’ll transition back to the other way for acofas.) this is super fun i’ll start doing this for more books if you’re interested, including books i read for the first time. (after acofas, crescent city is next and it’ll be my first time reading it!)

UPDATES UNDER THE CUT.

1) chapters 1-5 I’ve read up through chapter five and so far my favorite thing is just how DONE feyre is with literally everyone in the spring court. the amount of times she’s had to like look away and not roll her eyes is just hilarious, her dry inner monologue, she just made a comment about having to remind herself to laugh and not strangle tamlin while they were dancing at the summer solstice and it just is so funny to me.

i miss rhys. but the few times they’ve spoken through the bond is enough to tide me over. he told her he loved her once and i sighed out loud. i’m such trash for this bitch.

feyre hijacking the summer solstice ceremony is COMEDIC GOLD. like you kNOW ianthe was fuming and furious and trying to save face the best she could but like hats off to feyre man. her character development from book one to where we’re at in book three is fantastic. she’s not a simpering little girl anymore, she’s a bad bitch and she kNOWS she’s a bad bitch and it’s just.. fucking great.

i also, as much as i don’t want to, feel for lucien A LOT. i think a lot of his behavior is heavily influenced by how he’s been treated by tamlin for most of his life and i feel genuine remorse from him and the fact that he can like tell something is up but isn’t saying anything just shows, to me anyway, how much remorse he’s genuinely feeling.

also alis knowing that something is up is just a testament to how attentive she is as a faerie and a friend and i really love that about her.

“I was the nightmare” YAS BITCH. FUCKIN YAASSS.

2) chapters 6-10 feyre is so goddamn clever. the entire time she’s bringing down the spring court she’s witty and fierce and clever and really just iS THAT BITCH, HUH?

i don’t like jurian but the fact that he still has compassion within himself for his kind despite being literally insane for being just AWAKE and aware for like 500 years is... nice and pleasantly surprising because i feel like you wouldn’t think that of him being that he’s siding with hybern so that he thanked feyre when she tried to get the children of the blessed out of there... i don’t know why i’m bringing this up, it’s just something that stuck out to me and that jurian also vouches (to feyre) about rhysand’s character and how decent of a person he found him to be. it’s just very interesting and i feel like speaks leaps and bounds about rhysand as a person.

feyre pushing tamlin to explode again... just CHEF KISS. like she really thought of everything. she thought of everything to internally make his sentries doubt him and then completely hate them by orchestrating the ianthe vs sentry debacle. she made herself seem very compassionate and kind and and showed tamlin and ianthe for what they were by doing genuinely so little. like all she did was make them show their true colors on their own and it didn’t take tOO much manipulation. idk feyre is just incredible in the spring court.

forcing ianthe to hurt herself and molding her mind to make her think she’s always afraid is so much better than just outright killing her.. (if i remember from my last read, it doesn’t hold up, but the thought is there and it’s genius) I also think that this shows a lot about feyre and her character because despite everything she couldn’t just leave lucien alone with ianthe and the unwanted advances. she stayed and fought for her friend (and by extension her mate) even when lucien wouldn’t really fight for her and so feyre is just a fuckin real one like... she’s the kind of friend that you want in your corner.

killing the hybern twins: glorious. such badassery from lucien and feyre both.

and i think it’s nice that she let lucien come along with her on her journey back to the night court despite maybe not wanting to but i also think that she knew if she left him behind he could get in serious trouble or wind up dead and so again, i think it says a lot about her character as a person.

3) chapters 11-15 i’m kind of reading and recapping every 50 pages or so which typically ends up being 4-5 chapters and it’s a good system so far so we’re gonna keep it up!

the first thing of like, real substance to comment on is lucien saying his father will kill feyre for wielding his power but feyre just responding with “he can get in line.” like her sass is sO GOOD In this book, especially in the spring court chapters.

uhhh big fuck you to eris, i don’t know why people want him to have a redemption arc, he is literally a fat sack of shit that deserves to burn and i’m not sorry for saying so. he’s abusive and cruel and doesn’t deserve like, anything at all. although i will say good on him for balking a bit when feyre revealed she’s high lady.

CASSIAN AND AZRIEL SUPERHERO LANDING ON THE ICE AND KICKING ASS!! I remember vividly the relief i felt when cassian showed up and was able to fly and i still felt so much victory when it happened again. it’s one of my favorite moments of the book so far and just really gets me. also feyre just dropping the “I’m high lady of the night court” bomb is DELICIOUS and i can’t get enough. i read it like six times. because you know as soon as the illyrians yielded to her that the autumn bitches were like “shit.”

“My love.” kILLS ME. you guys, i’ve only read this book once but i’ve reread their reuniting multiple times because it’s just so soft. rhys is so goddamn soft. he loves her so fucking much. i want rhys to call me my love and lick my tears away. goddamn.

something i think about a lot is how in acotar when tamlin had feyre alone after months of torture he just tried to fuck her despite knowing things weren’t safe. however, knowing she was home and safe, rhys didn’t try for that immediately. like yes, they kissed, but there was so much conversation before they fucked that it just, says a lot about their relationship. tamlin also always demanded to know everything about feyre’s visits as soon as she was back, not even bothering to kiss her hello but rhys was like ‘that shit can wait’ AND THEY’RE ABOUT TO GO TO WAR. rhys loves her so wholly that he wanted to make sure she was okay before he ever bothered to ask about the spring court and how everything unfolded the last few weeks. idk i’m trash for rhysand, y’all. let’s make that a shirt.

the way that rhys threatens lucien, “i won’t bother to explain it again, and i will rip out your fucking throat.” is so sexy. like how casual it was, so sexy.#ripmythroatoutrhysand

amren being a bedtime story but irl is just a cranky aunt lmao.

nesta’s ferocity is, yes, frustrating, but also so heartbreaking to me. for a very long time i had a really rough relationship with my sister and i can see my own sister in nesta (who, by the way, would murder me if she found out i said this so, kara, if u see this, i love u endlessly and i love nesta with my whole heart) especially nesta’s behavior more so in acofas which i’ll talk more about when we get there. but i just, i feel for her man. she’s been traumatized and life as she knows it has been ripped away from her and some people respond to trauma with bite. and i know it doesn’t make it right or okay but it still just makes me feel for her.

cassian and nesta’s banter just gODDAMMIT SLAYS ME. i cannot wait for an entire fucking book of this shit and an entire book of their back and forth. i think nesta loves him and doesn’t know what to do with it because she’s scared so she’s acting like a cornered animal. like nesta is a snake that will strike when cornered and threatened and i just god i can’t wait for their book.

elain... broke my heart a lot more than i remembered. as someone in the midst of my worst depression i find myself able to relate to that hollow and empty feeling like...all too well and it struck a cord and i almost cried at how empty she was.

4) chapters 16-29 there is the whole meeting at amren’s apartment and cassian defends nesta, saying that he understands her actions, her snark, why she is the way she is, and it just honestly reinforces my love for cassian. i don’t have much to say about it but that i just really love the respect that he has for others. more cassian things: feyre brings up again how even broken and literally bleeding out and on the ground with his wings completely shredded he was still crawling toward nesta and reaching for her and trying to get to her. “because i can’t stay away.” fucking cracks my heart open every time.

i love everything about the first family dinner back together. i love all the banter, i love that nesta sat in and even contributed to dinner conversation a little bit. lucien being so uncertain of the dynamic is hilarious. amren like opening herself up in a way to nesta and telling her that they’re the same, and to make sure her eruption is felt across worlds, i love it. i’m marking a lot more from amren than i thought i would. cassian at one point, he points to az and says “don’t try to blend into the shadows” and it actually made me chuckle to myself because hE DOES THAT. and it’s funny that cassian calls him on it.

i don’t think nesta gets enough credit (for like anything, we all been knew i’m a slut for her and stan her with my life) but even as broken and angry as she was she did still offer to help explore magic that she doesn’t want and got as a result of trauma so that she can try to help. she isn’t completely useless. and i like that she has backbone and isn’t just a pushover little bitch. (that isn’t directed toward elain. like i previously mentioned, i’m finding that i relate a lot to her in her current state.) i just mean that i’m glad she sticks up for herself and doesn’t just like, do what people tell her to do. ya know?

rhys being so open to feyre pushing back on him about things like, again man. tamlin erupted and got angry, rhys is like “hell, i deserved it.” just, the differences in their relationships and the toxicity that comes from tamlin and the devotion rhys has for feyre is (say it with me) DELICIOUS.

i also like that just because feyre is high lady that the IC doesn’t just like flop over and bend down and take shit (i’m looking at you, spring court.) like cassian isn’t afraid to be like “you pissed me off by sacrificing yourself.” because he cares. LIKE, AGAIN WITH HIS DEVOTION. his loyalty is just so pure. it isn’t blind but it is pure and i just, god i love it.

also everyone forgets that azriel has a dry ass sense of humor and i don’t see any of y’all writing it into your fics. “In order to fly, you’ll need wings” he said drily. IT’S DELICIOUS. dry humor is some of the best. and i like that feyre is learning more and getting to spend more time with him.

5) chapter 20-27 this one will be a bit of a dump because i accidentally read too much today so far to try to catch up from my lack of reading yesterday so... oops.

“Let’s see what names you call me when my head is between your legs, Feyre darling.” ugh. i wish a mans would say that to me. not really. i wish rhys would say that to me and only rhys. maybe rowan. or aaron warner. or cassian. or -- you get it.

amren is SO FUCKING FUNNY without doing it on purpose. like genuinely hilarious. “she’s fine. stubborn as an ass, but as you’re related, i’m not surprised.” rOAST THEM. also amren makes nesta almost smile and she makes her laugh all in the span of like ten seconds AND nesta almost smiles when amren brings up cassian. coincidencE? i tHINK NOT.

again with rhys soothing her nightmares. like god it’s so good i dont even have to say anything else abt it.

feyre realizing that the bone carver is her and rhysand’s son. SO GOOD. like SERIOUSLY SO GOOD. and this doesn’t matter at all rn but i think that rhysand’s son has the potential to be more powerful than even him but that’s a thing to get into for another time.

EVERYTHING THE BONE CARVER SAYS ABOUT NESTA. also that it’s directed at cassian is very interesting and i think the bone carver knows they’re mates. like i wonder if cassian is seeing what feyre sees: his own son. WOULDN’T THAT BE INTERESTING. “How she calls to you.” also the comment about “what did you wake that day in hybern, prince of bastards?” what did cassian wake. the wording here is interesting and i have... a lot of questions. does anyone else just also really fucking enjoy the bone carver as a character? like he’s excellent i’ve never read anything quite like him.

“nothing about nesta could frighten me” UGH MY NESSIAN HEART CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT.

also cassian stepping it later when nesta is furious with rhysand about the flying. like, one when he sighs and says she’ll never fly again is just... funny and adorable but how nesta was charging for rhys and he casually stepped in front of her and he talked her down. “It was amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. and no on dare banish her.” like just babbling a bit to bring her back down to earth. absolutely fascinating and delicious that it worked, wouldn’t you agree? ;)

court of nightmares is always a pleasure. fuck eris.

also later at the town house when amren and mor and rhys are kinda going at it a bit and cassian gets nesta’s attention and nesta sidles over to him without questioning it... like. god if they aren’t endgame i’ll never read an SJM book ever again and i wholeheartedly mean that.

so i’ve seen the posts about amren being an angel i’m not sure if you guys have but yeah i think that’s a really solid theory. i think she very well could be a biblical angel because she mentioned that according to some they were perfect, that they laid waste to twin cities (sodom & gamorrah if this theory is correct) and she also mentioned yielding her grace and that she would fall. she also says she was a messenger and soldier assassin for a wrathful god ruling a young world and all of that, in my opinion, lines up with a lot of what is in the bible and what christians believe to be true. so i really really like this theory, i doubt it will ever be outright confirmed, but i think this is going to be my canon tbh.

elain is.... out of her mind. it’s fucking weird everything she says is so cryptic and odd. like it’s just weird. i don’t think she’s insane and i can’t remember exactly where elain’s storyline goes in this book but like... rn it’s just weird and cryptic and a little unsettling and also interesting that she only really responds directly to azriel because everyone else she kinda ignores but she talks to him. interesting.

6) chapters 28-49 clearly i accidentally read A LOT so we have a lOT Of ground to cover.

NESTA WAS TOTALLY CHECKING CASSIAN OUT AND THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THAT.

azriel has fucking jokes, man. page 303 (hardcover us edition) “That pine tree wasn’t there a moment ago.” “Judging by its size, i’d say it’s been there for ... two hundred years at least.” feyre even notes that he has a dry sense of humor and it comes out more when they’re alone. i can’t get enough of it. i wish he talked more.

“Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it too.” i just love nessian so much i’m going to point out all of their cute reactions this is turning more into a nessian reaction thread SUE ME.

I think that nesta has a lot of regret and guilt over her life.over how she treated feyre because it comes out when nesta brings up to feyre that she didn’t know she couldn’t read (and again at the high lords meeting when she says they would have starved if it wasn’t for her.) i think she feels deeply and just doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know how to express it.

When they almost get taken in the library, and cassian gets there and nesta “launches herself at him.” my heart. she was scared and she didn’t care she was just so relieved. like fuck me up that’s the shit i like.

nesta asking where cassian is the moment they get back from the battle in adriata and she was worried and scared for him. later when she does see him i think this is when the mating bond clicks into place. it’s page 398 and she says “You didn’t come to -” and then cuts herself off. they have a really fucking intense moment. cassian takes her hand and laces their fingers and they don’t really say anything for a beat until he says “Next time, emissary, i’ll come say hello.” but his voice is low and rough when he says it. “The world seemed to go utterly still at that interrupted sentence, nothing and no one more so than cassian.” i think this is when it clicks for him. maybe not for nesta but definitely for cassian.

RHYSAND RIPPING TAMLIN’S ABILITY TO SPEAK AWAY LIKE YES WE STAN A MOTHERFUCKING KING. fuck tamlin. fuck eris. and fuck beron. also nesta defending cassian in the high lords meeting (page 438, because beron calls him a bastard.) again, i’m just saying, she’s defending her fucking mate i can’t deal. feyre also exploding in the meeting and rhys just being like “You’ve proved your point, my love.” SO DELICIOUS. “I made her high lady because i love her. her power was the last thing i considered.” like fucking hELL that is how you treat your woman.

after the meeting, helion being like “You handing eris’s ass to him will be my new fantasy at night, by the way.” DELICIOUS. fucking hilarious. 10/10 recommend helion as a high lord and a mans we love to see it.

also cassian being so concerned when nesta starts to have that feeling about the cauldron being used before the wall gets shattered.he didn’t doubt her feelings for a second, i mean no one did, but he was completely unyielding when he sensed her fear and immediately looked for any sign of an immediate threat.

nesta saying she’s never worn pants and cassian saying “i have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.” he’s thinking bout that ass. also cassian giving her a quick lesson in defense before they yeet off to the human lands to see graysen and his family. IDK I REALLY LOVE NESSIAN OKAY?!

7) chapter 50-the end. i accidentally finished the book. oops.

super intersted in nesta’s powers and if she is a witch. i can’t remember acofas at all and if nesta’s powers manifest in that book but i’m eager to see if the fracturing of the cauldron didn’t effect whatever powers she took from it. i think that could also be part of what ultimately is wrong with her on top of all the trauma.

nesta helping cassian after that first battle when his wrist is hurt. she didn’t take no for an answer and helped him and it was just really soft until mor showed up and cassian pulled his hand away. i’m conflicted about what it means to be totally honest. what it means for his feelings for nesta and what it means where mor is concerned. i don’t love how morrigan treats nesta and cassian’s... relationship? but i don’t dislike mor. i think she’s dealing and coping and has her reasons that we will likely find out about.

“Only you can decide what breaks you” is something i’d like to get tattooed. i dont really have anything else to add to it.

i was sobbing during rhys’s battle speech to everyone. i dont rlly have anything else to say about it other than i’m emo.

nesta saving cassian. again i don’t have shit to say about it other than like it makes me so emotional. she just started blinding screaming, hoping that he would come. i can’t even begin to think what his death would have done to her.

the bone carver smiling at feyre before he did hits a very specific piece of my heart and i’m not sure why or what but i had chills all over my body.

cassian telling rhys to let him return the favor/repay the debt. HURT. another thing i cried over. like shut the fuck cassian AIN’T NOBODY DYIN TODAY.

tHE Nessian moment to end all nessian moments when they would die together. like big fucking wow. you can’t tell me they’re not mates. that they don’t love each other despite how complicated all of it is. like cassian is so soft in the most unique way for her because he knows she bites and he lets her and he bites back and i just think it’s what he needs.

“tell the high lord to leave out a cup for me” AMREN SHUT UP. like fucking christ i teared up then too because i really really love her character. she’s unique and funny and dry and cranky and i just love her so much.

i’m tired of rhys sacrificing himself. there, i said it. i cried like a fucking baby and of course he woke up being a snarky little shit.

i love the end of this book. i don’t know what i’ll do with myself until january when the next one comes out. i’ll probably go back to the other format for my next read through because it’s easier and less longwinded and i think you guys liked the other way better. anywho, thank you for coming along on this lil journey!!

#acowar #acowar reread #acotar #acomaf

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Note

Hewwo! I was wondering if you could do a Bakugou x Fem Athlete reader? I use to be a wrestler and when I watch bnha and see their workouts/training, it brings me back to the good times where i use to slam ppl into the floor lol (im soft i swear-). Maybe reader goes to a boot camp and doesn't see bakugo for awhile and they come back hella buffed up and can even lift Bakugou with ease, maybe they're a weightlifter?? Idk but i wanna see bakugo shook at his strong gf lol

I hope you like this my dear.

You were what most people called a behemoth.

A thick woman with muscle on an athletic build instead of thick hips. Your shoulders were broad, strong and could carry the weight of the world.

And often times it did.

It used to bother you that you were not as femme as other girls. As cutesy and petite until one day you came to the realization that you'd never look like the women on the front of magazines.

And that was a o fucking kay. And everyday since then you fought with yourself and your self image.

Because bitch you were a queen.

And being a confident cut throat queen added to your muscular stature had most *boys* avoiding you like the plague.

But that was fine because you were looking for a M! A! N!

Although you didn't know you'd find him so soon and in such an odd package.

It took one deadly smirk aimed at you for you to fall head over heels.

And it took one knockout punch for him.

Depsite the mutual feelings the two of you only ever interact or text to spar. You too worried that you're reading into his excitement too much. Thoroughly convinced he only sees you as a bro he can actually go all out with.

While he is too fucking oblivious to even realize he had feelings for you. Paying you compliments and even bragging on you in class with simple songs of praises such as "Tch. Y/LN would break your puney fucking arm in a wrestling match Kirishima!"

The doting ash blonde would eye you then, smiling proudly daring anyone to test your strength.

And double daring anyone to comment on that powerfully beautiful body of yours.

If he heard a single off colored comment or joke about you, whether you were there to defend yourself or not he would step in. Hands popping with unkempt rage as a shit eating grin erupted on his kissable lips.

The thought of him defending your honor had your cheeks burning with blush as you waltz through the thick doors of the gym, exactly where Kirishima said you could find him. Silently thankful that he is wearing headphones with music loud enough that he does not hear the door shut as you spy his damp, sculpted back pull his body upward as he counts with barely a grunt.

Well into the upper thousands as your heart flutters, body heating to the point that your kneecaps melt. Struggling to stand you turn on your heel, losing the nerve to tell him goodbye although you will only be gone for a short month. Still you wonder if you should send a text, thumbs hovering over the lit keyboard debating if he would even want to read a stupid message from a lousy extra like you.

And it wasn't like you'd get a reply while you were gone and even if you did where you were going your phone would be no better than a glorified iPod touch with the lack of signal out in bumfuck nowhereville.

You decide against it sliding your phone into your leggings pocket as you tighten the straps on your book bag setting out for what will hopefully push you in the right direction.

Camp is hard as you knew it would be. You were training with the best strength oriented quirk pro heros in the game! Sending you through grueling obstacle courses with semi truck tires and endless pits of sand and mud.

Not to mention you were pushed to the point of puking more often than not. Still you somehow made friends in between the exhausting training and gnarly cafeteria food. Laughing, helping one another and even exchanging numbers with promises to text when a mythical bar of service was found.

Cool water drips form your hair as you plop down on the bottom bunk with a sigh, your bed mate pokes her head out to look down at you. Meanwhile you stare at the last text your friend Mina had sent you for the umpteenth time this week. A photo of you and Bakugo sharing a rare laugh during training both of your cheeks flushed and hair clinging to sweating foreheads over a joke long forgotten. But the feeling would never fade.

You damn her silently for being so sneaky and sneaky enough to catch both you AND Bakugo off guard.

"You've been sighing like you're s/o is away at war!" She chides, "So who are you staring at?"

This gains the attention of the other two girls in the bunks across the way, eyes gleaming at the thought of sharing crushes. Heat flushes your skin bright pink as you attempt to lock your phone but swift hands above snatch it from your normally steely grip.

"Oh." Is all she says as she looks closely at the photo, Bakugo shirtless with, dripping with sweat and wearing his best smile as you're three quarters to the camera cheesing hard as hell.

"Well shit I'd be sighing too. Your man is hot as hell! Does he train with you?"

"A..ah he's um not.." Fear grips your windpipe as you try not to sound creepy as fuck for looking at a picture of what is only your classmate. You clear your throat, "We're just sparring partners."

"What?!" She zooms in on his face before showing it to the other girls and yourself as best she can out of your reach, "My sparring partner never smiles. Make him your man!"

"I'm not his type, Kimi!" You rush out, embarrassment having you cover your face. Shit you'd never be his type.

You couldn't imagine anything more than a petite fiery or even just plain shy girl who wore dresses and heels. A woman with all the right curves that would dangle from his arm as he showed her off. Not some brute who could practically snap any man in half.

Your heart sinks into your gut, tears threatening to spill.

"Then what's his type?" She asks dryly above you. Mind racing as you think of how Bakugo looks at the opposite sex, hell even the same sex in your class and you come up with the same face each time. He wears his ever agitated snarl and that's if he even glances their way. Scarlet eyes narrowed into slits save when the look at you. They are narrowed only from the effects of his upturned lips.

"I reckon he ain't got a type then?" She says staring down at you from over her mattress. You avoid eye contact as you speak.

"I...I just can't see him with me. I'm all bulky and burly like." You flex your banded arms for emphasis before pointing at your bunk mate above, "While you're more toned and that of a fitness magazine model."

"So what? So fucking what! Haven't you seen me oogling you all week? Or the other women who would kill to have your gains! We see it sis, we see it and stan it. You carry muscle where most women DREAM to!" She jumps from the top bunk lifting your shirt up to your sports bra," Abs bitch, you've got washboard abs! Meanwhile my stomach can barely become flat. And your back! Ugh don't get me started how you're stronger than super girl with that toned back and beautifully rounded ass. Why are you selling yourself short?"

Your lack of answer is met with a harsh slap on your stomach before the timed lights in the cabin die out.

"The first thing I want you to text me about is how you asked that hottie blonde out." She threatens before jumping to the top bunk like an agile cat.

The month ends with tight hugs and a long ride home. You welcome the scenery of the winding roads and mountains as the train speeds past, muscles screaming from the month before.

And stomach growling wanting nothing more than a home cooked meal. If you did the math right on the chore wheel. You'd be coming back to Katsuki's cooking. You slip in and out of conciousness dreaming of spicy grilled chicken.

A surprise waits for you as you get off at your stop for the train. The platform crowded with familar bodies of class 3A

as you dismount from the steps.

"WELCOME HOME Y/N!" They shout in unison as Mina and Urarka rush in for a hug. You pull away laughing before your eyes scan for a blonde and when they come up empty your stomach twists for a moment. Mina pulls your thoughts away as slips her pink arms through yours guiding you towards the exit of the train station. She fills you in on the things you'd missed that fun summer month.

Swimming, fireworks, watermelon.

All activities that they planned to do again of course, espeically now that you were back. Not to mention her now boyfriend, Kirishima who, always the gentleman, took your bags to carry on your soon to be journey down six blocks back to UA, to home.

Still you wish Bakugo would have come to greet you too, you pull out your phone for a moment. Ready to text Kimi how you were gonna be forever alone, instead you lock your phone angrily shoving it into your bag.

With each step closer towards the dorms your body becomes heavier, weighted down with your mood drop that you brush off as "I'm just tired Mina-chan" endlessly until you reach the dorms.

The class floods into the their third year dorms as the smell of food wafts over your senses, causing mixed feelings to fist fight in your stomach.

"I'm just gonna get some sparring in before dinner." You smile at Mina, as you head out clad in your ever present athleisure wear, short black shorts and a tanktop.

The outdoor punching bag takes the brunt of your anger, of your disappointment and mostly your own self loathing over being upset over your training buddy not coming to greet you.

Still it stings to know he didn't even bother to show up. Hell he didn't even greet you at the damn door to the dorms!

Arching your fist you slam it into the bag that bursts open as the chain snaps, soaring into the treeline behind the dorms. You huff, back turned before your stomach growls, begging to be fed.

You collect yourself as you hear the sliding door to the living room open.

"Oi! Y/N!" His voice comes out biting as he approaches. You look to the source damning your heart for fluttering at just the sight of him. You notice his skull shirt seems a bit tighter than when you last saw him, muscled arms flexing as he keeps his calloused hands in his pockets. Harsh eyes look you up and down. Roving over your body making you feel naked beneath their intensity as he silently assess your thick frame. Scarlet lingering on exposed soft thighs that he may or may not imagine himself between sometimes. It took the entire month of his "sparring" partner gone to realize she may have been more than just that.

He fights the blush on his cheeks before a devilish grin overtakes his normal snarl.

"Atta girl, coming back stronger than ever. Bet you kicked some ass at camp huh?" His praises has your heart soaring as your body moves on it's own. Anger melting into warmth as you scoop up the muscled man into a bone crushing hug, giggling as you swing him in a circle. That is before you realize your giddy action could make him seem weak, something Bakugo loathes. You set him down with several rushed "Sorry"s before he grips your wrist tightly. Eyes boring into yours as he struggles to keep his breathing even.

"No I should be the one who's sorry." He growls.

"For what?" He answers as he pulls you closer to him until your lips crash into his. Hands roving up your toned arms before strong fingers pull at the hair at the nape of your neck deepening the kiss while you turn into putty in popping hands. After a few moments he breaks free, looking over your stunning features.

"For not fucking doing that sooner. For not fucking realizing that I admire more than just your strength." He looks away slipping his hand into yours as he pulls you back to the dorms, "Come on! I didn't make my girl's favorite just so it could get cold damn it!"

He drags you into the house as you watch after him before you snap a photo sending it to Kimi with a caption underneath.

"He beat me to the punch."

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakougo katsuki x reader #bnha katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha au #bnha ask #bnha ask prompt #bnha asks #bnha x reader

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bidnezz · 4 years

Text

The Warmth of a Smile

Rating: T

Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary:

It’s early morning when the inquisitive thought stems into Alec’s mind that if he were to be asked which part of Magnus he loves most, he wouldn’t be able to narrow it down to any one answer. A hypothetical impossibility.

Magnus Bane is more than just one perfect, beautiful, physical manifestation.

Alec takes the morning to think of which parts of Magnus he loves most. 1.7k of Alec loving Magnus.

Read below or on ao3!!

Magnus Bane is more than just one perfect, beautiful, physical manifestation.

From the toes that wiggle absentmindedly when Magnus is looking through the newspaper, spread out on the couch and calm with not a worry besides the words his eyes travel. Bare feet, balanced and sturdy, not easily tripped or susceptible to the clumsiness that someone like Simon embodies. Ankles that poke out, where Alec loves to rest his fingers on days off when the two of them sit in companionable silence and tend to their own responsibilities in shared space. To his calves, that radiate endless amounts of strength, that support the lithe feline movements he graces Alec with every day. Up his legs and along his thighs to the muscles that wrap around Alec and prove themselves over and over again of their rigorous training and work.

He’s especially favorable towards the more intimate parts of Magnus, the spots Alec spent days discovering, unraveling his boyfriend with the press of his fingers and kisses and bites along sensitive flesh. The shifting of hips that Alec loves to watch, the way they sway with every step, rock with intention to catch Alec’s gaze. And it works, Alec always caves, will always cave for as long as he’s allowed.

And when Magnus turns around, Alec loves that too.

The sensual curve of Magnus’ back as it dips lower and peaks out to form the toned ass he grasps onto with attentive eagerness. The feel of it supple and full, seemingly made to fit perfectly against the grip of Alec’s palm. And when Magnus’ body works together, a well-oiled machine that Alec will happily keep up work on, it’s almost enough to claim the top spot in what he loves about Magnus.

But then his hands rise higher, graze up the sides of the hips Alec wants to always focus all of his attention on, and suddenly the dips of his abs are Alec’s favorite. The feel of the smooth skin under his fingers, when they drag along the lines of muscle and Magnus’ body trembles beneath him. It comes in strides, waves of motion that lift and fall with the movement of his fingers, pulling an invisible string that connects Magnus’ core to Alec’s hands in a fated life.

Magnus’ chest is no different, as proud and confident as the air that spills forth from the lungs inside. Alec would expect no less from the High Warlock, would expect the charisma that pours through time and time again. Even clothed, Alec loves to see the peek of skin beneath the cut of the shirt, through the sheer of the mesh or thin cotton. Especially when the material itself longs to stretch around Magnus, doing the work of Angels as it spreads and clings around the thick muscles of Magnus’ shoulders that offer a place for Alec to rest his hand when he feels the need for contact. Shoulders and arms that flex when they lift Alec up, bring him close and surround him in their heat and comfort. Biceps and forearms that tremble with the overwhelming desire to keep him housed above Alec when the moon is high in the sky and glistening off of the sheen of sweat that coats them.

Magnus’ hands come next, following the long limb of his arms, rough yet soft at the same time and never one without the other. Hands that provoke all that Alec has to give, that unfurl every sigh and moan unbidden. The twist of fingers as they maneuver magic through the air, as they twine with Alec’s own, as they circle around him every night. Alec could write a book on Magnus’ hands alone, and the ways in which he loves them.

Sometimes the clothes Magnus wears are restricting, covering bronze skin and only leaving an exposed neck for Alec’s lascivious eyes to drink up. But he soaks it in anyways, because Alec is very partial to the sinewy muscles that stretch and pull when Magnus rolls his neck after a long day of working. To feel the beat of the pulse underneath that seems to grow stronger when Alec whispers kisses to it with his lips, reverent and tender. It’s a song he knows well, a rhythmic hum that harmonizes with the moans and pleas that spill out, that become ragged and breathy with pleasure as Alec sinks his teeth into the loving juncture where Magnus’ neck and shoulder meet, a landmark he visits often and with great enthusiasm.

His love doesn’t stop there, though.

No, because then the sun rises in the morning, bleeds through the cracks of their blinds and slips through the curtains to fall upon Magnus’ face, elegant and beautiful and serene in the early morning sunshine. And Alec’s heart swells.

It fills with a burning love for Magnus that aches to keep this view for as long as he’s alive.

This image of Magnus at peace, delicate and soft the features of his face as Alec traces a finger along them. From the gentle spikes of his hair that have mussed and fallen flat against the pillow, the night before where Alec’s fingers had curled and tugged with passion. To the brow that sometimes crease with the furrow that accompanies strenuous thoughts. Sorrow for decades of memories lived and worry for decades to come that Alec will never be able to truly fathom. Magnus’ mind, an endlessly vast ocean of knowledge. Ideas and visions that have blossomed to life, that will come to fruition in the future with or without Alec, or have fizzled out brilliantly for nobody but Magnus.

Magnus’ eyes flutter open, glossy with the sleep he brings himself out of, unfocused and distracted until he sees Alec.

If he thought his heart was swollen and brimming with love before, Alec’s not prepared for the cadence with which his heart beats and sputters at the slow dawning of affection he sees reflected back at him in the golden cat eyes before him, pupils wide and dark and reminiscent of declarations murmured against the heat and slide of the night. It’s perfect, he thinks. This view in front of him, the same sight he’s greeted with every morning can never be topped.

But oh, how he continues to be proven wrong.

Because warmth blooms on Magnus’ face, casts aside the blinding light of the sun and becomes the sole reason for the lightening of the room when Magnus smiles.

This, Magnus’ smile, this is his favorite thing.

So many emotions capture in the upturn of those lips, displayed so openly for Alec to decipher with every second that passes. He finds himself becoming the most faithful observer, loyal and driven to uncover all that Magnus’ smile has to offer, secrets unearthed successfully and kept for only Alec. How it changes from happy and amused when they banter lightly over dinner options, to sultry and suddenly brazen in the way he offers something more to Alec’s very particular palate instead. It flips inside of him, the spinning of desire that longs to thread through his organs until he’s encompassed in the shaky murmurs of satisfaction that fill the room.

But there are other smiles he loves too, smiles that his own lips have the innate pull to echo. The quirk of lips that Magnus tries to hide behind a finger when they threaten to furnish a laugh that doesn’t belong in whatever professional ambience that surrounds him, situations where he turns to Alec for aid but is only met with the copied grin that they both try to conceal. Moments where the humor of their relationship behind closed doors seeps through into reality, where small laughs and quiet giggles turn heads towards them with questioning glances and inquiring eyes that they have no answers for.

Being with Magnus is fun. Fulfilling. Being with Magnus makes him happy.

And when Magnus smiles with the darkness of the room as a background and the moonlight illuminating the shadows on his face, Alec feels enlightened. The steady thrum of his heart, normally resolved to keep his blood flowing, gives way to the palpitations in his chest from something more than exhaustion from their coupling at the sight of the satiated, honeyed smile. He feels it in his bones, in the crevices of his mind that shine a spotlight on the intimacy he keeps separate for just these occasions, where the love he has for Magnus feels greater than he can ever vocalize, can’t ever put into words no matter how inspired he becomes.

He wonders if Magnus ever feels the same about him.

If the responsive smile Alec offers up with his heart completely does anything to stutter his breath or stammer words. Perhaps not, Alec’s unquestioning devotion surely can’t compare to the years of lovers come and gone. It’s a spiral Alec finds himself on the precipice of many times, a cliff that he edges so practiced and carefully. Surely his heart, though it has not been the first nor will it be the last, isn’t worthy enough for Magnus to reside and build a home in.

Thoughts like that never last, as hard as the strangle of claws digs into his back, crawls up and sinks onto his shoulders in their attempt to drag him down.

Because Magnus smiles, breathtaking and heavenly, and all Alec can see through the fog of insecurity.

Magnus, his powerful savior who can banish the darkness with just a look, a word, a touch. Magnus, with his affinity for making Alec feel every bit deserving of his fondness and spot beside him in the rankings of the Shadow World.

Magnus, who smiles at him with all the brightness in the universe, for whom the sun and moon hold no competition. Stars burn out, fade and die, and all the while Magnus’ smile lights Alec’s world with the twinkling of white from his bared teeth and bashful tilt of his head.

“I love you, Alexander,” Magnus says.

Body language expresses this with clarity as he leans into Alec’s presence. A firm constant shown in the soft press of lips to Alec’s, no hint of doubt or susceptibility to change because Magnus loves him, now and forever.

And Alec loves back just as ardently, earth-shattering and loud, with heavenly fire that burns his soul, rooted and hot and vigorous.

All of Magnus, always.

#malec #malec fanfic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #magnus x alec #shadowhunters fanfiction #fanfiction #bidness #bidnezz #my fic #fluff #so much love #read on ao3

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getinthering · 4 years

Text

Taang Week Day 3: Spirit World

“i believe that i know you”

tw: major character death

@taangweek Day 3: Spirit World

In the swamp, we see visions of people we’ve lost, people we’ve loved, folks we think are gone. But the swamp tells us they’re not. We’re still connected to them. Time is an illusion and so is death.

After Aang’s death, Toph leaves Republic City and their family and friends to feel closer to him. Takes place in 153 AG, some time after Aang’s death.

Read on AO3

[A/N: I should say here and now that in pretty much every ATLA thing I create (except for Modern AU or unless otherwise stated) has Aang/Toph at 16, Katara at 18, Suki at 19, and Zuko/Sokka at 20, because writing for/as children just makes me uncomfortable idk.

This one was frustrating but fun! I’m a big fan of bittersweet writings so here we are. I liked Lin/Suyin’s canon dynamic too much to not hc both of them as Taang’s kids, canon Bumi is just very Dunebaby energy to begin with, and I kinda just recreated Tenzin as Tashi for my own reasons.]

She had always thought that Avatars were supposed to live exceptionally long lives. True, Kyoshi’s age was a great exception no one expected to ever be replicated again. That didn’t change the fact that Toph had always assumed she would have at least another decade with Aang.

She felt lost without him now. Neither had ever been the most present parent to their four children, despite their best hopes and efforts. He had his Avatar duties, she was Chief of Police. There was constant rivalry between the kids, which she supposed they both encouraged (perhaps her a little more consciously than Aang), and there was now a large chasm between her and their children. She knew that Bumi, their first-born, had always felt neglected and left out as the only non-bender in the family, whereas Tashi, their youngest, was the only airbender and thus was taken under Aang’s wing.

Toph’s hands were most often full with their two middle daughters, Lin and Suyin. They were both earthbenders, both two sides of the same coin, and she supposed that—combined with her stubborn Beifong blood—was the reason they had the deepest feud within the family. She tried to give them the freedom she longed for as a child, but it only ended with her eldest daughter all but refusing to talk to her, and Toph and Aang having to send Suyin away to live with her parents.

It had been too much for her then, almost ten years ago. She passed the title of chief of police onto Lin and decided it was time to finally spend some time with her husband. They traveled for a while, mostly to the Air Temples to check in on his Acolytes or the Earth Kingdom where her family was. She was proud of her husband for finally achieving all he had wanted, grateful that he had an airbending child to pass it onto. But she was never one to simply tag along on someone else’s adventures, not even for him. They struggled to find balance while roaming the world endlessly, just as they had as children.

By the time they neared their mid-sixties, they had finally settled into a routine they thought they could live with throughout their retirement. They had a home on Air Temple Island near Republic City. The kids all had their own lives, their own stability. Their attention was no longer divided between young children, their careers, their city, their homelands. It was just theirs for the rest of their lives.

She never expected “the rest of their lives” to be a mere two years.

***

“Mom, that’s ridiculous, you can’t just leave. You just settled into your retirement!” Bumi insisted over the dinner table where the three of them sat.

Toph sighed jaggedly. Of course it had been a bad idea to tell them she was leaving. “No, your father and I settled into our retirement,” she snapped. “You think I want to just sit around every day by myself? No! I’ve spent my whole life on the road and that’s where I belong.”

(maybe that’s a lie maybe she had been excited about settling down maybe she hated traveling at this point)

“Mom,” Tashi interjected, trying her best to remain calmer than her brother. “If you’re lonely, you know that Jinpa and I would be more than willing to move back home to Air Temple Island.”

“I’m not lonely,” Toph protested, slamming a fist on the table perhaps too roughly. “I didn’t have to tell you, and I wasn’t going too, but I didn’t think you’d all be silly enough to try and fight me.”

“Thanks for that, Mom,” Bumi grumbled.

She spent the next hour fighting off her children’s arguments. Her mind was made up a long time ago and although she would never admit it out loud, she missed Aang too much to stay anywhere near the city they had helped create. Every corner burned with memories of him. Their home echoed with emptiness. There had even been nights she had bolted up, drenched in sweat, grasping the sheets begging to find him. She could swear that she could hear him whispering to her, just quiet enough that she couldn’t make out the words.

The only memory of him she could stand to be around now was their children. She wished desperately to have them all together, for them to be some semblance of a real family in the wake of his death. But they were scattered—Lin in Republic City, Suyin in Zaofu, Tashi split amongst the Air Temples, Bumi traveling constantly with the United Forces. No matter how hard she tried, there would never be a way to be connected to all of them at once. Not here, like this, anyway.

Eventually, Tashi and Bumi accepted that there was nothing either of them could say to keep Toph in Republic City and dejectedly said their goodbyes to her before parting ways. She kept up the stony-faced façade she had always known best while she finished packing her things, making note for most of them to be sent to her children. She wouldn’t need them anymore.

She had told the two of them that she was simply returning to the nomadic life she and Aang had shared after her retirement from the police force. It would be true, for a while; she had plans to visit the Earth Kingdom again, stop in Zaofu to see her grandchildren and tell Suyin of her new search for enlightenment, maybe even see her old friends one more time.

She wouldn’t tell any of them that she was really going to the Foggy Swamp. They would only try harder to talk her out of it, tell her the swamp was dangerous for an old woman, that she was being ridiculous and irrational. Really, she had never felt more sure of anything in her life. Her heart belonged with her family and with Aang gone, it felt shattered. She was desperate to put it back together before it broke her. She knew of only one place that could make her feel connected to all of her children and Aang at once.

***

In her mind, Toph had a clear image of what she remembered from the swamp. She had visualized her new life there over and over. Stepping into it now, she was blindsided by a chilling feeling she could not quite place, like a wind threatening to barrel her over.

The one possibility she hadn’t allowed herself to dream now coursed through her mind as she ventured deeper into the heart of the swamp.

(what if he’s not here what in the name of the spirits would she do with herself)

It was not as if she could go back to her old life. She would have nothing left to keep her afloat, no hope of ever seeing Aang in this life again.

(maybe she shouldn’t have left maybe the hope was what kept her going)

Eventually she reached the banyan-grove tree at the heart of the swamp. Discouragement sinking in her stomach like a rock, she leaned her back against the tree and slid to the ground. Toph Beifong had only cried a handful of times since her young childhood. The only person in the entire world who had ever seen her so vulnerable had, of course, been Aang. Somehow, even from the start, he always knew when she needed him.

(which was fortunate because she would never tell him that)

He would come find her, no matter where she was, wrap his arms around and silently hold her close to his chest until the steady beat of his heart and the warmth he radiated soothed her. She hadn’t even cried when he died, not properly.

Now, alone in this ancient swamp, Toph let go of her strength and let herself break. Sobs wracked her frame. She could picture how ridiculous she must have looked: a blind, middle-aged earthbender, sitting on a mucky floor, screaming with grief like she never had before.

She had abandoned her children, her city, her entire life to venture into the Foggy Swamp. It was supposed to be a Spirit Wild, supposed to be the connection between the two worlds. But it was foolish of her to believe she would find her husband here; he was the Avatar, his spirit was reborn into a new body, surely there was no reason to find any Avatar in the Spirit World..

As she let her anguish consume her, slowly icing her to her core, she imagined that this was it for her, the end of her line.

A flash of warmth spread throughout her right side, a faint but familiar scent wafting around her. At once, her tears stopped and she jumped, alarmed. Every muscle in her body tensed as the sensation gradually transformed into reassuring arms around her shoulders. Everything clicked in her mind as she heard the voice she dreamt of every night, simply murmuring,

“Toph.”

“Aang? Aang, tell me it’s you, tell me this isn’t some dark spirit playing a dirty trick,” she gasped, unwilling to trust her senses.

“It’s me. I’ve been waiting for you.”

At that moment, she was sixteen once more, sitting side-by-side with a young monk, and she knew that she was home.

#props if you place any of the song lyrics that make up these fic titles #ok i'll spoil it this one is fleetwood mac #taang #taang week #taang week 2020 #atla #my fics #fuck it its midnight yall take this

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anonwriter27 · 3 years

Text

Trust in Me Ch6

Slightly longer chapter than usual, let me know what you think :)

Darkness. Heat, a burning, blinding fire. Wet stones shaking beneath him. The echoes of footsteps left, right, louder, and louder.

“Asgardian.” They sneer.

Left, right, louder, and louder.

“Jotun.” They mock.

Left, right, louder, and louder.

“Forgotten Prince. Left to die.”

Left, right, louder, closer.

“No more chances, Laufeyson…”

He tries to yell but his lips cannot move. A cold, scaley hand creeps over his face, covering his eyes. He knows what comes next. No….no, no, no….

“NO!” Loki yells as he bolts upright in his bed.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. He pulls off his shirt, removing the discomfort of the cold sweat clinging the material to his skin. After a moment or two, he regains control, his breathing regulates, and he takes in his surroundings. The sight of his mundane room at the avenger’s tower, providing him some relief.

He gets up from his bed and walks to the en-suite; he fills up a glass of water and drinks it in one go. As he puts down the glass, he notices his reflection in the mirror, but leaves before he can take a good look at himself. After the incident…after New York, Loki found it hard to look at himself; shame would wash over him, and with it, a wave of nausea.

He walked over to the window, the cool breeze providing some comfort. He stayed there until the sun came up.

Y/N had been walking up and down the corridor that joined hers and Loki’s room for the past fifteen minutes.

‘What if he wants to go back to sleep, we did stay up late talking.’ Or, ‘He didn’t look well at breakfast, maybe I should leave him be.’ Were just two of the thoughts swarming around Y/N’s head as she debated knocking on his door.

‘Just do it.’ This thought was the loudest and strongest of them all, so she listened.

A light tap, one, two, three, and the deed was done. She unconsciously held her breath to await his response, her thumbs twiddling, and breathing quickening.

A moment passed before the door opened, Loki stood before her in a black long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Despite his muscles being obvious under the tight fabric, it looked soft. He had taken to wearing Midgardian clothing; Thor had provided him with some clothes on his arrival to make Loki look more casual and less threatening. Y/N noted that no matter the clothing, a God was still a God, the ability to always look ethereal was just in their nature.

“Ready?” Loki said.

Y/N let out the breath she’d been holding and nodded with a kind smile.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Loki had been aware of her pacing back and forth but was determined not to push her. He wanted her to have the option to back out if she wanted to, though he could not deny the small feeling of disappointment he felt in his chest at the thought she might change her mind.

But she didn’t disappoint, and after Loki’s torturous night he was grateful not to be left with his own thoughts.

Loki and Y/N walked through the joint living room on their way to the library; Vision, Wanda and Peter were already there enjoying a peaceful Sunday with pastries and coffee. They appeared to be preparing a feast for the day.

“Good morning Loki, little miss.” Greeted Vision happily, Peter waved to indicate a hello while his mouth was stuffed with croissants.

Loki nodded with the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Good morning.” Y/N spoke quietly.

“There’s plenty of pastry if you guys want more food.” Wanda offered.

“No thank you, Y/N was about to show me the library.” Loki said.

Everyone paused, Peter mid bite, Wanda mid sip of her coffee, and Vision mid distribution of omelettes, causing one to slip of the spatula in slow motion and unceremoniously splat onto the table.

“You offered to show Loki around?” Vision asked.

Y/N shifted on the spot, “Umm, yes…” She said, barely above a whisper.

The three friends smiled fondly at the situation in front of them, they couldn’t remember the last time Y/N had volunteered to do anything of her own volition. Not that she was lazy or unwilling, she was just so scared, and they found it remarkable that, of all people, it was Loki who had brought out this side of her.

“Have fun.” Wanda said warmly. With that, the pair walked out of the kitchen to the library one floor below.

The journey to the library was a quick one, before they opened the large doors Y/N paused. This was her sanctuary, a place she didn’t have to hide, where she knew no one could harm her. She was taking a big leap of faith in trusting Loki with this space, but part of her felt like he needed it. She wasn’t a greedy person; she could share her little safe haven.

“So, this is your library.” Loki stated, sensing her trepidation.

“I suppose so. Uncle Tony filled this room with my favourite books when I was little and came to visit, so I’ve always secretly thought of it as mine...” She said meekly, her hair shielding her face.

“…But you can come hear anytime you wish…if you want.” Y/N added.

Loki smiled at her, a real smile indicating true appreciation, “Thank you.” He said in earnest.

Y/N’s cheeks were ruby red, so she made herself busy and opened the doors.

Loki wasn’t sure what he had expected, a room with a few bookshelves and a seating area maybe. He certainly didn’t expect wall to ceiling bookshelves in a labyrinth like design, their destination leading to soft leather sofa’s and a large fireplace.

“Your Uncle made this for you?” Loki said is wonderment as he looked at the endless shelves.

Y/N nodded happily, “Yes. It was much smaller when we started this little project. Over the years it just got bigger and bigger.” She chuckled.

He liked the sound of her soft laugh.

She didn’t give away much, but Loki was slowly starting to put together a picture of who this young woman was. The latest piece of the puzzle was ‘beloved niece.’ It was clear Stark doted on his sweet niece; to build her something she truly loved and could build on for years to come showed a great deal of devotion. Loki recognised that kind of devotion as one born from tragedy.

Y/N showed him how everything was organised in genre then alphabetical. Her system impressed him greatly and he pulled out a few books from their slots to bring with them to the seating area.

They read quietly for a couple of hours when Y/N began to feel cold. She moved over to the fire to start it and sat there as the cold in her skin began to thaw.

Loki watched the light from the flames illuminate her soft features. In her state of tranquillity, Loki allowed his words to be unguarded.

“You don’t look much like your uncle.” Loki noted.

Y/N whipped her head around to face him, “Oh, no I don’t, sorry.” She said with a small laugh, as she played with the ends of her hair.

Loki frowned. He didn’t like that laugh, it was different to the light chuckle she gave when pleased; no, this one masked discomfort and he wasn’t happy he had caused it.

“You needn’t apologise, it was merely an observation.” He assured her, shocked by his overwhelming urge to reassure her.

“Sorry… I mean, well… I don’t really take after my mother’s family in appearance.” She clarified, feeling silly for assuming his anger.

“So, your mother was Stark’s sister? I wasn’t aware he had much family.” Loki said. With the man of Iron spending so much time with the avengers, it was hard to think of him with a family. In fact, it was hard to imagine any of these heroes with a family waiting on them.

Y/N smiled sadly, “He doesn’t talk about her much.” She said softly.

Loki looked at her, there was a maturity in her countenance, as though she understood something beyond her years.

Loki hesitated, “May I ask why?”

Y/N wasn’t sure how to go about explaining her mother to Loki. The truth was Tony could talk endlessly about Rafael and recount old memories; but when it came to his sister, he froze. Her death had caught Tony off guard and with the chaos around the situation, he never got a chance to take a moment and grieve. So, he never spoke about her, not even to Y/N, and out of respect for her uncle, Y/N stopped talking about her too.

She wanted to talk about her though, without fear of upset or melancholy.

“My mother died quite suddenly when I was younger, it’s a sensitive subject for my uncle.” Y/N explained.

Loki nodded in understanding, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Y/N said with a sad smile.

“What was she like?” Loki asked, catching Y/N off-guard.

He was about to regret his intrusiveness, but then she positively beamed at him with a smile so breath-taking, he found himself smiling in return.

“She was beautiful.” Y/N spoke wistfully. “She was so clever, we used to read together in my father’s study. She seemed to inhale books, she read them so quickly. She wasn’t just book smart though… the way she spoke was eloquent too. We used to have family and friends over for dinner every few months; whenever she walked into the room, she seemed to command it. I would watch everyone as they watched her, its like they were in a trance.”

Y/N spoke with pure adoration, it would appear she had inherited her mother’s ability to capture an audience, Loki couldn’t look away.

“Sometimes she would join my father’s meetings; a room filled with giant men shouting one another down, yet one word from her could silence them all. She was a force of nature.” Y/N smiled, happy to have finally said out loud the thoughts she had kept tucked away.

“I’m sorry, I got carried away…” Y/N spoke shyly.

“No.” Loki said quickly, surprising both Y/N and himself. “Don’t apologise…thank you for sharing that with me. It must be hard for you…not to talk about her.”

Loki felt suddenly very shy himself, but Y/N gave him that dazzling smile.

“Thank you for listening.” She said.

It was clear Y/N had wanted to speak about her mother to someone for quite some time. Loki admired her sensitivity and came to the conclusion that she may be looking after Tony as much as he looked after her.

A few moments silence passed when Loki decided he ought to be less guarded with her in return. They appeared to be exchanging memories and anecdotes as currency, slowly learning more about each other through these transactions.

“I can understand…why your uncle doesn’t wish to talk about her. I still struggle to discuss my mot-“ he paused, “Frigga.”

Y/N nodded in understanding, “I’m sorry you lost her, that must have been hard for you.” She said

Loki nodded, “It was, but time appears to heal most wounds.”

Y/N offered a sympathetic smile, “It does, I’ve found that the loss never truly goes away but that can be a good thing sometimes. Reminders of what you lost makes you remember what you had; eventually the memories replace the grief.”

She was wise beyond her years and Loki found comfort in her words.

They continued to read long into the day until they both realised they hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in some time. They walked happily to the living area of their apartment, content in one another’s company.

“Perhaps I should read this book series the spider boy raves about.” Loki contemplated holding a copy of the philosopher’s stone in his hand.

Y/N gave that sweet chuckle, “They’re excellent books, and there are movies too.”

“Movies?” Loki asked, looking at Y/N confused.

Their brief laughter was interrupted by Thor who had just walked into the kitchen.

Thor looked perplexed at the scene before him; his brother and Stark’s niece sat at the kitchen island eating left over pastry and discussing books.

“Brother.” Thor greeted.

Loki turned to his sibling, “Thor.” He nodded in greeting.

Loki watched as his brother looked over to Y/N, a slight frown on his lips and his posture solid and unmoving.

Loki looked over to Y/N and found she had made herself as small as possible, her head slightly bowed as she rubbed her hands nervously.

“I should be going to bed, umm goodnight.” She said though it was barely audible.

As she scuttled out the room, Thor began to relax. “Good day brother?” Thor enquired patting his brothers back as he got himself a drink out the refrigerator.

“Fine.” Loki said, irritated by Y/N’s absence and the way in which it came about.

Thor was acting as though nothing had happened, which irked the trickster even more.

“What was that?” Loki demanded.

Thor looked up from the pastry he had snagged, “What was what?”

“That little display of dominance you used to frighten her off.” Loki said, practically through gritted teeth.

Thor sighed, running his hand through his hair, “I know, I know, I just don’t trust them.”

Loki was confused, “Them? Do you mean Y/N?”

“Well yes.” Thor said matter of factly, “Surely you recognise her?”

Loki’s look of puzzlement led Thor believe that his brother was none the wiser.

“She’s a Tatum, Rafael’s daughter. You remember them brother! Father had us watch over them these many years.” Thor explained.

Loki thought back, trying to place a face to the name, when suddenly it dawned on him. “The Tatum Clan? I thought Odin said they had died out.”

“They have.” Thor said, with a mouth full of food. He gestured to the empty spot where Y/N once was, “She’s the last of them.”

It clicked into place now. Her hair, her eyes, he knew he had seen them before. It was hard to believe she was a descendent of such a brutal clan. Loki remembered stories of their raids and pillaging, and from what he could recall the years hadn’t softened them.

How did Stark know them? How could his sister marry one of them? Did Odin know about Y/N? This clarification had only provided Loki with more questions.

It was then that Loki thought about Thor’s reaction to Y/N.

“Is that why you’re cold to her? Because of her family?” Loki asked.

Thor paused his eating, contemplated the question, and sighed, “Its not that I dislike her, I simply don’t know what she is capable of or if she is trustworthy. You remember them brother, they were not kind people.”

‘But she is.’ Loki thought

They sat in silence until Thor decided he was going to bed. As Thor was walking out of his brother’s apartment, Loki spoke up.

“Do you judge me?”

Thor turned to find his brother looking down to the floor, avoiding his gaze. “Judge you?”

“For being Laufey’s son? For being Jotun? For my family history?” Loki asked.

“Brother… never, I do not judge you for your true form…”

Loki stood up and made his way to his own room, “Then perhaps you should show her the same courtesy.” Loki said as he walked away.

Thor watched him leave and wondered what had come over his brother. Whatever it was, it had certainly given Thor a lot to think about.

#loki odinson #loki fandom #loki x reader #thor #wanda #vision #peter parker #odin #tony stark #avengers #loki laufeyson

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jvlicns · 4 years

Text

julian amante , twenty - three , cis male , THE TOWER .

amusing , candid , resourceful , petty , cataclysmic , arrogant.

first of all HELLO !! im z. 25 / she+her / pst. im thrilled to be here and honestly a little shocked ?? my app was a rushed MESS but im so happy the admins understood my nonsense !!

this is going to be a lil long so pls bear w me. im going to break it down into sections and eventually make an entire bio , but this will do in the mean time !

connections are here , & my discord is zvvf#1885 !

* tw for mention of drugs & alcohol

. . .

TAROT ━

the tower represents chaos , destruction , & upheaval. this change is usually sudden & unexpected -- & not always good. the tower itself is a symbol of ambition , but in this card we see it built on faulty premises & false beliefs , all of which are no longer useful.

the ruin of the tower is inevitable -- necessary for growth & groundbreaking renewal. it’s time to break out of the old ways.

AESTHETICS ━

cracked asphalt , bloody knuckles , tangerine sunsets. the smell of freshly cut grass . still , slow mornings. a neat row of fire ants , climbing up your bedroom wall. broken stained glass , an overgrown field. tears of laughter , the only you’ll ever shed.

money in a yellow envelope , guilt in your eyes , pressed flowers , a string quartet , corruption , loss of morals , student debt , a yellow light , darkness , hellfire.

THOUGHTS ━

" you’ve got your orders & that’s enough. you don’t know who’s telling you to throw your classmates off the scent , but you’re getting paid to do it. maybe your moral compass would stop you if you didn’t struggle so much in the financial department , but hey. you’re doing what you have to do to survive. if only you didn’t have to go against your better judgment for it. "

GENERAL ━

assigned to REYNOLDS house

fourth year -- senior .

currently working at the corner store as a cashier .

scholarship student -- 2.3 average gpa .

athlete , st. cade’s lacrosse team .

BACKGROUND ━

grew up in a small town in arizona , in one of those unfinished suburbs that ran out of funding halfway through a government project to “ upgrade ” that was met with widespread disapproval. it’s all empty pools & dirt lawns , a patchwork neighborhood of old houses mixed in with the new.

former golden boy who peaked in high school : star athlete , prom king , voted best smile. eternally toeing the line between CHAMPION & DIRTBAG.

well - liked , but known for being something of a hell - raiser. out every night , hungover every morning. it was less obvious back then -- he could easily brush it off as simple youthful rebellion , rather than a real personality defect.

his first taste of alcohol was in seventh grade. a summer night , with the sun retiring for the day but leaving her kiss on the still - warm pavement. his world -- previously filled with sunday school , tense family dinners , & 24 hour marathons of professional passive aggression , was forever changed. finally , the boredom slipped away. & not just that ! this was actually FUN.

but for someone with zero impulse control . . . a door opened , & he never managed to close it.

from a young age , his parents were always involved in the church. they attended every sunday , no excuses.

this lapsed as the years passed & the amante family found it more & more unpleasant to be in the same room together , but his parent’s beliefs never wavered. religion was used as a weapon in their home -- to shame & guilt. they claimed love , preached tolerance. what they practiced , however , was the opposite. as he grew older , julian managed to weasel his way out of most of their theological outings. he gained some freedom , in addition to the ire of his family. their disappointment in him grew from a tiny acorn to a mighty oak.

his parents had their own issues , long before julian came along. a marriage between two irreconcilable people. the love they should have shared mutated into something twisted , something that they could give only to their son. it was enough for them to feed him , clothe him , & put a roof over his head. anything else was simply asking too much.

despite coming from a low - income family , things have never been particularly DIFFICULT for him. sure , they struggled. he’s lost count of the times the power got shut off , or the water. but julian was the type of kid who could charm teachers into bumping his grade up to a 71% , despite the dozens of half - finished assignments & failed tests. he didn’t really have to try -- they just wanted to help him. ( pity , perhaps ? he turns a blind eye )

he coasted through school. one of those natural athletes that coaches & admin treat like celebrities , focusing all their attention on a teenager they have high hopes for. higher hopes than he had for himself , in fact.

julian never had dreams , not a plan for his future. all that stubborn arrogance fooled them : he’s spent the better part of the past seven years stalling. cutting corners & taking shortcuts , desperately avoiding reality.

he never expected to even leave his hometown , let along attend a prestigious college on a full ride lacrosse scholarship. somehow , he played enough games & passed enough classes to qualify for an opportunity that would pluck him from his sad , tragic storyline & deposit him on a shiny path to success. a fresh start.

he didn’t want to go. fought endlessly about it with his parents , his friends , himself. his place wasn’t at some hoity - toity school , surrounded by do - gooders & the conscientious. julian may have a knack for delusion , for spinning a story that suits him in whatever moment is passing. but he’s smart enough knows what his future holds : drinking himself to an early death in the very house he was born in. you can’t fight fate -- but you can surely postpone it.

in the end , it’s the boredom that convinces him. he’s said & done just about everything he can here , exhausted all the options he cares to consider. made plenty of enemies , as well as friends. built & burnt bridges.

the expectation of his teachers , his parents , were choking him. it’s foolish to think that this might be the way out – he’ll never change. but why not have some fun , while he’s still here ?

st.cade’s was a treasure trove for julian , filled with endless opportunities to amuse himself. despite his placement in reynold’s house & the mandatory church shit ( a part of his scholarship’s stipulations ) , it hasn’t been bad. another social scene for him to invade , conquests to be had , fights to provoke. the first few years were amazing : an intoxicated blur of his own little slice of this world.

he lives in the moment , greedily gathering every experience he can. nodding off in class , smoking behind the greenhouse , collecting all the free alcohol he manages to sniff out.

he’s learned this : a loud laugh & bravado can get you far. but now , his actions have finally caught up with him. the school is threatening to terminate his scholarship , to pack up his bags & send him on the first train home. & while he has no idea what to do , he knows he can’t go back. god , no.

even without what’s keeping him – the enticing mystery of helena’s disappearance , his friends , his freedom. he just can’t stand to go in reverse ; it would mean facing the consequences of every mistake he’s ever made ( & there are quite a few ! )

he’s a shark – he has to keep moving.

that first letter came soon after the school - wide assembly. small , neat type. direct. there was no mincing words , the sender made it perfectly clear : this is his only option. if he wants to maintain this lifestyle , this is the way. so he burns the letters , following their instructions. almost relieved to be given direction. it’s a respite in the current disarray – something he used to enjoy , but now just feels exhausting. he’s the band , humming away as the titanic sinks. not my business , he thinks. but he’ll drown all the same.

PERSONALITY ━

he’s an asshole but a F U N asshole -- that makes it palatable , right ??

not a dumbass , but the lack of impulse control + arrogance could have fooled me ! his intelligence is only hinted at , invisible unless you’re looking : reciting keats from memory , listing off all 79 of jupiter’s moons. remnants of past & fleeting obsessions.

has to actively undermine his own common sense -- for the laughs , of course !

selfish ; his needs & wants come before anyone else’s. a childish habit , yes , but one he’s been unable to break. ( not that he’s tried )

vacillates between aloof & dramatic. you can count on him to stir some shit up -- he adores chaos & just can’t keep his mouth shut. petty , to a fault.

he’s hot - shit & he knows it ; well aware of his pretty face & statuesque build. julian’s never been afraid of using it to his advantage , or even just reminding anyone around him of just how cute he is. ( listen up 5′s , a 10 is speaking ! )

has a strong aversion to authority. “ don’t tell me what to do ! ” . . . * quietly takes your advice when you’re not looking * . . .

the good parts of him are buried deep. his loyalty , his gentleness. a warm heart that can easily empathize , but chooses not to. julians pursuit of superficial gratification blinds him , warping his reflection like a funhouse mirror.

aggressive & unrelenting. this could be channeled into something of a work ethic , if he cared enough. instead , he uses it to get what he wants. whatever that might be.

curious as a cat with nine lives , he won’t hesitate to ask the question everyone’s thinking. that bluntness is almost appealing , as long as it’s not directed at you. this makes him somewhat of a good listener , even if he’s only paying attention to satisfy his own nosiness.

he’ll literally fight for the ones he loves. there aren’t many of them , but the sentiment stands. years of sports have taught him the value of teamwork , & he has yet to shake it. once you endear yourself to him , there’s no going back.

despite everything , julian manages to be a charismatic little firebrand. he’ll guarantee a good time , he just won’t help clean up the mess.

FUN FACTS ━

can fit his entire fist in his mouth

has The Loudest Sneeze Of All Time

once bit into an apple n saw a WORM inside so now he hates apples w a passion

right handed , but taught himself to be ambidextrous during the summer between fifth & sixth grade

promptly forgot he was ambidextrous & never uses his left hand

has surprisingly neat handwriting

can fall asleep ANYWHERE

likes country music ( will never admit it , tho )

his mother used to read him poetry , so he’s lowkey Very Into It

can’t carry a tune for shit , & his impressions are a w f u l. his british accent is just a cheap dick van dyke imitation , & his australian accent is what the british one SHOULD be

#atonedintro #i refuse to look at this anymore so im gna go play ac for 6 hourS

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dovakhiindrabbles · 5 years

Note

If requests are still open - 47 with Brynjolf please? If not no worries! Thank you and have a lovely day

Of course darling I’d be more than happy to! I’m just sorry for the long wait but I hope that regardless, you still enjoy! :)

47. “You look like hell.”

———————————————————————————————————–

It was supposed to be a simple job.

Why couldn’t it have just been a simple job?

You sputtered up coughs and curses as you staggered from the burning building, a scuffed if mostly intact priceless artifact clasped tight in your battered hand.

The beams and boards of the inside of the cottage fell to shambles inside, the hoarse and angered yells of those you’d stolen from pouring from seemingly every inch of the land.

They’d be out soon – they were clever enough to trap the whole damn place they were smart enough to get out when it was up in flames.

You managed to hide behind a few sets of clustered trees, muttering to yourself before a hand suddenly clamped over your mouth.

“Goodness love – you look like hell.”

You recognized the voice in an instant, your instinctive reaction to bite the hand now only replaced with a roll of your eyes and the faintest smile tugging at your lips from beneath his palm.

“Well, I still think you look lovely no matter what but you’ve got a couple scars to show off now,” He simpered. “Now, I’m going to move my hand away and I need you to be very quiet and listen.”

Tentatively, he drew back.

“What else am I going to do but be quiet? I’m not looking to be murdered, Bryn!”

He regretted his decision.

“What’re you even doing here? This is a solo mission. Mercer made it a point that we travel too much together.”

“I was worried – looks like for good reason. I’d heard stories about this family, absolute fanatics they are.”

“Do you have a plan on what to do with them?”

“I have a… theory.”

You furrowed your brow, both unamused and unconvinced. “Which is…?”

“You run love. I’ll keep them busy.”

“You think I’m just going to let you kill yourself?” You snapped and shot up, Brynjolf having to fight back his laughter as he pressed a gentle kiss to your head.

“I know what I’m doing. Just head to Lake Yorgrim, and wait for me. I’ll be back for you, I promise.”

“Bryn-”

He had already rushed off before you could even finish calling his name.

He hurried to the now soot-covered home-owners with an absurdly concerned and attentive call, as if he hadn’t just met the thief and let you escape. But, that was the point.

“Hey! Are you alright? What’s going on here?”

Their muffled voices of anger and frustration told you more than enough that they weren’t exactly going to clean you up and send you off if they found you. You couldn’t afford to stay much longer. You had to leave.

You reluctantly forced yourself to your feet and dragged yourself forwards against the searing pain dragging along your legs and bare skin, mustering all the strength you had not to look back to make sure your dumb, darling Nord wasn’t already dead.

Yet your resolve failed you.

And when you glanced back, he was nowhere to be seen.

The walk to Lake Yorgrim was one battered with The Pale’s bitter cold and crunching snow, the only surprise being the lack of howling winds – not that you were opposed to it.

You forced yourself to settle down on one of the few logs lingering near the ice and held your arms close to your chest. Your legs already began to thump against the ground anxiously like they always seemed to do.

You liked to think of yourself as the cool and collected type, but it was times like these that revealed just the opposite.

You fretted endlessly.

What if he was hurt?

What if he needed you?

“Why did I leave?” You whispered harshly to yourself. “Damn the gods why did I leave?”

You bit back a sob and sank against yourself, salty tears falling from your tightly shut eyes.

Your heart lurched into your throat and threatened to shatter whatever remained.

You wouldn’t admit it to many – but you loved that sickeningly-clever thief.

You loved Brynjolf.

He was more than clear about his feelings for you, his arm always wound about your waist whenever you were near and his adoring, quick kisses or gestures never too far behind. He’d purr sweet nothings and stories to you before loudly exclaiming all the little quirks he cherished with others.

But you, you were much quieter in your affections.

Your hand would oftentimes search for his, sometimes merely just your pinkies winding together underneath the tables or as you walked side by side. Other times, you’d lean against his side and chatter wise-cracking jokes to each other through your snickers.

Yet you hardly ever told him how you felt.

You’d never even said ‘I love you’.

Perhaps a part of you feared the second you’d give yourself to him the world would crash beneath your feet – it wasn’t exactly unusual in your line of work.

But then, why did you regret it so much now?

Yet the thought of him dying without knowing how much you utterly treasured him in your life gave you all the answers you needed.

You wiped furiously at your puffy eyes and tried to steady your breathing, interrupted by the ripples of coughs and sobs pouring from you. “W-What absolute s-shit this is…” You whispered. “All for some trinket too…”

“Some trinket? That’ll sell for a pretty coin love.”

You twisted around in an instant and felt the tears you’d fought so hard to stop erupt back to life.

“You… You…!”

You staggered to your feet, ignoring the sudden shock of pain and raced to him, flinging your arms around his neck with such a suddenness you both collapsed into the snow.

“I love you so much…” You sobbed, burying your head in the crook of his neck and clinging tight to that familiar leather armor.

He had fumbled for your waist to steady your fall, but froze at your confession, his heart thumping against your ear.

And then, ever so delicately, then passionately, he pulled you close.

“If that’s what it took for you to admit it – maybe I should put myself in life-threatening situations more often.”

“D-Don’t you fucking dare!”

He snorted, kissing your head fondly. “Just a joke love.”

“I didn’t like it.”

You didn’t even have to look to tell he was grinning. “Noted.”

He eased back and helped you to stand, leading you back to the log to reveal rolls of bandages and whiskey in his bag.

You scoffed amusedly, wrinkling your nose. “Where’d you get that?”

“I told you I was good,” He simpered. “I took them to Windhelm – got them patched up and took what was left.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Oh no, the family quite likes me. I’m even invited for dinner when their house is rebuilt.” He grinned. “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“I quite like my head attached to my neck, thank you very much.”

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

Brynjolf undid the bandages and you rolled up your sleeves and pants, revealing the tattered gashes and purple bruises.

“Could you close your eyes and count to three for me love?”

“Why?”

“Just humor me.”

You huffed but relented all the same, shutting your lids and beginning to say the numbers playfully slow.

“One… two-”

He poured the whiskey onto your wounds.

“Fuck!”

You felt a cloth wipe away at the alcohol and clean up the wound, Brynjolf speaking hurriedly to quell your obvious anger.

“So, so sorry about that – but look! All clean and no infection!”

He showed you your own arm, the dirt and grime mopped away to reveal a pink, albeit still bleeding gash.

“See?”

You bit your lip, biting back curses.

Brynjolf laughed sheepishly and pressed a kiss between your brows. “Thank you love – I’ll have you patched up in no time. I swear on it.”

“Oh, you’re lucky you’re charming.”

“I pride myself on it.”

He unraveled the bandages and began to wrap it around your limbs, a secure and comforting welcome to the icy snow and speckles of dirt.

“There we go,” He hummed. “That should hold up until we get back to Riften,” He took your hands in his own, jolting up in surprise. “You’re colder than a chunk of ice!”

“There isn’t exactly any tavern to settle in.”

“That’s a shame, isn’t it? I’d kill for a hot mug of mead.”

“Well we had whiskey but you spilled it all on me.”

“The sacrifices we make for the ones we love,” He mused with a chuckle, rubbing his thumbs along your knuckles as he raised them to his lips, letting out a warm breath onto your frigid skin. “you know I love you, don’t you?”

A smile widened upon your face. “Yes, I do.”

“Good…” He softened, grinning like the absolute smitten fool he was.

But truthfully, you were no better.

He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “I don’t think you’re good enough to move much yet – certainly not on a trek to Riften, so we’ll stay here for a bit and stay close – for warmth, of course.”

“No ulterior motive? None at all?”

He shook his head dramatically, scooting you closer to him all the while. “Of course not! What kind of man do you take me for?”

“You’re right, what am I thinking?” You rested against his chest and clung to him like he was the softest blanket the world had ever known. “You’re the most honorable thief I know!”

“That’s right! And don’t you forget it, love.”

“I won’t.”

You gave a tired little smile.

Even in the most bitter, freezing weather there truly wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be.

Because right there, in the frozen tundra where the snow never stopped and the grass was never green was Brynjolf.

And that was all you could ever want.

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