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ozzgin · 3 months

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I love your work! you have such a fun take on yandere's and I would love to see what kind of yandere hcs you could cook up for a host-club / paid to go on dates with you yandere ❤️ double points if you can make it so that the reader is never really one to cross a line or think the yandere really likes them...

If you don't want to do this prompt tho I completely understand ❤️

The idea makes me a little nostalgic as it gives me Ouran vibes. Also reminded me I've never played 'Men of Yoshiwara' past the prologue, which also has male courtesans ready to service you. In any case, it's definitely something I can expand on! :)

Yandere! Host x Reader

You've never considered yourself to be the type frequenting host clubs. Yet the loneliness is becoming noticeable and perhaps it's your lack of experience keeping you out of the dating scene. Mingling with paid professionals could prepare you for a future boyfriend. Except your assigned host has other plans in mind for you.

Content: gender neutral reader, inexperienced reader, obsessive behavior, manipulation

Ah, you definitely don't belong here. He can tell within seconds and he hasn't even reached the table yet. You're nervously readjusting the sleeves of your shirt - do you usually not wear such outfits? - and merely glance around the room for a brief moment before casting your eyes back down in sheepish modesty. Well, not necessarily a sight of unpreceded novelty. Many people are intrigued by the idea of a host club, so even just idle curiosity is enough incentive for one to end up among the charismatic crowd of paid affections. Today it's you who has stumbled into the hungry mouth of the wolf, and he happens to be the one to entertain you away from whatever unpleasantries are currently consuming you.

He gently stretches his slender fingers across your shoulder, a feathery touch light enough as to not startle you. You look up and acknowledge his presence, ready to stand up for introductions. His hold on you is firm, letting you know there is no need to leave the comfort of your sofa. "Now then, this isn't a job interview. You don't need to be so formal." He explains with a chuckle. You nod. Embarrassingly enough, your eyes are glued to his face for longer than what you'd consider polite admiration. A waste of good looks is your immediate thought. Surely someone as stunning as him could've worked as a model or actor. You suspect he isn't as enthusiastic to meet you as his voice leads one to believe, so the ability to pretend certainly isn't missing.

One peek at the table next to you, and the answer quickly presents itself. An older woman is inspecting the menu, surrounded by multiple bottles of champagne whose name even you recognize. You doubt the average acting career could provide this amount of luxury. The corners of your lips curl slightly upwards in a pitiful self awareness. Sadly for this guy, you're not a big spender. Whether he, too, is aware of this disappointing fact is impossible to tell. His handsome features remain cheerfully relaxed. "Tell me about yourself. What brings a darling like you here?" He inquires graciously, resting his chin on the back of his hands as he settles before you with an intent gaze.

You narrate your hardship: whether because of your looks or your awkwardness, something impedes you from having acquired a partner; and so the idea of gaining experience through less orthodox means came to fruition. Your host listens carefully, refilling your glass every now and then with a compassionate frown, lips parted in unspoken sympathy. Of course, he understands. Naturally. Once you're finished, he straightens himself in newfound determination: worry not, he will be your coach in love.

Thus begins the unusual partnership. You hadn't expected the man to readily agree to such a ridiculous request. A handful of visits have made it clear to you he's in high demand, most likely one of the top earners. Why would he waste his precious (and otherwise profitable) time with a humble customer like you? Maybe it's bad form to refuse lower paid offers too often, so he's keeping you for balance. You'll never know. His professionalism betrays no hint of annoyance.

You cannot help but marvel at his masterful lying. It becomes quite clear to you why so many people fall helplessly in love with paid hosts. Everything is executed with the utmost care for detail. The loving caress of the cheek he occasionally initiates, seemingly unprompted. The long, ardent stares into your eyes, as you must practice your eye contact. His hot lips brushing against your fingers while he spoils you with diminutives and sickly sweet words of appreciation.

You frequently have to remind yourself that everything is dictated by a contract. A code of conduct meant to be replicated for you and all other clients coming afterwards. How many other poor souls fawn over this alluring devil? You wouldn't want to burden him with an additional customer who forgets boundaries. You know your place too well.

Admirable manners. Frustratingly so. He wishes you'd just give in already and drop the shy act around him. You've caught his interest from the moment he spotted you in that cluttered, crowded room reeking of overpriced alcohol and solitude. Everything about you signaled blindingly clear: you're someone others can easily take advantage of. To think you would've landed right in his hands, to be molded as he pleases. The little sob story about being inexperienced with men, your clumsy attempts to follow along his flirts. Oh, you're just begging to be defiled. Again, and again and again, until there's nothing left of you. Then he'd caringly patch you back together and start anew. His very own corner of innocence.

The indecent daydreams are cut short when you proudly announce, during one of your dates, that you finally feel confident enough to pursue a genuine partner. You have booked a nice hotel room for this occasion; One last gesture of grandeur to show your gratitude for all the advice and love (even though it wasn't genuine). He's sitting on the edge of the plush mattress, dumbfounded, fiddling with the thick, ornate border of the bed runner. Huh? What the hell are you talking about? He's spent all this time getting to know you. What gets you flustered and bothered, what makes you excited, sad, anxious, angry, bored. He taught you how to come out of your shell. Why, so you can go ahead and waste yourself on some fucking idiot?

"My, aren't you eager. You haven't even had your first kiss." He says with a cheeky smile. "I think I can manage-" you want to say, but he quickly interrupts with a curt: "No one likes an amateur kisser". You're immediately silenced. His voice sounds cold, with a hint of anger in it. "I'm sorry, darling love, it's true." He resumes in an entirely different tonality, dragging his words with an eerie kindness attached to them. He tuts a little, turning towards you and patting his knees. There, there, don't look so deflated. If a simple observation like his hurt you this much, how would you handle the much meaner, downright heartless world out there?

Such is reality. Men are cruel and you had the bad luck to be born with a gentle heart. He delicately guides you to sit in his lap, cupping your burning face between his large hands. He knows this expression too well - you're humiliated. And thus, can he truly allow anyone else out there to see you so vulnerable like this? No, this kind of intimacy is reserved for him. You must understand. He has disciplined you to his liking, and simultaneously learned all the nooks and crannies of your being. It's too late to go back to a simple host and client relationship.

"Why don't you practice with me first, love?" He breaks the silence, placing his lips against your forehead in encouragement. You feel a sudden pressure faintly throbbing underneath you. "T-the kiss?" You ask hesitantly, trying to ignore the sensation and squirming in his tightening hold.

"Everything."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere host #male yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere original character

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confessedlyfannish · 3 months

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Writing Prompt #11

It's an innocent ("please," Jason sneers, "there's nothing innocent about a plagiaristic propaganda machine encouraging minors to dance for sick ol' pervs while it spews misogynistic hate speech.'"

"okay, boomer,"

"the fuck did you just call me, replacement?") TikTok, one of those ones that kind of simmers in the background for a few weeks until someone with a decent enough following posts it on the Platform Formerly Known as Twitter and from there it seriously catches traction, blowing up until Tim knocks on Bruce's office door, phone in hand. Damian stands behind him, arms crossed and clearly simmering.

Bruce, fresh off a series of zoom conferences, raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you haven't seen it," Tim decides, striding forward.

Bruce's eyebrow jumps a smidge higher, on the edge of concern, as Tim thrusts his phone into his grasp.

"So," he begins, reaching over to refresh the mobile page "there's a video that's been making the rounds on Twitter and—well you should probably see it," He sighs over Damian's scoff as he clicks through the pop-up asking him to sign in or join TikTok, and presses "Watch Again", unmuting the video.

🎶 "Doo, badoo-badoo-badoo Badoo-badoo-badoo-badoo,"🎶 an upbeat background song hums as someone, presumably a student, films a school hallway with their phone. They walk past students talking near their lockers, some of whom flash peace signs and silly grins as the camera swings their way before continuing on.

But the main point Bruce gets stuck on is the all lowercase white text at the center of the screen that an automated woman's voice awkwardly narrates:

"when you go to school with bruce wayne's other long lost lovechild"

The student filming comes up behind a much taller student who faces away from him, in conversation with a black haired pale teenaged girl. She spots the cameraman and shoots him a confused, disgruntled look, saying something to the boy who then turns around.

Bruce quietly observes as the camera zooms in on a boy around Tim's page, possibly older. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, he raises an eyebrow at the one filming, looking beyond the camera, pitch black hair with blue undertones falling into his blue eyes. The camera momentarily zooms too far into those eyes then abruptly pulls back as he quirks a puzzled smile at the viewer, mouthing out an easily understandable "hi?".

The TikTok ends and seamlessly transitions to a person balancing their cat on an exercise ball with minimal success and this time Bruce presses the Watch Again button. The heart on the right side claims 750k likes.

Damian scoffs, louder, as it ends. "Clearly it is a hoax, but it has been popular among my classmates."

"The board hasn't made much noise about it—" Tim starts.

"And they won't," Bruce says, lifting his eyes from his phone. "Wayne Industries doesn't give statements on videos like these, no matter how viral they become. I've been getting lovechild claims since before I adopted Dick."

Which Tim knows, which is why his insistence on showing Bruce this one raises his hackles. He pins Tim down with a stare and despite Tim's perfected PR mask, he can see Tim is unsettled.

"B...he really, really looks like you." Tim admits. Damian scoffs for a third time and Tim shoots him a glare, "I get it, you don't see it, but you haven't seen the pictures of Bruce when he was younger."

"I don't need to!" Damian says angrily. "You're all being ridiculous!"

"All?" Bruce asks. Tim shifts awkwardly. "The family group chat has been talking," he says.

"I see," Bruce says. Because he does. Many claim Damian to be his doppelganger, but the boy actually favors Talia not just in skin tone but in the shape and color of his eyes, as well as the soft slope of her mouth and ears. Whether those features will sharpen once he goes through puberty is anyone's guess.

But this young man has Bruce's eyes. Martha's eyes.

That night they have a suspiciously full house for dinner, with even Jason dropping in, but no one says anything until Barbara wheels in for dessert, carrying a manila folder on her lap.

"What?" she says, when everyone stares. "Dick told me it was crème brûlée today!"

Bruce extends a hand wordlessly, and Barbara sheepishly hands the folder over.

"Bruce," she says, before he can open it, "I wouldn't have looked into this normally, but,"

"Just say it," Jason says, leaning back in his chair. "Take away the gray hairs, the receding hairline, and the wrinkles and the kid's a dead match."

"Take it back, Todd," Damian growls, "Father has a very full head of hair!"

"Not to mention a failed track record at keeping it in his pants, Exhibit A," Jason continues, pointing a fork at Damian, "oh wait," he says gleefully, "kid is definitely 18, so I guess that would make you Exhibit B!"

The table erupts, cutlery tinkling as Damian gets a knee up on the table to hurl himself at a cackling Todd, Dick jumping up to grab him as the others lean out of the way—

"Ahem!" Everyone stops cold as Alfred stands in the doorway, porcelain ramekins of crème brûlée stacked perfectly on a silver tray. Under his gaze, everyone sits back down, Damian and Jason both quietly uttering a "Sorry Alfie/Alfred," as they straighten up.

Bruce is oblivious to the chaos, Barbara biting her lip beside him as he stares blankly inside the folder at the printed copy of an adoption certificate.

Two days and several million likes later, another TikTok goes viral from the same user. Caught in the moment as whoever is filming runs up to the group, the same young man is chatting with a blonde in a red letterman jacket, a partially formed crowd around them. Even with one leg still in the cafeteria table, he towers over everyone.

"—sh. Look, we're all possibly Bruce Wayne's son!" the boy snarks. He has his hands out, palms up as if he's making a great point, and as he looks around he catches sight of the cameraman and his smirk drops.

"Ah Mac, c'mon dude not again—" and the TikTok ends.

#danny phantom #batman #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #bruce wayne #jason todd #danny fenton #my writing

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formulafics · 6 months

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★ OSCAROO AND BABY CHRONICLES | OP81

Scenario: its the qatar grand prix race weekend, and baby piastri is making her first appearance at a race. (requested)

Pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

A/N: this was a CHALLENGE considering the lack of content involving oscar with kids, but i think it turned out okay! god bless girl dad oscar 🫶🏻

— SATURDAY: SPRINT RACE —

“There is our race winner,” the commentator narrates as Oscar gets out of his car. Off comes his helmet, then his bevalavca. “Smiles all around for the Piastri family as his wife congratulates him,” he continues. You smile at Oscar, holding Joey with one arm as you embrace him. He wraps his arm around you, the other going around your daughter, careful not to hit you or her with the helmet in his hand. “You did so good, Osc,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you step back. Joey reaches out to Oscar, and he takes her into his hold, one of the Mclaren crew members taking his helmet and head piece off of his hands.

“There goes baby Piastri, into the arms of her father. What a sweet sight. Alright, post races interviews are hosted by Mark Webber, and we will see you guys in the cooldown room before that.”

— 🏎️

“Into the cooldown room we go and,” the commentator pauses, laughing at the sight, “There goes Joey, chasing down Oscar, as usual,” he says. Oscar smiles to himself, knowing his daughter is right behind him. Despite the adrenaline of winning the race, the Qatar heat had not been kind, and he decides do sprawl out on the floor, the cool ground soothing his hot skin. “Max joins Oscar on the floor, and as expected, there goes Joey, mimicking her dad,” the commentator laughs again as Joey lays down in the same position as Oscar.

— 🏎️

“I have to use the bathroom so bad, I can’t hold it,” you tell your husband, the pair of you laughing to yourselves as he ushers you off, taking your daughter once again. “Guess you’re doing the interview with me, Joey,” he tells her, planting a kiss to her head as he walks back out, Webber waiting. The older australian smiles, handing Oscar a mic. “Well, who’s this little lady?” Mark asks, despite being Joey’s godfather. It’s evident that he’s no stranger to the young girl, as a wife smile spreads on her face, chubby cheek’s prominent due to the action. Mark smiles and reaches out, tickling her arm. She giggles and curls into Oscar, instinctively tugging her hand away. Mark laughs, then turns his attention to Oscar for the actual interview, all while sweet his sweet little Joey is snuggled into him.

ynpiastri

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, landonorris, mclaren, and 106,782 others

ynpiastri wowee, what a weekend. i’m so beyond proud of my love, @/oscarpiastri. you deserve this win, and so many more. i love you forever always. ❤️

also, congratulations lando on another pair of podiums, and max on your third wdc! love you guys. 🫶🏻

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maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 thank you yn!

landonorris THANKS MUM! i love you too

⤷ ynpiastri your welcome, my child

⤷ rizzciardo i love yn and landos relationship so much

papayabull “wowee” i love when yn talks like oscar 😭

verstappensgirl THE PICTURE OF MAX AND JOEY OH MY GOD THIS HURTS I LOVE HIM

⤷ norrisnation in landos post race interview, you can see max holding joey in the background 💔

⤷ mclamg i saw that </3 it was so cute

papayamax yeah i’m gonna need about 4-7 business days to process the picture of max

⤷ papayabull GIRL i need a whole vacation to process all the content from this weekend

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 167,892 others

ynpiastri a celebratory family dinner 🫶🏻 proud of my boys (and so is baby joey, as you can see)

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ynpiastri @/maxverstappen1 i’m sorry i didn’t include you in the post 🥹 i made it before you showed up

⤷ maxverstappen1 no worries :)

oscarpiastri 🫶🏻 i love my girls

⤷ landonorris what about me? 🤭🤭

⤷ oscarpiastri no

⤷ papayabull LMFAO HELP OSCAR IS SO FUNNY

landonorris food was good im coming over every single day

⤷ ynpiastri okay bet i love having you over (and so does joey)

⤷ norrisnation JOEY LOVES LANDO ‼️ IM SOBBING

logansargeant please tell me baby piastri didn’t forget about me

⤷ ynpiastri no, she actually asked about you and was sad that you couldn’t make it </3 just means you have to be there for the next one!

⤷ logansargeant oh BET

cameforoscstayedforyn yn is so sweet :( the way she’s so close with logan lando and max is my most favorite thing

formulapiastri yn referring to lando and max as family is my roman empire.

⤷ ogformulaone THIS and mark webber being yn’s godfather

⤷ formulapiastri omg YES…and yn saying logan is family (in an interview a while back) 😭 baby piastri has such a good group of people to grow up with

All feedback is incredibly appreciated! Thank you so much for taking the time to read. 🫶🏻

general taglist | @renarots (shoutout to her for constantly fueling the brain rot for my fics) @jsjcue @illicitverstappen @lovstappen @minkyungseokie @harrysdimple05

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physalian · 1 month

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You don’t have to pay for that fancy worldbuilding program

As mentioned in this post about writing with executive dysfunction, if one of your reasons to keep procrastinating on starting your book is not being able to afford something like World Anvil or Campfire, I’m here to tell you those programs are a luxury, not a necessity: Enter Google Suite (not sponsored but gosh I wish).

MS Office offers more processing power and more fine-tuning, but Office is expensive and only autosaves to OneDrive, and I have a perfectly healthy grudge against OneDrive for failing to sync and losing 19k words of a WIP that I never got back.

Google’s sync has never failed me, and the Google apps (at least for iPhone) aren’t nearly as buggy and clunky as Microsoft’s. So today I’m outlining the system I used for my upcoming fantasy novel with all the helpful pictures and diagrams. Maybe this won’t work for you, maybe you have something else, and that’s okay! I refuse to pay for what I can get legally for free and sometimes Google’s simplicity is to its benefit.

The biggest downside is that you have to manually input and update your data, but as someone who loves organizing and made all these willingly and for fun, I don’t mind.

So. Let’s start with Google Sheets.

The Character Cheat Sheet:

I organized it this way for several reasons:

I can easily see which characters belong to which factions and how many I have named and have to keep up with for each faction

All names are in alphabetical order so when I have to come up with a new name, I can look at my list and pick a letter or a string of sounds I haven’t used as often (and then ignore it and start 8 names with A).

The strikethrough feature lets me keep track of which characters I kill off (yes, I changed it, so this remains spoiler-free)

It’s an easy place to go instead of scrolling up and down an entire manuscript for names I’ve forgotten, with every named character, however minor their role, all in one spot

Also on this page are spare names I’ll see randomly in other media (commercials, movie end credits, etc) and can add easily from my phone before I forget

Also on this page are my summary, my elevator pitch, and important character beats I could otherwise easily mess up, it helps stay consistent

*I also have on here not pictured an age timeline for all my vampires so I keep track of who’s older than who and how well I’ve staggered their ages relative to important events, but it’s made in Photoshop and too much of a pain to censor and add here

On other tabs, I keep track of location names, deities, made-up vocabulary and definitions, and my chapter word count.

The Word Count Guide:

*3/30 Edit to update this chart to its full glory. Column 3 is a cumulative count. Most of what I write breaks 100k and it's fun watching the word count rise until it boils over.

This is the most frustrating to update manually, especially if you don’t have separate docs for each chapter, but it really helps me stay consistent with chapter lengths and the formula for calculating the average and rising totals is super basic.

Not that all your chapters have to be uniform, but if you care about that, this little chart is a fantastic visualizer.

If you have multiple narrators, and this book does, you can also keep track of how many POVs each narrator has, and how spread out they are. I didn’t do that for this book since it’s not an ensemble team and matters less, but I did for my sci-fi WIP, pictured below.

As I was writing that one, I had “scripted” the chapters before going back and writing out all the glorious narrative, and updated the symbols from “scripted” to “finished” accordingly.

I also have a pie chart that I had to make manually on a convoluted iPhone app to color coordinate specifically the way I wanted to easily tell who narrates the most out of the cast, and who needs more representation.

—

Google Docs

Can’t show you much here unfortunately but I’d like to take an aside to talk about my “scene bits” docs.

It’s what it says on the tin, an entire doc all labeled with different heading styles with blurbs for each scene I want to include at some point in the book so I can hop around easily. Whether they make it into the manuscript or not, all practice is good practice and I like to keep old ideas because they might be useful in unsuspecting ways later.

Separate from that, I keep most of my deleted scenes and scene chunks for, again, possible use later in a “deleted scenes” doc, all labeled accordingly.

When I designed my alien language for the sci-fi series, I created a Word doc dictionary and my own "translation" matrix, for easy look-up or word generation whenever I needed it (do y'all want a breakdown for creating foreign languages? It's so fun).

Normally, as with my sci-fi series, I have an entire doc filled with character sheets and important details, I just… didn’t do that for this book. But the point is—you can still make those for free on any word processing software, you don’t need fancy gadgets.

—

I hope this helps anyone struggling! It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t have to be expensive. Everything I made here, minus the aforementioned timeline and pie chart, was done with basic excel skills and the paint bucket tool. I imagine this can be applicable to games, comics, what have you, it knows no bounds!

Now you have one less excuse to sit down and start writing.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #organizing your book #outlining #shut up and write the book #google sheets #google docs

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totaly-obsessed · 17 days

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A Lesson in Accepting

Barcelona Femení x reader

-> Despite reader's best efforts to hide her illness and join in training, a she learns the importance of listening to her body and her teammates

-> Wordcount: ≈ 1.770

-> The happiest birthday to @sleekswosobession - love you!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Oye! No chiqui - off!”

Hmmpf.

Out of all the older players, Lucy was usually the fun one. But today she didn’t want you climbing on her and she had gotten annoyed when you tried to steal her shoes. Maybe a new victim was needed for your shenanigans. But who?

Just as you started to look around for Vicky, the arm of Marta found its way onto your shoulder, Caroline now at the other side as they dragged you into the changing rooms. “Don’t even think about it.”

Music blasted through the room, with Salma by the speakers as her phone was connected to it, getting ready while swaying to her music. A quick look around made it obvious that your cubby for the day was between Frido and Ingrid.

Great.

You missed the days were you were at your rightful place between Patri and Cata, Claudia joining you after quickly changing into her kit. Those were the fun days when you had just joined the team. Fresh from Australia and full of energy and nerves Patri and Claudia had taken you under their wing.

Just two weeks later Alexia fell over her tied-together laces, just to see you laughing in a corner, hiding behind your new friends. The room had fallen quiet, everyone scared of what their captain would do.

Laugh.

Alexia Putellas, their strong and serious captain, started laughing at being tricked by a sixteen-year-old Australian rookie. Hesitantly the other players started to laugh, watching the blonde from the corner of their eyes, just to make sure that she wouldn’t get pissy at them laughing.

But now you were stuck between different adults every week, your number never hanging in the same spot, and for today's game, it was the space between two tall scandis. While they were incredibly nice, neither of them had a fable for letting you run wild - but they let you yap as much as you want. A win is a win. And at this point, you’d take anything.

Rainy games were your favorite games. You loved sliding around on the drenched pitch, tackling an opponent whenever you could, and getting your kit as dirty as possible. And that game was no different.

Sliding here - sliding there.

Mapi thought it was hilarious how you sprinted across the waterlogged pitch, stealing the ball of one opponent after the other.

“Chiqui come here and let me dry your hair, you’ll get sick.”

Irene was in mother mode, fussing over you and Vicky, who looked like the two happiest girls on the planet. Both of you had been in the starting eleven, something that didn’t happen as often. But with the weather conditions and the not-as-competitive opponent, Jona caved to your synchronized begging.

“I won’t. Promise!”

And with that, you were off again. Running outside, leaving the changing room early. Jona had been quick with his talk and the girls were just warming up and getting something to eat or massaged. But you run out to play on the field with the girls sitting on the bench.

Bruna and Jana made it a fun game, sending the ball just slightly wide every time, so that you had to be quick, falling over more than once during it.

Alexia just shook her head in amusement when she came back to the pitch, the other girls following in their captain's stride.

“Chiquitita wear a jacket for me please?” The Catalan’s English was great, even if she was too shy to speak it most of the time. Her hands held out a jacket to you, an eyebrow raised in question.

“I’ll be okay, thank you, Ale!”

And you would be okay, at least for the rest of the night - giving it your all on the pitch and giving it your all when you were the entertainment of the following movie night. Mapi had given you one of those cheap Karaoke microphones and with that, you kept narrating the movies much to everyone else's annoyance.

Mapi thought you were hilarious though. And with everyone smiling at you even if they acted annoyed, you kept going all the way until Lucy and Ona dropped you off at the apartment Barcelona gave you.

In the beginning, the Team members had been worried about you living there, all alone at only sixteen. But Vicky had been fine - she was an angel as opposed to the whirlwind of an Australian that had been added to the team with you. You would be at training most days anyway and doing stuff with the girls even on days off, so you’d be fine. Right?

Well usually you would be fine, but waking up with an itchy throat, annoying cough, and a runny nose topped by a fever, was not a funny thing.

Just like that, all your plans with Vicky for the day had been canceled. The two of you wanted to explore the city and then visit the library closest to the Sagrada Familia, but all of that went to waste now as you were trying to get rid of this cold as fast as possible.

But it turns out it wasn’t that easy. A day later you were still sick, your voice so hoarse that it was hard to understand. You had debated calling Jona and letting him know, but then Alexia and Irene would have been right when it came to you getting sick. You just needed to power through. Tomorrow you will be all good again.

After oversleeping you practically raced to the training center for gym day. Well raced as fast as you can with public transport - a mask secure on your face. You looked sick enough that strangers raised a brow at your sweaty forehead.

To your luck the changing rooms were empty, all of the girls were already in the gym, so you could change in peace, trying to take deep breaths as well as you could. Man, you hated having a stuffy nose.

The bright lights and the loud music made you wince when you entered the big space, with everyone on different equipment. You quickly explained to Jona that your bus had been late, and just by his facial expression you could see that he didn’t believe a word out of your mouth.

He knew. Fuck. But he didn’t do or say anything, just going over the plan for today with you.

The other girls tried to get a good look at you, whispering to themselves. This wasn’t the first time you had been late. Sometimes the bus really didn’t come, and sometimes you overslept. But the training staff was never too mad at you - you were a growing girl after all, and needed your sleep.

But usually, when you came in, you would go around greeting the girls one by one, telling them the crazy stories of your bus driver. Today, however, you picked out an empty corner, starting to stretch all by yourself.

When one of the trainers called for partner exercises you were quick to kidnap Vicky, who didn’t even react as she was used to your antics by now. But then she looked at you.

“You’re sick!”

“Shhh!”

With, what you thought, quick reflexes you pushed her head down so that she would lower her voice. “Don’t tell on me! Or I’ll tell Sandra.”

The young Spaniard was caught in an odd situation - realistically she knew she should tell Alexia, or at least someone - but she was terrified of the goalkeeper finding out. With a solemn nod, she gave in.

You didn’t believe her, holding onto her right hand as tightly as you could “No! "Promise me!”

“Fine. I promise. Now get your clammy hands off me please.”

Now it wasn’t just you who ran around like a headless chicken, stumbling over nothing and barely strong enough to lift any weight at all, but also Vicky, who desperately tried to avoid eye contact with someone else, whispering hushed annoyances in your ear.

“They’re weird, no?” Aitana had made her way to Alexia, who was watching the whole thing unfold in front of her. “Very weird..", she nodded.

When a break was called, you hurried off to the bathrooms, while Vicky tried to avoid anything and everyone.

But that didn’t hold on for too long, as she was cornered by Alexia, Irene, Aitana, and Ingrid. The other girls watched from a distance, knowing what was happening.

“I don’t know anything!”

“We didn’t say anything.” Irene was trying really hard not to let an amused smile crack through and instead keep up the intimidating frown.

One eyebrow went up. Then the other.

“Okay, fine!”

Alexia relaxed her face again, knowing that had been enough for Vicky to spill everything she knew.

“She’s sick.”

“Chiquitita!”

Ingrid didn’t get an answer and started looking around the facilities as quickly as she could while Aitana tried to console a guilt-ridden Vicky, telling her that she had done the right thing, emphasizing how dangerous it was that you were exercising.

They could hear you coughing before they even saw you, as Ingrid dragged you to the gym as gently as she could, nearly just carrying you.

“Ai Chiqui. What are you doing here, you’re sick amor, you need to rest.”

Alexia's soft mothering tone gave you the rest, tears forming in your eyes. “I’m sorry… Just didn’t want to miss out.” Sobs wrecked your tired body as some of your letters got swallowed.

“Shhh, let’s get you home.” Your captain dried tears after tears as she helped you out of the room and into the showers.

Jona looked happy with how everything turned out, he knew that Alexia would take care of it - her heart was soft for the youngsters on the team, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

On your way out your eyes met Vicky's. “You promised not to tell Vic!”.

“Oye, keep walking, or we’ll call Catley. I’m sure she would love to hear about your situation.” It was Mapi that nudged you, a teasing smile on her face.

Hmmpf.

"Sandra Vicky put shaving cream in your gloves!"

And with that you let your captain drag you out of the room, smiling at the chaos that exploded behind you.

After getting washed up and changed, Ale helped you to her car and started driving to her home, not listening to the whines that you wanted to go to your apartment.

“You can say it now, Ale.”

She could see you were close to falling asleep, head resting on your seatbelt.

“I told you so. Now let’s get you healthy again.”

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso imagines #barça femeni #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca women #barca femini x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona women #alexias putellas #alexia putellas x reader #mapi león x reader #mapi leon x reader #irene paredes x reader

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retellingthehobbit · 8 months

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Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 15: Unattached First chapter / Previous / Next Read full comic on: Webtoon/A03

Other blogs : Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

Thank you for reading! The next chapter of this comic adaptation of The Hobbit will be titled (drumroll)....The Song of the Lonely Mountain!

Check under the cut for notes on the callbacks to previous chapters of this comic, and to Tolkien stories like the Unfinished Tales! —-

—-

One of my guiding ideas for this comic is that the story is being written/drawn by Bilbo Baggins, an “unreliable narrator,” who has a biased way of recounting events. As the comic goes on, parts of the story get retold through new perspectives (or through the eyes of other characters), and you realize the initial version you read was incomplete.

A lot of you probably noticed that this chapter features a ton of callbacks to the earliest chapters of this comic! We saw child Bilbo and Gandalf's friendship told from Bilbo's POV in Chapter 3.....but in this chapter we see it retold from Gandalf's POV. However, Belladonna Took is our biggest instance of that! Not to overexplain my own writing, but Chapter 1 is an older Bilbo painting an idealized happily-ever-after fairytale picture of Belladonna, while Chapter 15 features a younger Bilbo telling a far less optimistic version of her life. While there's truth to both of them, neither of them is the full truth.

In the Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo tells Frodo that ‘books need to have good endings,' like endings where everyone "lives happily ever after." If I were to continue this comic to the end of the novel, Bilbo’s habit of “rewriting things to be happier" would become a whole Thing.

Second: Much of this chapter is taken directly from “The Unfinished Tales: The Quest For Erebor.” That story was Tolkien’s attempt to unite the tone of The Hobbit with LOTR, by having Gandalf explain what The Hobbit looked like from *his* perspective. The gay line about Bilbo feeling incapable of settling down into a Traditional Marriage with a Wife And Kids is taken almost directly from the Unfinished Tales. So are all the lines where Gandalf reflects on what Bilbo was like as a child, and the moment where Bilbo reflects that all of his desire for adventure has dwindled to a private dream.

Third: Obviously, the other big influence on this chapter (outside the original novel) was a similar scene in the PJ film. The little bit where Gandalf reveals the lore behind Bullroarer took monologue is the only dialogue I’ve directly lifted from that scene. ;3

Fourth: some of you may have caught that I used a quote describing Frodo’s wanderlust in the Fellowship of the Ring to describe Bilbo. The bit describing "the maps that only show white spaces beyond their borders" is also why I emphasized Bilbo’s canonical nerdiness around maps in earlier chapters (chapter 5 especially, but also in Chapter 6, Chapter 7, and a blink-and-you-miss-it moment in chapter 14.)

Fifth: one of my favorite things in the original book are all the scenes where Gandalf does fun Whimsical things with smoke/smoke rings. In the book he usually makes them change color or race around; in my comic he usually makes them turn into butterflies (he also does this in chapters 3 and 11.) you may have noticed that Butterfly Symbolism is a big thing in this comic. But yeah, in another callback: Gandalf finally had time to blow smoke-rings with Bilbo, which he said he 'had no time for' in Chapter 2!

Thanks again for reading! I tentatively plan for the next chapter to arrive on November 13th.

#the hobbit #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit comic #retelling the hobbit #chapter 15 #bilbo baggins #belladonna took #gandalf the grey #YEEEEEEEEEEEET #anyways #thanks again for reading!!!#long post

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doobea · 6 months

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BORN TO MAKE HISTORY - RIN ITOSHI

synopsis: After his brother takes a nasty fall and calls out before the new season starts, Rin has to step up as your new figure skating partner.

✰ ✰ ✰જ⁀➴ PLAYLIST.

contents: an ice skating au fic (very much yuri on ice inspired), fem!reader, ice skating terms and irl figures thrown around but not that super important, lmao probably inaccurate depictions of figure skating, sfw, kinda enemies to lovers but its really just rin being anti-social and cold, sae is a decent brother in here, characters are in their early-mid 20s, talks about ISU grand prix, mentions of mental health (depression, anxiety, burn out, imposter syndrome), heavy narration, rin centric, multiple parts will be added but no set scheduling of course word count: 4.3K (sigh there will be more) a/n: you know... whenever i feel like i hit a writer's block... thinking about rin always helps me break out of it so thank u...

For as long as Rin can remember, he's always followed in his brother's footsteps.

Whatever that meant being interested in the same shows, books, and sometimes even hobbies, Rin would always be one step behind. It was a long-time habit that he picked up ever since he was little. There was a small running joke that if you wanted to find Rin, all you needed to do was find Sae. If anyone were to ask him why, he would probably shrug and refuse to answer, though his parents would gush on about how much he looks up to his older brother, and… it’s not a complete tall tale.

His brother is talented and not in a ‘he can totally balance a stack of rocks in one try’ type of talented—though Rin is pretty sure that Sae can do that—but in a ‘he’s born with a natural gift to be absolutely perfect at everything he touches’ type of talented. So, regardless if Rin is always one step behind his brother, he knows deep down that it will always be Sae standing on the very top of the podium with a gold medal around his neck.

Sae delved into figure skating at the age of eight, and Rin quickly followed suit. It began on a family night in, the brothers gathered around their small, worn-out television, fixated on the Winter Olympics in muted colors. Although ice skating initially served as mere background noise while their mother knitted, they both felt an undeniable pull.

Rin was only thirteen when he first won silver at his junior debut competition. In that same year, Sae also moved up to the senior-level groups and gave his first professional appearance during the Japan Figure Skating Championships. Unsurprisingly to no one, Sae effortlessly won gold, putting the whole world on notice and overtaking the competition by over 40 points. From that moment forward, Sae was recruited by an international coach and was sent aboard to different training facilities.

It burned in Rin’s memories of all the irregular Facetime calls they would have of Sae giving him a walking tour of the cities he stayed in. New York was too loud and bright. Chongqing felt like something out of a fairytale and a cyberpunk city at the same time. Saint Petersburg was too cold but Sae liked grabbing pirozhki from a street food vendor before practice every morning. Despite being only two years older, he sometimes felt like he was worlds away from his brother’s place.

Still, after everything, Rin looks up to him. It doesn’t bother Rin that he’s always ‘second best’—according to those poorly written sports magazines—because this is something they can bond over, something that only they can understand.

And maybe this is Rin’s motivation to eventually surpass him.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t go exactly how he imagines it.

“You’re going to sub in for me.”

Sae is sitting up on his bed, his right leg bandaged tightly all the way up to his knee, and he’s saying this with his usual straight-laced expression. Their mother has always complained about being unable to read Sae’s emotions and Rin always thought it was pretty amusing growing up. But now, he finally understands what his mother was talking about.

Rin straightens his back in his seat, a colorful plastic chair from their childhood that’s now too small for a person his size, and almost drops his phone. “Did you hit your head too?”

His brother rolls his eyes and continues, “I know you’re taking a break this season but I promised one of my juniors that I would compete with them. Luckily,” and he points to his injured leg, “this isn’t a permanent issue but I think it’ll also be good for you.”

Sae’s injury happened during practice overseas at a training facility in Madrid. It’s a mild ankle and knee sprain from overexertion and stress factors from jumping too often. He was treated briefly before their parents suggested flying back to Japan to fully recover. It’s not uncommon for skaters to suffer from these types of injuries but why does Sae feel the need to bring Rin into this?

During last year’s Grand Prix Final, Rin had barely finished in the top ten. He fumbled with his short program and free skate, failed to land his quad jumps three times, and had a sloppy step sequence, both of which were supposed to be his strong suits. That day, he didn’t bother joining his coach at the kiss and tell, ignored all the swarming paparazzi self-proclaimed journalists, and uninstalled every social media app on his phone. His fans, coaches, and his family were all concerned as to how someone like him was able to fall that low compared to his higher-than-average stats. Rin had blamed it on something he can’t even remember, maybe a stomach bug, he thinks.

Obviously, that wasn’t the case, everyone could see right through the lie but not entirely the truth of it. News outlets flooded the market with headlines shaming him for not living up to his older brother’s standards, not being a good representative for his nation, and that it was all karma for having an ‘unbearable’ personality to work with. His coaches retired after his flimsy performance and all but two of his sponsorships dropped him. Rin hasn’t officially given out a statement regarding anything.

Depression is a hell of a thing to deal with. Rin’s dealt with it in the past when Sae first moved aboard. Luckily, Sae is perceptive to this kind of thing. The daily calls helped, despite the harsh timezone differences, and eventually Rin was able to move past it. The reality of it though, is that depression never really fades away, it’s almost like an addiction. Sometimes it takes hold in a moment of weakness, one that Rin doesn’t even realize he has until it’s too late. Maybe it’s all the rigorous training, all the comparisons to his brother—he tries not to think too much about it.

He didn’t know when the feeling hit him or why it decided to affect him that day.

For the past several months, he’s been spending time gliding around their local ice rink, teaching some kids on the side to keep his mind preoccupied because, if not that, then he’ll probably end up laying in his bed all day. It works and it’s at least a healthy distraction but, at the same time, he can’t shake the gnawing feeling in his chest every time someone mentions his last performance.

Rin feels like he’s hit a wall. A thick, towering, uninviting wall. And he doesn’t know if he’s ready to face his baggage yet.

“I’m not going to do that.” He finally answers and watches as his brother’s face stays unfazed.

“I need you to.” Sae presses on. “You need to get out of whatever rut you’re in. You’re not happy and going back might help. Forget about competing in singles and join pairs.”

Sae might be talented in everything else but, like Rin, he’s bad at choosing his words and comforting. Rin knows what he means though and he can’t exactly blame him. He’s lost weight, most of it being muscle, and whenever he does get back from work, Rin holes up in his room playing horror games all night long. Rinse and repeat.

At least there’s a level of concern and sincerity behind Sae’s tone, unlike the vulture-like glee from the tabloid reporters.

“I’m…” Rin’s throat feels heavy all of a sudden and he struggles to find an excuse.

Instead of answering, he fixates his attention back to his phone, it’s a news article about Sae’s injury and his withdrawal from the skating season. The article also has a photo of you posing next to his brother, elbow resting on his shoulder while your other hand raises a peace sign towards the camera. Rin hasn’t heard much about you, not that he actively keeps up with any of his competitors, but Sae has mentioned your name here and there before since you both share the same coach.

From what Rin knows, you started skating around the same age as him. You won a few local competitions and managed a bronze medal in the women’s singles category during the Japan Skating Championships. Supposedly, this year you’re attempting to take a shot at qualifying for the Grand Prix Final for pairs. With Sae out of the picture, Rin really hopes the responsibility doesn’t fall on him.

The look that Sae is currently shooting at him is making him backtrack his thoughts.

“It’ll be good for you,” his brother reiterates. Sae scoots closer to the edge and plucks the phone out of Rin’s grasp. “Plus, I already told her that you would do it.”

Rin’s eyes widen. “You did what?”

Sae hums, and taps his fingers away at the screen, before handing it back to him with your contact information placed in. “She’s actually on her way over here.”

“I haven’t even—”

Sae throws a hand up. “No, you don’t get a choice, Rin.”

Despite being three years younger than Sae, you had no issues barging into his room, suitcase in hand and hair in a frenzy. Rin is still seated, having to process his brother’s ridiculous request and now having to make himself semi-presentable to you. He also eyes the suitcase because… there’s no way that you’re actually staying with them right?

“Hope the flight here wasn’t too rough,” His brother starts casually.

Your cheeks are puffed out, eyes slightly baggy from the presumably restless flight, and you let out an exasperated sigh. “I hope you know that I didn’t tell coach about any of this.”

“Any of what?” Sae asks slowly. Now Rin is internally panicking.

Your eyes fall on him and they sparkle in recognition for a brief moment before you turn your attention back to his brother. “Um, that I flew all the way from Madrid to Tokyo?”

“I thought you said he approved of it.” Sae looks visibly annoyed.

You give a sheepish shrug and try to smile. “Yeah, I might’ve lied a bit.” It looks like you can’t decide if you want to be embarrassed by this fact or want to burst into tears.

Now it’s Sae’s turn to sigh. “Well, you’re already here so there’s no point. I’ll come up with something if Ego asks.”

You’ve made yourself practically at home within the next hour. Sae had told you that you could transform their home office space into your bedroom for the next several months in preparation for the competition, much to Rin’s protests. Right now, your makeshift living space composes of a shitty air mattress that Rin had in his closet since childhood and one of Sae’s extra pillows and blankets. You still need an actual mattress and a bedframe, and Rin doesn’t know if he wants to suggest the local hardware shop down the street. Because, if he does do that, it’ll mean he’ll be accepting his fate for the next upcoming year.

“Are you guys both hungry for dinner? I can whip up something real quick!” You’re saying this as if you’ve been living with them forever. It throws Rin off but Sae is unphased by your informality.

“Pork katsu curry sounds nice.” Sae muses from the living room couch. He’s streaming a figure skating compilation video from the previous Winter Olympics on the TV while jotting down some notes on his phone. “Why don’t you help her out, Rin?”

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah,” and Sae lifts his eyes away from the screen to give him a knowing look. “You have to.”

Three protein shakes. A pack of half-eaten grapes. And two boxes of forgotten leftovers from god knows how long ago. There’s not much in Rin’s fridge. His parents have been traveling around the world ever since he got back and usually, Rin would just get himself takeout to save some time. When he rummages through his pantry, he almost feels embarrassed by how barren it feels. A box of cup ramen, some curry cubes, and a small bag of rice on the bottom. It would honestly be better just to order takeout than to bother cooking up something less satisfying.

“We should—”

“Let’s go to the store!” Of course, you offer that up. Rin can feel his shoulders immediately tensing when he sees you grabbing your jacket and wallet.

Sae throws him another penetrating gaze and Rin recedes. “Give me a second.” And maybe a drink or two.

You’re the complete opposite of what Rin expected.

Bright, bubbly, and almost downright annoying. It reminds him of how he used to act when he was younger.

The first few minutes of the walk are silent not because Rin doesn’t know what to say but because he doesn’t want to say anything. His mind drifts off to an MMO he’s been currently playing with two of his ‘friends’ that he made during his last competition — if you count only exchanging numbers for the sake of playing games and talking about nothing else. That’s what friends do, right? It’s evening and, if it weren’t for Sae and you, he could be online right now, clearing a dungeon with them. This week is a double drop event and he’s going to miss out on it because you want to buy katsu curry ingredients.

After passing the third block in the neighborhood, you start to see a few local shops and grocery stores lined up down an alleyway. There are more locals around, some are walking their dogs, others sweeping the sides of their house entrances. You decide to take this time to finally talk to him.

“Who’s your favorite skater?” It comes out as a blurt like you’ve been holding it in.

Rin blinks. “What kind of question is that?”

“A normal one,” You pick up a small shopping cart by the entrance and make a beeline towards the produce section. “Plus it can tell you a lot about a person.”

Can it really? “You first then,” Rin tells you.

You answer without much thought, throwing a couple of apples and potatoes into the cart. “Has to be Nathan Chen! He’s super bold and flashy with his programs.” He’s heard of him before, Rin thinks he’s around the same age as his brother.

“Yuzuru Hanyu.” He answers right after.

You make a noise, and Rin assumes it’s a good one by the way you’re smiling. “I can definitely see that, he’s really elegant when he skates.”

The two of you fall silent again but it’s a bit bearable. You finish off by buying pork, onions, and a few soft drinks before heading over to the self-checkout. Rin pays for the entirety of the grocery run since it’s mainly his fault for having an empty fridge. If he had kept up with a healthier lifestyle then maybe he wouldn’t be in this current mess.

Dinner, for all things considered, doesn’t go horribly. It’s been months since Rin has picked up a knife, let alone use his cutting board, and you’re nice enough to show him how to properly score meat. And yeah, he just learned what scoring meant outside of sports. He’s learning a lot today.

Adding apple chunks to the curry really made an immense difference. Tastes a lot sweeter but also comforting. The pork comes out crispy and tender enough for him to easily bite through and practically melts on his tongue. Maybe he should get back into cooking soon.

Sae wipes his mouth before setting down his utensils. “I’ve also taken the liberty to coach you guys too, so don’t let me down.”

You blink. Rin looks like he’s going to drop his fork on his plate. He seems to catch himself though, and for just a moment. Your heads both tip to the side, and there’s a strange moment of eye contact, one where you are nervously glancing at Sae, and Sae is caught in a strange back-and-forth with Rin.

Yeah, Rin is learning more today compared to the average person.

The next day at the ice rink is a surreal experience for Rin. A year ago, when he did skate professionally, he was used to practicing alone or occasionally sharing the rink with a few other skaters, but now there's a new dynamic—a pair dynamic. You and him. The thought alone sends shivers down his spine, and not the good kind.

Sae is sitting on the side, his injured leg propped up on a chair, and he's observing with a critical eye. Rin can feel the pressure, not just from the expectation of his brother, but also from the fact that you're now involved. His comfort zone has been invaded.

“Let's start with some basic warm-up moves,” Sae suggests, and Rin reluctantly nods.

The two of you glide on the ice, trying to synchronize your movements to a random classical tune that his brother placed on shuffle. Claire de Lune—he’s warmed up to this song plenty of times before. It's awkward at first, the pacing and speed is off, and you’re both too tensed to initiate physical contact.

“You need to trust each other,” Sae instructs, his voice echoing in the cold rink.

Rin shoots him a dirty glare. Trust has never been his strong suit, especially not with someone new.

You decide to break the ice, quite literally, by attempting a lift. Rin braces himself as you come at him with speed, and then, in a moment that feels like slow motion, he lifts you off the ground. Success. You're now spinning in the air, and Rin is holding his breath, hoping he doesn't drop you.

“That was good, Rin!” you exclaim when you land back on the ice.

He's slightly out of breath, both from the physical exertion and the anxiety that came with it. “Yeah, great,” he mutters, avoiding eye contact.

After what seems like an eternity, Rin begins to find a rhythm. It's still not perfect, he’s not used to skinship so he can tell his grip around you is either too firm or barely there. Sae’s a rough teacher and quite possibly the king at micromanaging, the two of you bond quietly over the fact. Rin also learns that you’re pretty good at hydroblading and the Biellmann spin. Well, you’re pretty good at a lot of things. He’s surprised that you haven’t tried out for more international competitions prior.

By the end of the day, both of you are exhausted—well, you look fine, it’s more like Rin feels like his quads are about to burn off. This is the most he’s done physically and with his career in the last several months. Sae, with his usual unreadable expression, nods approvingly.

“You’ve got potential,” he comments, and Rin is unsure if it's a compliment or just a statement of fact. “So, what’s the theme?”

Right. They need to figure out that first before deciding on anything else. Rin has always struggled with coming up with themes and settles with essentially the same one every year since he feels comfortable with it. The past years he’s played around with ‘solitude’, ‘dormant’, and ‘night’—and all of his programs contained dark, moody instrumentals that went along with it.

You’re shuffling awkwardly by the benches, fiddling with your gym bag, and raise a hesitant hand. “How do we feel about ‘love’?”

Rin tightens his lips. “Isn’t that kind of vague?”

“Weren’t all of your themes the same?” Sae shoots back and it makes him quiet. “What songs did you have in mind?”

You’re quick to pull out your phone, a playlist pops up with songs that you’ve either wanted to skate or skated to. The song choices aren’t bad, most of them being soundtracks from musicals and pop artists.

“This Love.”

Rin lets out a loud scoff. “Guess you’re into that sappy stuff.” He remembers one of his skating colleagues was floating around the idea of skating to that song when they first jumped into a relationship but decided to shelve it once they found another person.

“It’s a good song,” You say with a huff, to which Rin only rolls his eyes.

“Guys,” Sae claps his hands three times, a signal that Rin recognizes from his earlier childhood days of basically saying ‘shut the fuck up’. “I need you to work together.”

Your index finger jabs into Rin’s ribcage. He manages to hold back every fiber in his body to not yell at you, especially not when Sae is staring right at him. “If you’re going to make a comeback, I think maybe you should get back on social media again to promote!”

“I’ll sleep on it.” He says with a clenched jaw and furrowed brow.

“We’ll see you later back home, gonna do a couple of laps around the neighborhood before we end the night.” You’re lacing up your sneakers while Sae grabs his car keys. Rin assumes his brother is just going to be ‘encouraging you’ from the driver’s seat. Classic big brother move.

“Sure thing,” It’s the tone that says he’s decided. He’s done. End of discussion. Rin just really wants to lay in his bed right now.

As he walks home, Rin mulls over your suggestion and decides to reinstall some of his social media apps. Surprisingly enough, he still remembers his passwords (he definitely does not have the same password for everything, nope) and immediately logs onto Instagram, fighting back the weird twists and turns in his stomach as the app slowly loads.

There are maybe over a hundred notifications in his DMs, most of which are from random strangers giving half-assed ‘advice’ on how he can be a better skater and some messages from people he’s skated against asking how he was doing. He starts from the bottom of his inbox and recognizes a few of their usernames.

itsyoiboi — sent ten months ago are you doing alright? let me know if you need anything

hyo.chigiri — sent nine months ago Just checking up on you. Coach told me that you left.

megugu_skates— sent nine months ago (。┰ω┰。) rinrinrin!! dont tell me ur quitting for good?? =͟͟͞͞ =͟͟͞͞ ﾍ ( ´ Д `)ﾉ (⋟﹏⋞) u have to come back!!

baroushouei — sent eight months ago Hey, get your head out of your ass. We’re all worried about you.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Rin semi-appericates the sentiment but he didn’t ask for it. He doesn’t need any of them checking up on him for the sake of it. None of them were ever close to him so why bother?

He eventually reaches back to the top of his inbox. What Rin didn’t expect was to see a message from you.

yn.is.here — sent a week ago um hi there!! sorry we haven’t officially met before but your brother said you’ll be able to help me compete in skate pairs?? he told me that you’re thinking about coming back this season. sorry if this comes off as weird!

Ugh, of course, his brother would plan this whole thing behind his back. It doesn’t surprise him, and it explains why any of this is happening.

When he finally gets back home, he kicks off his shoes and heads straight to his bedroom. Rin plops and eases his back into the mattress, thumb rummaging through his photo album and trying to find a dumb professional photo to post on his page for stupid promotion purposes. He’s about to pick out an old photo from nearly two years ago when your text notification pops up. You sent over ten attachments—guess Sae took photos and videos from today’s practice run.

Rin shifts through the options before settling on a photo with the two of you in it. You’re both gliding side by side, hands barely touching. He looks scruffy, well he looks scruffy in all of them, the smile he tried to make came out more like a scowl, while you look like a complete natural—what’s new? On top of his skating, Rin needs to work on smiling and his skincare routine next.

Rin uploads the picture with a simple caption, ‘im back’, and turns off his notifications. He’ll worry about the lousy reporters tomorrow morning.

[DISCUSSION THREAD] Rin Itoshi's Icy Resurgence, Unraveling the Mystery Girl, and the Journey Without His Brother by [MOD] Dooby

In the world of figure skating, Rin Itoshi is no stranger to both triumphs and challenges. The seasoned skater, known for his graceful performances and technical prowess, recently made headlines by returning to the ice after a brief hiatus. Taking the place of his brother in the figure skating pairs category, Rin has partnered with the talented and rising star, Y/N, to form an unexpected yet promising duo.

[yurio.fan.cl0b] - 17 minutes ago he’s going to make an embarrassment out of himself AGAIN just go back into hiding [VICChan] - 15 minutes ago Lololol he thinks that piggybacking off another skater it’ll guarantee a gold medal lolol who is even y/n anyway… never heard of her???? [porkkatsu] - 14 minutes ago shes a nobody just like rin *shrugs* [ISAGINUMBERONE] - 12 minutes ago ^ been a rin itoshi fan since day one — i believe that he’ll make a great comeback!! rin if you’re reading this please ignore the haters! [itsJJStyleX0X0] - 9 minutes ago are you actually an idiot? there’s no way that they’re going to take gold, not at the level he’s currently at. compared to his brother, rin’s past performance was sloppy and weak. if he’s going to win gold then he’ll probably end up doping himself [SaeItoshisWIFE] - 7 minutes ago Can we please refrain from spreading rumors like this? Doping is a serious accusation to make…

next rink!

a/n: ok... i meant to keep this in my drafts until i finish it but then i realized it would've been like... way too long with the number of scenes i wanted to write.... so here's some content until the next part bleh >:(( i need to fixate on one project at a time but at the same time i love sharing stuff w you guys haha

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x female reader #heavily inspired by yuri on ice duh #rin is katsuki yuri here (kinda)#also posted during the grand prix figure skating comp!!#cw: depression #cw: mental health

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marionette-j2x · 2 months

Text

TSP: NEW SCRIPT AU Stuff

(Stanley and The Narrator AU heights)

Stanley : ["No fair! How dare you guys be taller than me?!"]

Edit: Narrator is 6'4" now- (Stanley: ["Are you kidding me?!"] 😢)

(A Tsundere... Probably)

Narrator : "Me? Care about Stanley? Oh, please. As if I really care for that story wrecking delinquent!"

Also Narrator : "What did you parasites do to Stanley?!"

(At the Beginning)

Stanley : ["It's kindda weird to have another person, in this hell hole. Even if it's just the Narrator."]

(A Problem)

Stanley : ["Is... Is that what's been making the hallway all... glitchy?"]

Narrator : "Unfortunately. We better terminate this one before it starts to multiply."

Stanley : ["MULTIPLY!? What even is that thing!?"]

Narrator : "That, my dear protagonist, is a MALWARE."

(Narrator Eldritch Form)

(The Fruit Parable)

Bananarrator : *grumbling* "This is a story of a fruit named Stanberry- OUGHSCKJHH-! STANLEY, THIS IS JUST RIDICULOUS!"

(Stanley Drip)

(need to design better clothes next time)

(The Older Sister)

Curator : *sighs* "This is the umpteenth time the alarms had been blaring in my museum. What have you two been arguing on about now?"

Narrator : "He called me an old man with a gimpy leg!"

Stanley : ["He called me an incompetent 'pillock' whatever that is but knowing the Narrator, I could only guess it's an insult."]

(The Curator gave a sharp glare making them both shut up immediately)

(The Adventure Line™)

Just follow the Line™!

(The Confusion Ending)

(^Consider it a continuation of the art above)

Mariella : "Whoah. Are you two okay?"

Narrator : *grumbling* "Never been better."

Mariella : "Riiightt... Where have you two been anyway? Madame Curator has been tracking you down a couple of resets ago."

Narrator : *cringes* "About that. The Line™ had been quite 'fussy' lately ever since changes had been added in the Parable and we decided to give it™ a little bit of a 'cheering up' and well..."

Mariella : *squints* "Wait, how many times have you guys been doing 'The Confusion Ending'?"

Narrator : "Honestly, I've lost count at around 20-"

*Stanley then fell forward, face planting on the carpeted floor. Snoring away as if nothing happened*

Narrator : "..."

Mariella : "..."

Narrator : "...He's meditating."

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vagabond-umlaut · 2 months

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it's easy to ferry souls, not carry them

deep down in the realm of the netherworlds, there exists a rower who transports deceased souls from the land of living to the land of dead-

and occasionally lends an ear and a hand, in the event of yet another collision between their weary queen and her just as cheery suitor...

[uraume deserves a raise.]

▸gojo satoru x fem!reader; the tale of kore!gojo & hades!reader w a guest appearance by charon!uraume; uraume is a very nice parental figure to you [ooc!uraume but ehh]; the reader is honestly so sweet and hot-tempered...; the cutest doggy cerberus too is there!!!!; gojo satoru must be his own warning...; uraume does not like gojo [no parent [blood-related or not] actually wld]; fire hazards; 2k wc

▸ i've nvr read percy jackson and wtv i wrote here is based on my shaky knowledge of greek myths and stuff 😁😁 anyways, this header's from pinterest, these dividers are by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls do not plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ belongs to series 'wreaths of asphodel' – same universe as the work 'hey, where is the pomegranate tree?' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

"why is kore so set on marrying me, uraume?"

it isn't the ask itself which causes the rower to nearly lose grip of their oar– but the way it is spoken: soft, solemn and faintly tense. they look away from the endless expanse of the styx before, to find you staring at your reflection in the inky waters, features unnaturally crumpled.

uraume holds back a frown. "has her majesty considered asking the god the same?"

"i have asked him," you mumble, "but i did not receive any conclusive answer in return. the imp was being too vague– must be a trait learnt from those shifty nymphs always sticking to his side."

if your faithful follower detects anything except dislike in your words, they make no mention of it. merely humming as they continue to row the boat, "and may this servant know the question her majesty asked the god?"

"two," you mumble even more clumsily now; they take a beat to grasp it, too concerned by the way you drape yourself over the edge, nearly falling into the water as you say, "i asked him two questions— one, if he loves me; two, if he wants to have children should we get married."

shock must not be uraume's first reaction to these queries, yet it is— and for a moment, it isn't you sitting there anymore.

instead, it is a little girl, no older than seven or eight years, cherubic face fixed in a look of deep concentration and fascination while the rower narrates to her stories from times millennia ago–

only for the child to morph into a young lady– no, goddess– the very next beat... slouched under a regal cloak too heavy for her shoulders, under a royal crown too large for her head... that sweet innocence of childhood nothing but traces now, having been withered by the foul, dirty politics of those damned deities high up on that mountain—

"what answers did the olympian offer her majesty?"

"he said he would love me and sire my children if that is what i want— i asked if he wished anything out of our union— he said all he wanted is to be my husband–"

something between a frustrated sigh and an exhausted scoff erupts from you, becoming an opaque fog the moment it hits the frigid air of the underworld. uraume plucks the oar out the water to come sit next to you, letting the boat be driven by magic.

"you're worried," they state, forgoing all formalities in favour of giving you some much-needed comfort. you never much cared for stations anyways, quite unlike your elder brother, the former king.

"an unfamiliar friend poses more risk than a familiar enemy, uraume," you mutter, resting your head on their shoulder, "why do you think kore wishes to marry me so much, if not out of love or the prospect of the powerful offsprings we might beget?"

"marriage is not solely for love or for procreation," the rower starts to explain, mildly amused before it grows into sympathy at your baffled expression.

ah, they muse fondly, not unlike a parent watching their child witness the world seemingly the first time ever since they learnt to walk, you who presides over something as profound as death yet knows not of the trivialities of life...

"it can also be for many other reasons like–"

the remainder of the words skitter away from uraume— cerberus is playing with gojo.

the fierce guard of the netherworlds, the three-headed hound, loyal and dutiful to a fault: hades' dearest canine companion is frolicking with the god of life in a green meadow, that most certainly was not there so close to the stygian marsh, when they last—

"gojo is laughing," your remark draws them away from their musings, only to find a changed shadow over your countenance— pensive yet not thinking at all; almost as if you too are floating in the stale air of your kingdom akin the soft flower petals...

another ring of raucous laughter pierces the silence, mingled with a delighted series of barks— cerberus is busy licking gojo's face now, the olympian reduced to a puddle of giggles as he scratches behind the dog's ears.

his happiness so clear in the stretch of his grin and the crinkle of his eyes, very much the jarring contrast to the last time—

oh. oh, oh, oh–

"escape," the word leaves uraume in a sudden moment of realisation, as quiet as a breath but loud enough for you to whip your head back to face them, confusion engraved into your scowl. "escape?? what is that supposed to mean, eh?"

the rower feels their lips lift into an infrequent smile. "the god of life wishes to marry you to escape— from his mother, or from his many suitors, or perhaps from mount olympus itself."

"wha– how– hah," you breathe out a disbelieving little huff, "that is simply ridiculous. have you even heard yourself? that is ridiculous."

used to such resistance from yourself, even more from your brother, they move to state their points, only to beaten by you as you persist to speak.

"no one in their right mind will decide to come live in the underworld, no matter how overbearing their mother or insistent their suitors are. have you seen this place? it's too, too unlike the lushness of the earth or the grandeur of the heavens he has experienced. and–" you add, a harsh laugh accompanying it. "gojo satoru is a god. a fish might leave the water— but a god never steps a voluntary foot down that horrible mountain. never."

"but the olympian never truly lived on mount olympus," uraume says once they're sure you've completed your tirade, "and you are a goddess as well. why do you speak so ill of the heavens then?"

"why?" you echo the word. they nod, hoping you take the bait they've intended for you. you do.

"why, because that place is nothing but a shining apple with a rotten core!! everything is polished marble and glittering gold there. people constantly wave at each other, lavishing smiles and praises like there is no tomorrow. everything is so warm and bright— what a bunch of lies and liars!"

familiar fire burns in your aura, the immense heat making the waters erupt into boiling— uraume uses their powers to cool the river down, lest anything disturbs you.

you're too far gone in your rage to be shaken, however, continuing:

"but it never can hide the grime and dirt accrued beneath such shine and sheen. nor the vicious minds and crooked hearts of those deities up above– what lame excuses of gods and goddesses, hah. and you might think me to prefer the light and warmth up there— you will be sorely wrong, my dear uraume!! i much prefer the genuine darkness and frigidity of my beloved kingdom to the faux comfort of the awful mount olympus—"

"is there no possibility the god of life too despises mount olympus for these same reasons, milady?"

you open your mouth and close it, then open it again to let out a very aggrieved whine– momentarily transporting uraume to your younger days. the rower merely chuckles when you punch their arm lightly.

"you're the worst, uraume," you cry, getting up and moving to sit on the other end of the boat. the rower too rises but only to resume rowing the boat by the oar.

"you never spoke this way when sukuna was the ruler— only because his baby sister is the ruler now, and you think she is very stupid—"

"as much as i respect and revere lord sukuna, he wasn't one to listen to anyone else," uraume interrupts gently, "you do, though– which is why i spent so much time telling you this. i hope you did not mind."

"hey, no," you immediately wave away their concern with a wide grin, eliciting a smaller one from the latter, "i could never..."

another peal of laughter and barks rings through the otherwise-quiet. you abruptly trail off, the same conflicting expression from before on your face yet again. though not without a spark in your eyes, uraume notes, almost as if you're slowly learning how to solve the puzzle who is repeatedly offering himself to you.

uraume keeps the silence you initiate, choosing to row the boat while you keep staring at the assortment of hues near the stygian marsh...

until you call their name and declare, an odd firmness in your smile, "well then, it is decided. i shall allow gojo to stay here for as long as the god so wishes to, escaping whatever or whoever he is escaping. and i shall protect him from the latter, should it ever come for him."

a beat. your smile falls into something graver. "would it be better if i swore by the dread water of styx, uraume?"

"uh, um," the rower finds themselves at a loss of words, the first time in seemingly forever, and they have been around since titanomachy– but before they can recover themselves enough to formulate a proper reply, a giggly voice joins in—

"well, if my rose does that, i would consider myself the most blessed amongst all mortals and immortals!"

— and the waters surrounding the boat shoot upwards in a scathing geyser-like jet and steam— the ferocious queen of the netherworlds visibly torn between remorse and terror, as they offer uraume a stiff nod and gojo a horrified look, before vanishing in a wisp of fog.

the boiling waters of the river styx calm down only after a twenty-minute-long struggle by uraume, joined at the very end by gojo.

the latter looks positively delighted, when the former collapses to the bottom of the boat, exhausted beyond belief. "hey, charon. was that a result of your queen getting flustered by me, huh?"

yes, it was. it very much was, the sentences nearly slip past the tired rower's crumbling defences... until it hits them– who they serve, and who they don't.

uraume decides to throw back a glare and a lie. "her majesty was not flustered, lord kore. she was enraged at how you invaded the privacy of her weekly boat ride, intended to make her relax."

"oh, puh-lease," the god makes a face. the rower is certain he would have been punished in the pits of tartarus for all eternity, then some more were he to pursue you this way during your brother's reign, let alone disrespect you thus.

ignorant and insolent, he continues, "in few days time, i'll be allowed into the privacy of her living quarters; what is the privacy of her boat th—"

"you're lucky you did not make such outrageous remarks in front of the queen," uraume cuts him off, none too kindly nor gently, "if you did, her majesty would have certainly burnt you along with the boat to a crisp–"

"i know," comes the defeated reply within the instant. and while gojo is still not in uraume's good graces, the latter decides to notch him a level higher, considering the god of life accepts their queen's powers.

not many do.

he strikes a pathetically pitiful figure, uraume reckons, seeing him sit then slouch on the bench. "was she serious when she said she would protect me?"

your loyal subject nods, certain and solemn. "yes, she was. the queen is never careless when it comes to making promises."

"oh, that's reassuring," gojo says quietly— only to recline even further in the very next beat– an anguished, grating wail tearing from him to the stifling silence looming near the stygian marsh. uraume wonders if it is worth it to steer the boat towards acheron... then push him into its waters of woe...

they decide against it on catching the desperation worn by the god.

for all it is, it might nothing more than a ploy. yet something tugs at their mind to pause and listen when gojo howls, "why does my rose always scurry away after tilting my world on its axis? why does your queen always torment me like this, charon?"

uraume stares pensively at their face in the sacred waters of styx for a while. then heaves a mighty sigh.

certain, this exchange between the goddess of the dead and the god of life will impact not only your and gojo's respective worlds— but the general world and everyone else in it, as well.

did you know, in the actual greek myths, persephone was never called so before her marriage to hades? she got it only after, w the name meaning "bringer of death". her initial name was kore, referring to her being a maiden & the spring goddess.

the river styx was called the "dread river of oath" by homer– in both the iliad and the odyssey [greek epic poems], swearing by its waters is the "greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods" -> this shows how serious the reader is towards ensuring gojo's safety and freedom, and how deeply this affects gojo as well [source: wiki 😇]

also: the reader is totally ready to jump into the water to swim away when she realises gojo was listening in on her conversations- but then she remembers she can js vanish away and so she does js tht— the queen of the underworld, and of escaping, hehe

also also: the reader is slightly jealous when she is talking of the shifty nymphs always sticking to gojo's side. [uraume identifies it; you think it is js your usual dislike to such frivolous things and ppl as flowers and nymphs etc.] [hades is emo imho 😊]

▸ masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #kit posts 📝

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ukrfeminism · 4 months

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One morning in 2007, Frances Harper was taking a bath and listening to the local news on BBC Radio Suffolk when one story caught her attention. A young woman, Louise, was being interviewed about her life as a sex worker in Ipswich. “I couldn’t see how this interview was helping her situation at all,” says Harper, who was 60 at the time. “I got out of the bath and made some notes. I realised she needed a documentary to tell her story properly and I thought perhaps I could try to make it.”

Harper had never owned a video camera and had no idea how to shoot a film. She had spent the past four decades working in secretarial jobs, as well as raising her son and supporting her husband in his construction business. “I was busy but something was always missing,” she says. “Something I could do for myself.”

Armed with a sudden sense of purpose and without a current job to keep her occupied, Harper rushed out to buy a basic camera, read the manual and began looking up ways to contact Louise. The police wouldn’t share her details, but after finding the name of her solicitor in the local paper, she left a letter with the firm to be passed on. “Soon after, Louise phoned me and we decided to meet in a cafe in Ipswich,” Harper says. “I told her I’d like to make a documentary to share her story and help her. She agreed, and that was my entry into an entirely new world.”

Following Louise most days for weeks, Harper documented her life on the streets, her drug addiction and sex work, all while learning how to shoot and interview. “She told me that no one had motivated her or really cared about her life,” she says. “She was interested in art and history, so we went to galleries together and I even took her to an afternoon tea – all things she’d never done before. We spent a lot of time together because I had the time to spare.”

The more Harper got to know Louise, the more concerned she became about her life and especially her living situation. “She was basically sleeping in an electrical cupboard on the streets of Ipswich,” she says. “I started booking her into bed and breakfasts to keep her off the streets. It really showed me how lucky I had been. It’s changed my thinking ever since.”

Once she had enough footage, Harper put together a taster of the film and contacted the local BBC News office in Norwich. The idea of an older Ipswich resident befriending a young sex worker and producing a film was so unusual that Harper was invited to a meeting and commissioned to shoot a half-hour special for BBC East, which aired in February 2008. “I couldn’t believe that Louise’s story would be out there,” she says. “I hadn’t told too many people about it so my friends were shocked when it came out. Once it did, I also managed to battle with the council to finally get Louise a proper flat.”

Sixteen years later, Harper, 76, is fully immersed in film-making. After her experience with Louise, she became interested in the world of drug addiction and produced a film for Sky, which was narrated by Davina McCall and followed two mothers coping with the impact of their sons’ drug abuse. She has also completed a commercial film for the seaside town of Southwold and a charity short for an emergency response service. She is now working on a series about women in horticulture as well as a film about the life of female fighter pilots.

“I just can’t stop,” she says. “It really feels like I’ve found my calling. I get ideas all the time, although I can’t make all of them because I fund my own projects and it’s hard to come by funding for older people.”

But age does have some advantages. “I think people are more inclined to be polite around me because I’m older,” she says. “I’ve also gained newfound confidence through this work. I didn’t know whether I’d achieve anything but I just kept going. I weaved around the obstacles in my way.”

As well as changing her life, Harper has recently learned how her films have had a profound impact on other people too. “Louise contacted me last year and we just carried on talking as if no time had passed,” she says. “She told me: ‘You were the only person who believed in me.’ It made that decision to pick up the camera completely worth it.”

You can watch Harper’s films via the link below:

#Articles #Sex industry #community

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 9 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 2: Dolls

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. You attend your very first tourney in celebration of your brother or sister’s impending arrival.

Hello! My apologies for the wait. There was a whole mess of stuff that killed my drive to write for a few days. BUT, I’ve managed to write this one, featuring baby!Babey as a POV character! I’ve tried hard to keep it in a ‘small person’ voice, which got real old real fast, lol. Keep in mind that she’s around 3 years old in this one, so she’s not hella mature or anything. My thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reading this asshole over, lol.

TRIGGERS: child doing child things, child narrating Episode 1 of HotD, character death.

“Ah,” Mama says. “Rhaenyra!”

From your place on the floor in the corner, right in the middle of a patch of sunlight, you see that ’Nyra has come. It’s not nice to have your story interrupted, but ’Nyra’s visits are always fun, so you don’t mind. She is dressed the way she does when she goes to visit Syrax, which means she will smell funny and make Mama cross.

“You know I don’t like you to go flying while I'm in this condition,” Mama adds.

“You don't like me to go flying while you're in any condition.”

Alicent, ’Nyra’s best friend, stands in the doorway. She is very very pretty, you think, with red hair like Hana’s and a blue dress that makes her look like a girl from one of the old stories you like to listen to. “Your Grace,” she says, smiling.

“Good morrow, Alicent.” Mama sighs. She sounds very tired. She has put her coat back on, even though it’s so hot in the room and she’s fanning herself to try and dry the sweat on her cheeks and her brow.

“Did you sleep?” ’Nyra asks.

Mama laughs, quick and soft. “I slept.”

“How long?” ’Nyra takes a seat on the stool beside Mama’s feet.

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

That is when Mama’s eyes go to you. “I have my own right here, so there is no need to fear.”

’Nyra turns to look, too. Her frown goes away and she smiles, wiggling her fingers at you to say ‘hello’. Even though she’s your sister and that means you love her, you don’t go over to her. She is older, so she doesn’t care very much about dolls or stories or little sisters who don’t have dragons.

Mama keeps talking to ’Nyra while you listen. “You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the Realm.” None of it makes sense, but you like the sound of their voices.

’Nyra makes a rude noise. “I'd rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

Mama laughs. “We have royal wombs, you and your sister and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Why would a child’s bed be a battlefield? My bed is nice and big. And what is a stiff lip? Is it something that Maester Mellos should give his herbs for? Are there bones in a lip? Can those bones break like big bones can?

You have lots of questions, but you don’t say what you’re thinking out loud, of course. The Maester only said you could be in here if you were good, so you mustn’t talk unless Mama asks you something or starts saying things to you.

“Now,” Mama says to ’Nyra, “take a bath. You stink of dragon.”

’Nyra stands up and bends down to kiss Mama on her head. Then, she comes over to you and gets on the floor so she can give you a hug and a kiss, and she is warm and smelly like Mama said she is. You like the smell, though, because it is what ’Nyra always smells like.

’Nyra leaves with Alicent, and for a while it is very calm. Mama takes a nap by closing her eyes and leaning with her head back, so you make sure to be very quiet when you continue telling yourself the story.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl called Hana. Hana was the prettiest girl in the whole kingdom, and she wore fancy dresses with gold and silver necklaces and rings, and she had a pearl hairnet in her red hair. There was also another girl called Marya who was very pretty too, but not as pretty as Hana. When Hana and Marya were little, they were best friends, and they played dolls and sang hymns and learned their letters together. But when they became older, they started to fight.

Marya was jealous of Hana. Lords from all over the kingdom wanted to marry her because of how pretty and how kind she was. That meant that not many lords wanted to marry Marya, even though she had lovely dark hair and knew all the names of the Houses and could sing even better than Hana did! So, Marya thought and thought about how she could make more lords want to marry her. She decided to hide all of Hana’s nicest dresses and shiniest jewels.

Naughty, naughty Marya. That’s not how proper ladies act. It was very nasty of you to—

“What are you and your ladies up to?”

You don’t like being interrupted for a second time, but it is Mama who is asking. Everyone’s been using soft voices since ’Nyra came to make a fuss and then left to wash the dragon-stink off. Mama’s question is louder than them all, so it must be for you.

Turning your head, you see that she is looking at you with a small smile.

“Marya hid Hana’s dresses and her best necklace and rings,” you say, holding her up high so Mama can see. You frown at the doll. “She needs to say sorry, so I’m telling her to.”

Mama laughs, but you don’t know why. “Oh, dear. How unkind of her! Why did Marya do such a thing?”

“All the lords want to marry Hana,” you say, “and not Marya. She’s very angry, but—but it’s not Hana’s fault. So I’m going to tell her that, too.”

“My, my.” Mama looks tired, like she has ever since baby Baelon-or-Visenya started growing in her belly, but she still seems happy that you’re here. Her eyes are warm the way they get when she sees you. “Quite a responsibility, you have.”

You nod. “I’m her Mama, like you’re mine. I have to teach her to be good.”

This makes Mama smile even wider. She holds her hand out to you, so you put Marya down beside Hana, making sure they’re not too close together. It would be bad if they started fighting after you’ve been busy telling Marya off so much. Making sure your skirts are neat like a proper lady, you go to take Mama’s hand, letting her pull you close-close so that you have to get up onto the daybed with her. Her skin is hot like fire is when you get too near it.

“Are you going to teach your little brother or sister to be good, too?” she asks, bringing your hand to her belly. When you touch it, you feel the kicking. It’s like a tapping from under a very thick blanket.

“Yes, Mama. I promise. I’ll sing all the hymns so they learn them, and make sure they eat all their supper, and—and say ‘no running’ and ‘no hitting’ and give them lots of hugs and tell—tell them they are naughty if they don’t liste—”

“Well,” she says even louder, smiling so wide you can see her teeth, “you already sound like a wonderful big sister, my dearest.”

Then, a new voice speaks out from the doorway, catching your interest. “Hakorje mandia kesā, sīlāvose.”

It’s one of your favourite people in the whole world.

You scramble out of Mama’s hold, nearly tripping over your dress. “Kepus!”

He chuckles as you race toward him, arm out so that he can catch you and lift you up. Mama hasn’t been able to do that since her belly became big, and Papa is too busy now. Oh, how you’ve missed it!

Uncle Daemon sits you on his hip so that you can stare straight at his face, at the way his eyes scrunch up with how much his mouth stretches. “What about you, Princess? Have you been a good girl since last I saw you?” he asks.

“I’m always good, kepus,” you say, pushing out your bottom lip to show how rude you think his question is. “But—but you haven’t. You’re naughty. You’ve been gone for so, so, so long!”

Even though his brow raises, he sounds like he finds you funny. “Ah-ah. A moon’s turn, nothing more or less, is all the time I’ve spent away. I was here for your name day celebrations, was I not?”

“That was ages ago!”

There were lots of people in the Keep for the party, and you don’t think you really knew most of them. But, because Papa is King and you are a Princess, they were invited to come and wish you a happy name day and give you gifts and eat and drink lots. It was nice at first, but the more they ate and drank, the louder they got, and soon you had to sneak off and find Uncle so that he could take you back to your rooms where it was quiet. He sang a song in High Valyrian, the language that your House has spoken for thousands of years, so that you could fall asleep even after eating so many little frosted cakes. Soon, you had to say farewell to him because he had to go back to Runestone and visit his lady wife, the one he hate-hates but Mama says he has to see.

Thinking about High Valyrian makes you stop. You can’t speak it, but there are some parts you know. Kicking Uncle in the side for being rude, you say, “And—and I’m not ann—annoying. I’m good!”

He looks sorry when you say that. “Of course you are. And I hope you’ll forgive me for returning after such a long time.” Behind his back where you can’t see is his other arm. He brings it out, showing you what he was hiding in his hand.

Oh! A new doll! And this one is special because it has pale hair and purple eyes just like you!

“Please accept this as a token of my apology, sweetling,” Uncle Daemon says, offering it to you. “Perhaps—Marya and Hana, was it?—could do with another friend.”

“Thank you, kepus!” Keeping your new doll pinned between you and Uncle, you wrap your arms around his neck so so tight and squeeze so he can feel how happy you are! You kiss him on the cheek, wiggling very close and smiling when he squeezes you back just as tight. “Thank you, thank you! I missed you so much!”

“Silly girl.”

Uncle pats you on the back once, twice, and then crouches down so that you can stand on your own two feet again. Sometimes, this makes you sad, because his hugs are your favourite and you wish they would never end. But he has to say ‘hello’ to Mama, too. Besides, you have a new lady to introduce!

“How about you play,” he says, “while I speak with Mama?”

“Okay!” You’re already thinking about it anyway.

When you go back to Marya and Hana, you can see that they’ve been good girls and not moved at all. You rearrange them both so that they are sitting, and place your new doll—Alysanne, you decide, after Papa and Uncle’s grandmama—between them, fussing with their hair so that it lies neatly. They are very pretty, you think, red and dark and silver all together.

“And how is Lady Rhea?” Mama is asking, brow lifting.

Uncle makes a noise and curls his lip meanly. “Who the fuck—who cares?” he says, rolling his eyes when you gasp. He said a bad word. “It’s not as though we spent any time in each other’s presence. Think I’d rather the company of sheep, anyway.”

“You were there for an entire moon’s turn, Daemon”—Mama frowns the way she does when ’Nyra says something rude, and ’Nyra does that a lot—“and you refused to even speak with her? She’s your wife.”

“Not one I chose. You would know that all too well, cousin.”

Mama goes quiet, looking to you. Uncle does, too. Then, she starts whispering to Uncle, and Uncle whispers back, and you return to your game.

Dolls make far more sense than people do.

You don’t like tourneys. You don’t like them at all.

It’s loud, and hot, and there are too many smells—of different perfumes all swirling around and clogging in your nose, of dirt and manure from the ground below, of something sharp that clings to the walls that box you in and shield you from being able to see anything interesting. The horns ring out and so many people cheer that it feels like a buzzing in your head. It makes your teeth hurt.

“Be welcome!”

Papa looks happy today, so much happier than he was the last time Mama said a babe was in her belly. That babe was dead, she told you. It went away from inside her and never came back. That’s what death is, and everyone is very, very afraid of it all the time. But you didn’t know that babe like you know Mama and Papa and ’Nyra and Uncle, so you weren’t sad or scared. You wonder if this babe will go away, too.

The sound of clapping is like thunder. “I know many of you have travelled long leagues to be at these games,” he says. “But I promise, you will not be disappointed.”

You watch from beside Papa as ’Nyra sneaks to her seat, but she is not so sneaky because she is wearing a bright red dress that looks beautiful. She sits beside Alicent, her friend and Lord Hightower’s daughter, and tries to make herself small in her chair so that Papa won’t get angry.

After a pause, he keeps speaking. “When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share—Queen Aemma has begun her labours!”

There is so much noise that you have to hold your hands over your ears to quiet it just a little bit. Brella pats your shoulder, trying to make you feel better.

“It’s alright, Princess. We can play in just a moment—how about that?”

“I want Mama,” you say sadly, your bottom lip wobbling and your eyes feeling hot like they do when you really want to cry.

Mama has been locked in her chambers since last evening, when the Maester said the babe was nearly ready to come out. You asked and asked Papa, but he wouldn’t let you in to see her. When the door had opened and you tried to go inside, you were too surprised to move at the sound of her yelling. You think that the babe must have been hurting her very, very much. It makes you afraid. But then, Uncle took you away to your rooms and read you a story in High Valyrian, which sounded nice even though you didn’t understand it all.

“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!” You are not listening to Papa’s words very closely.

“Soon, Princess,” Brella says, stopping for a moment when the horns echo out again. “You must wait for the babe to be born, first. How exciting—a new little brother, all for you!”

You don’t want a brother if it means that Mama has to be in pain. Papa would be very happy—you are three whole name days but you still know he wants the babe to be a boy and not a girl, that you were supposed to be a boy and he was sad you were only a second daughter—but you are happy with the way things are.

It would be very rude to say so in front of Papa, so you keep quiet and nod, letting your nursemaid bring you off your seat and down to the floor so that you may sit amongst Alysanne and Hana and Marya.

It has been very difficult to teach Marya to be nice to Alysanne, because she doesn’t like it when Hana makes new friends and Alysanne is a very pretty new friend. But she has decided she rather likes Alysanne after all, and so you can serve their tea without being scared of anyone being silly or bad to each other. Brella is very helpful in braiding Marya’s hair to look like ’Nyra’s does, and then she pins Hana’s back like Alicent’s. You decide that Alysanne should have hair that looks like yours because you look nearly the same, like she is your baby and you are her mama.

You are interrupted very quickly when Septa Marlow bends forward to speak straight into Brella’s ear. “It is unseemly to coddle her so. She is nearing the end of her infancy—you ought to be preparing her to pass over into my care, not indulging in frivolities!”

You shiver. Septa Marlow is mean. The last time that ’Nyra said something rude to her, she was rapped across the palm by Septa’s willow switch. It left a bright red mark that made you cry when you saw it, but ’Nyra only muttered something nasty under her breath and smiled in a not-very-kind way. You wish you could be as brave as her.

“When she is five summers old, she will pass into your care,” Brella says. It is polite, but the way she looks at Septa makes you think she is not being so nice after all. “Until then, I shall do as I see fit. And that means allowing the Princess to indulge in these frivolities while she can.”

Septa wants to say something rude back, you can tell—but then, the whispers start. It makes you look out onto the field so that you can see what’s happening.

“… of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!”

Uncle rides out on his horse—a great stallion named Varlet that you sometimes give apples to if he is very, very good and doesn’t buck anyone out of the saddle—wearing his nicest armour with the tail of feathers that comes out of the helmet. You think it makes him look a bit like a bird from one of those old books in the library. Uncle takes Varlet up and down the line of men on their own horses, but you don’t know why. You cannot see his face.

Your dolls don’t seem very exciting anymore. You pass them back to Brella and move past Papa to where ’Nyra sits at the very front. Even though there is an empty seat next to Alicent, you go to ’Nyra anyway.

All you have to do is hold up your arms to her and she smiles. “Do you want to see Uncle’s bout?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. You can hear the sound of hooves on the dirt, which means you are missing it, so you stamp your feet and wiggle. Maybe she will hurry up if you do. “Please, please!”

“Oh, alright.” She rolls her eyes and lifts you up so that you can sit on her lap, tucking her head next to yours and wrapping her arms tight around you so you don’t fall off. She is warm like Caraxes and Syrax are, like a dragon, only this time she doesn’t smell like smoke and rotting meat but like flowers and soap. “Can you see?”

You look down. Uncle is at one end of the field and the man he has chosen—Ser Gwayne, you think, from the green he has on and the funny shape of his helmet, like a tower—on the other, their jousting poles held out in front of them. “I can see,” you say.

When Uncle and Ser Gwayne start riding, you really do try to keep your eyes open. But, as they get closer and closer, you cannot help but shut them because you don’t want to see anyone get hurt, or worse—the horses. Sometimes, it happens. All you can see is the insides of your eyelids when a big CLANG happens, but ’Nyra doesn’t clap so you think it might not be finished yet. Then, you hear a horse neigh and a big thud, and lots of applause. This time, ’Nyra does clap, so you open your eyes and see that Uncle is still on Varlet but Ser Gwayne is on the ground.

Your sister stops clapping when she sees Alicent with her hand over her mouth. Ser Gwayne is her brother, so she must be very worried for him. You reach out and pat her arm, which makes her stop and stare at you for a moment before giving you a small smile. ’Nyra grabs at her hand, too, which seems to help.

Uncle brings Varlet right up to the balcony with his jousting pole all the way up high, so ’Nyra puts you down and grips your shoulder to steer you forward. You are still very small, so the railing is too tall for you to reach, and that means you could fall very easily if you lean too far down. You grab onto your sister’s skirts.

“Nicely done, Uncle,” she says, holding onto the rail.

“Thank you, Princess.” Uncle looks at you, and his face changes—he is friendly now where he wasn’t exactly when he was looking at ’Nyra. He doesn’t say anything to you, but he does wink, which makes you giggle and him smile. He turns to Alicent. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favour would all but assure it.”

She goes toward the table where two wreaths lay, one for her and one for ’Nyra. You are not old enough for your own yet, or so Papa says. Taking the green one in her fingers, she comes back to the balcony. Instead of putting the wreath on the jousting pole, though, she holds it out to you. “Perhaps your niece would like to give you my favour?”

Beaming, you accept the wreath and let Alicent pick you up under the arms. It doesn’t feel very nice, but it makes you tall enough to put the favour over the pole and watch it slide all the way down to the bottom, near where Uncle is holding it. He grins, then rides away to have another bout.

’Nyra takes you back to where she was sitting, placing you back on her knee. “Are you going to thank Alicent? She was very nice, letting you give Uncle her favour.”

“Thank you, Alicent,” you say.

She brushes some of your hair out of your eyes. “You’re welcome, Princess.”

You find it strange when Papa rises from his chair after something Lord Hightower says in his ear, a troubled look on his face. He was the one who had been the most excited about the tourney, so why is he getting up to leave?

’Nyra doesn’t notice, holding tight to you when you start squirming. For a while, you stay with her—but the jousting starts to get frightening. When the knights knock each other off their horses, they start using swords and axes and maces and trying to really hurt each other, striking and kicking so hard that it makes your heart race really fast in your chest and your belly rock like it does when you need to be sick. To take your mind off it, you start listening to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys talking to each other.

“…and we expect them to act with honour and grace,” the Princess is saying to her husband. The sound of her voice makes you shiver a little. Whenever she stares at you, it is unkind. You don’t think she likes you very much. “It’s a marvel that war didn't break out at first blood.”

Everyone gasps when the knight below brings his axe down on the man below him, hitting him over and over so that blood sprays everywhere. The man twitches at first, then goes still, the dirt below him turning dark red very quickly.

You cry and cry, loud and ugly. You don’t like it here anymore. You want to go back to the Keep and find Mama and let her hug you until this cold, awful feeling goes away and warmth and happiness comes back.

“Nurse!” ’Nyra says, but you aren’t really listening. You can see that people are pointing at you from the stands and whispering, which makes you even more upset because you truly tried to be good and quiet and not make a fuss this time.

“Oh, Princess.” Brella lifts you off of ’Nyra’s lap and carries you to the back of the royal box, past Papa’s Councilmen and all the lords and ladies that are gathered, heading toward the stairs. “Come now, my sweet. Time for a nap, don’t you think?”

“I want Mama,” is all you can say. “I want my mama!”

It is darker than normal when you wake up from your nap. Usually, the sun is still up, the colour of Papa’s crown as it shines through your window, hot and blinding even though supper is not far away. But now, you have to blink a few times before you realise that you cannot see because night has come.

Your chambers are empty, save one other.

“Papa?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning. You can just barely see him through the shadows. “What—what—”

There is a sharp clack and a fizzle of orange fire, which Papa cups in his hand and takes to the candle beside your bed. As he lights a small flame, you look at his face. Even in the darkness, you can see how sad he is, the shine that forms lines down his cheeks and the red puff of the skin around his eyes.

Oh, no. Something bad has happened. Something… something terrible.

“Whe—where’s Mama?” you ask, voice wobbly. It feels like a hand has reached down through your throat and your stomach to peel your insides out, to turn it all over so that you’re bleeding and broken where the Maester cannot see. “Mama—”

“Sh, my girl.” He is trying to sound soft and kind, but you hear how he cracks a little, how the words seem almost stuck on the tip of his tongue. “Listen to me. Come here.”

You still don’t know why it is, but the rule of life is that you obey ’Nyra who obeys Mama who obeys Papa, which means that you have to obey Mama and Papa even when the others aren’t there. So, when Papa asks you to do something, you have to listen. You’re a good girl, after all.

Kicking away the covers that have made you too-too warm, you crawl on your hands and knees to the edge of the bed where Papa sits. He is solid and real under your fingers, smelling like the Maester’s medicines as always, but also like something sour. Like metal.

He grabs you and puts you on his knee like ’Nyra did before, during the tourney, only the hand on your back is large-large, almost covering from your neck to your bottom. You can feel his thumb moving up and down as he speaks, up and down, up and down.

“Something… something has happened. To Mama,” he says, taking lots of pauses and shaking under you like he is cold. You reach up to pat his face. Your hand comes away wet.

“Is she okay?” you ask. That horrible feeling comes back, and you have to swallow so that you don’t get sick all over Papa. “Where is Mama?”

“Mama… she couldn’t bring the babe out. A boy—Baelon.” This time, you can hear him cry, but it’s quick, not long and loud like yours.

A brother. I have a baby brother. It doesn’t feel very special or interesting. Maybe meeting the babe will make you more excited?

“Where is he?”

Papa cries more. “He… he lived for three hours. Three. Then he—”

“—died.” That’s the word for when someone goes through death. Papa didn’t look like he could say it, but you can. “Sorry,” you tell him quietly. You know how much he wanted a boy. “Mama must be sad, too.”

“She—she—Mama didn’t survive the birth.”

You frown. What does that mean? “So… she is sick?”

Papa shakes his head, eyes scrunching. “No.”

“Where is she, then? I want to say ‘sorry’ to her, too.”

“She—died. She’s dead, my girl. Only, she passed before Baelon.”

You have to stop and really think, think so hard that your head hurts and you feel dizzy from holding your breath. Being dead means going away and never coming back. Mama is dead. Which means…

After Papa says those terrible, awful, horrible words, he pushes his nose into your hair and hugs you so so tight until you feel his tears sliding over your head. You hug him back, pressing your face to his chest and letting his shirt soak up all the crying from your eyes. You don’t know if you understand it all—but you know one thing for certain, one thing that makes you cold and sick and afraid.

Mama went away. Mama will never come back.

Mama is gone.

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a-game-of-beginnings · 4 months

Text

Ragdoll Stanley

Since I'm currently a little on the slow side, I thought I'd fill the gaps with some older art. Presenting: Ragdoll Stanley! (It's an animated GIF, so it might take a while to load, sorry. Just keep staring at it until it starts moving.)

The ONLY incident where you'll see Line™ with an arrow here, by the way. Purely for dynamic reasons. We need to make sure Stanley's running into the right direction, after all. It's also the only incident where you'll see the Narrator depicted as a Zelda Fairy. HEY. LISTEN.

#TSP #TSPUD #The Parable

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i23kazu · 7 months

Text

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS

characters. neuvillette x gn!reader genre. romantic ; domestic fluff. an. soft dad neuvillette! where neuvillette takes a nap and wakes up dollified by his melusine daughters. | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

the minute neuvillette steps into the house, his mind is already at ease. the air is warm, a stark contrast to the chilly autumn that decorates the outside world. you’ve already had the fire started from the time you reached home — your husband is grateful, taking his gloves off and warming his hands by the fire.

“welcome home, darling,” you croon, helping him take his jacket off. “dinner will be ready in half an hour, why don’t you go and rest?”

"have i mentioned that i'm grateful for you?" neuvillette smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. with another stolen kiss to the cheek, the man reappears from your room quickly, freshly showered and changed into a dark turtleneck. neuvillette moves to sit on the navy loveseat, gratefully nursing the warm mug of peppermint tea that you had prepared while the sounds of his shower going had become your white noise.

as he nestles into the soft cushions of the seat, your two little ones, mela and puca, giggle and push one of the books he had bought for them into his hands.

"pleeeeaaaseeeee, daddy?" mela whines, snuggling closer into his lap.

"didn't i read that to the both of you last night?" neuvillette raises his eyebrows in confirmation, not unkindly. he couldn't quite understand your girls' attachment to this particular book... not especially after narrating it to them, every night, without fail. nevertheless, neuvillette gently plucks the book out of his lap when mela and puca nod furiously, and the father adjusts his position – making space for the two girls to nuzzle on his lap. they stay in that spot for a while.

there's nothing but the sounds of the warm fire crackling alongside them, neuvillette's soft narration breaking through the quiet silence. even the girls know not to disturb the serenity of the scene they're in.

but the serenity seems to catch up to neuvillette – especially after a long day at the opera epiclése, the warmth and hearth of the home gently cover him like a freshly-warmed duvet. his words start to slur and trail off into nothing, and the book lays down to rest on his chest as he puts it down. your husband has finally succumbed to the warm lull of sleep, gently snoring.

mela and puca exchange a glance and giggle softly, deftly leaping off his lap and trotting to the next room to grab items for their next activity. papers and markers are held with childish eagerness, and the pair sprawl themselves out on the floor to continue, drawing cute foxes and flowers.

as tranquil as the house is, energy-filled little girls never are fully entertained by the limits of marker and paper.

and sometimes, little girls need to do what little girls do best – find another outlet. unfortunately, neuvillette had become too easy of an outlet by his proximity and lack of awareness.

puca quietly tiptoes to her sleeping father, leaving behind the forgotten, strewn about pieces of drawing block – and turns her attention to a snoozing neuvillette's face. mm... daddy wouldn't be angry, right?

the markers are back in use – swirly scribbles and smiley faces decorate neuvillette's cheeks, with brushes of bright yellow under his eyes and green whiskers. mela soon joins her sister, her red marker highlighting her father's lips. with the most mischievous grins only little girls could muster, puca giggles and gathers neuvillette's hair into tiny pigtails, his white hair sticking up at odd angles.

neuvillette is turned into a masterpiece.

well, a masterpiece, in your daughters' eyes.

perhaps mela had giggled too loudly, or puca had accidentally knocked her marker against neuvillette's cheek – but the older man starts to stir, noticing a wetness on his face.

"what happened?" he mumbles groggily, moving to sweep his hair out of his face – when he realises that he can't.

puca and mela hide behind the curtains, giggling.

"dear? i think there's something on my face, could you help me to check it?" neuvillette calls, and you set down your phone to make your way to the living room. he rubs his face with more vigour, but nothing comes off. strange.

"let me see-" a quiet oh. tumbles off your lips, momentarily caught off guard by the... sudden bedazzlement of your husband. you bite back a laugh, not wanting to embarrass him – but how can you keep a straight face when your husband is quite literally the embodiment of a girl dad right now? you tremble with laughter, spotting your mischievous little ones hiding behind the curtain.

"mela, puca, did you happen to give daddy a makeover?" you laugh lightly, searching for a mirror to hand to neuvillette. finally, one with a wooden handle is found, and he chokes at his clownified appearance.

"we did! isn't he pretty?" mela positively beams. neuvillette's heart breaks, and he doesn't have the heart to wash it off at this point.

"are you.. are you angry, daddy? mela and i just wanted to have fun, and the drawing paper wasn't enough." puca nervously toes the ground, her eyes not meeting neuvillette's.

"while i am, ah.. surprised, i could never be upset at the two of you, mes petits rayons de soleil." your husband smiles, his lips still painted cherry red. your little girls snuggle back into his arms, grinning and touching his face.

oh dear. that'd take a while to come off – but you snap as many pictures as you can, because this might not happen again anytime soon. your little mela and puca are the most pleased, and neuvillette would do anything to make it stay that way – even if it meant leaving his face of artwork on for a little longer.

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mes petits rayons de soleil. – my little rays of sunshine.

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-) they all go a long way!

#[📝 stewardess' notepad!]#astronetwrk #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x gn reader #dad!neuvillette #fatherly neuvillette #melusine dad neuvillette #melusines #melusine daughters #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x reader

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