#otp: climbing over garden walls

[simba-bonfamille-lyons]

Pomp and Circumstance /./ [Simber]

In which Berlioz gets a surprise about his graduation status...[takes place: late May, 2022]

@ber-bonfamille-lyons

[tw -- none]

BERLIOZ: The news came in an email, an innocent notification poppin’ up first on Ber’s phone. It was from the bursar’s office, and so Berlioz dismissed it. It was probably nothing. He barely read any notices from Pride U anyway. He’d look at it later– probably. He’d get ‘round to it– at some point. 

Of course Berlioz did not actually do any of that, and so weeks passed before another email popped up on his phone, but this one with a subject line in all caps. 

DEADLINE TO REGISTER FOR GRADUATION… 

Hard to miss that one, eh? 

Berlioz hadn’t known what it meant though. With a brow crinkling, he’d clicked on it and then stared for a minute as the letter sank in. It wasn’t a bad letter. In fact, it was a good letter, with links to purchase caps and gowns, a place to submit proper pronunciation of his name…

It just didn’t make sense. He was graduating? This year? In a month? 

Shit, he had to fucking fill out all this by tomorrow. 

Berlioz left his studio at once (cuz that’s where he’d been– in his studio) and went wandering through his house for Simba, because that’s what he did when he was overwhelmed: look for Simba. He still honestly didn’t believe it. He’d failed plenty of classes his first two years, was only part-time during one semester… it made much more sense for him to get kicked out of Pride U, rather than graduate.

He finally found Simba outside, lookin’ like he was trying–and failing– to train Turtle. Turtle was just rollin’ around in the dirt, tongue flopping this way and that way. 

“Simba,” he said, brow all creased, and then he informed his husband with a hopeless whine, like the world was ending–  “Simba, I’m graduating.” 

SIMBA: Simba had been working with Turtle, earlier. Thank you very much. He was perfectly well-trained. Not as good as Bowie, but nearly there. Once he’d regressed into a puppy, Simba had thought it was the perfect opportunity. He wouldn’t be as well trained, or certified, like Bowie was, but he’d be able to volunteer at the hospital!

It was playtime now, though. And Simba was holding one end of a ratty toy, Turtle’s teeth clenched around the other as he growled and wiggled around in the dirt. 

He didn’t hear Ber approaching. It was Turtle whose ears perked and he dropped his toy in favor of bounding over to Ber and jumping on him, tail wagging, muddy paws on his jeans. 

Simba brushed off his own bare knees (he was wearing shorts because the weather was warming up!) and stood up, wincing as his knee popped in protest. He didn’t glance at Ber’s face at first. 

“Uh, yeah, babe. We both are?” He did look up then, raising an eyebrow at the expression on Ber’s face. Like he was a second away from a panic attack. “Er—something wrong? You okay?” He took a few steps closer. 

BERLIOZ: Simba wasn’t surprised either! Why the hell was Berlioz the only one surprised? 

His face scrunched as he tried to remember if there had been a conversation about this. There probably had been. He did remember talkin’ to Simba about his graduation, and he’d kept saying ‘we,’ but Berlioz had just assumed it was the Husband We (like the Plural You). Like, obviously Berlioz was part of Simba’s graduation. That was just being married, right? 

Apparently not though. Apparently, he’d meant it as in ‘you and I are both graduating the same year’ and Berlioz had misunderstood. Potentially on purpose cuz–

Cuz what the fuck? He’d thought he’d had at least one more semester of dicking around before he needed to figure out what the rest of his life was going to look like. 

Instead, he had a month. One month. 

He needed to sit down.

So he did, rubbing his forehead with a hand as his vision for the next year disappeared. He’d never been a detailed sort of dreamer, honestly. The vision had been humble– basically, more of the same of what he’d been doin’ for the past few years. But now, there were no classes to inspire Berlioz out of his bed. There were no projects to give his free time direction. There was no hangin’ around the studios in Pride U or going to the radio, seeing a few of his classmates who he didn’t hate, but at the same time, wouldn’t really arrange to see outside of that particular environment. That was the best part of uni, wasn’t it? The structured social life of it all. He knew plenty of people, but could still keep them at a distance, not worry about nurturing those friendships like he did Belle or Lymantria. 

Now what?

“I thought it was next semester,” Ber said pitifully– feeling very pathetic. “What the fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing after.” 

SIMBA: Simba blinked a little and then came over to sit down next to Ber on the porch steps. His hand went to the back of Ber’s head, carding through his curls once. Turtle bounded over too, dropping a tennis ball in Ber’s lap and wagging his tail expectantly as he sat down, very polite. 

At first, Simba didn’t know what to say because he had thought Ber was on the same page. That he had known this whole time that they were gonna be graduating. They’d talked about moving after Simba finished his board term. He had figured Ber knew that meant he’d also be finished with school and would start getting prepared to leave…

And he felt a bit badly, because Simba hadn’t thought about that either: what Ber would be doing afterwards. For Simba, it was easy. He would be a teacher. Properly. No longer a student. He’d have a bloody Master’s degree. No idea how he’d managed that. (He’d worked extremely hard on it and failed a lot but pushed forward because he was stubborn and passionate, was how he’d managed.) Ber, he figured…would do something with music. He was always tinkering. Always talking about his projects. Simba had just figured that would keep happening. That Ber was happy with that. But he realized now…Ber didn’t really talk about his dreams or aspirations. What he wanted…

“Well, uh--what do you wanna do?” Simba asked, wincing slightly because he figured as soon as the words were out of his mouth they probably weren’t the best. “You have lots of, er, options.” 

BERLIOZ:   “Do I?” said Berlioz, turning to look at Simba incredulously.

It was a legitimate question for him, though the answer also felt obvious: he didn’t. Berlioz had been going school for long enough now to see what happened to his fellow music students, after all. And one by one, all his mates had… left. Pep went to Manchester. June, talented enough, went to play piano for the Brighton Orchestra. Sarah, who studied voice then added theatre, managed to snag a nifty gig singing on cruise ships. She was in the fucking Meditterean right now. 

One by one, his friends had left. Cliff remained, employed by the uni at the student radio station. Which meant– 

Berlioz was gonna end up at the student radio station, wasn’t he?

But Ber didn’t really want to do radio. It was fine, doin’ what he did now, which was a weekly radio show that he got to design and there were basically no rules about it because student radio wasn’t actually about listenership, but rather teachin’ students…about the radio. But being a real DJ was too stressful, not to mention hard as shit to actually get a job in. Pep was doing radio advertising– Ber would rather get trapped by the bloody Nightmare fog again. 

What he wanted was to be a producer. 

There was no one set road to being a producer. Releasing demos on Soundcloud certainly wasn’t gonna earn him money.

“Cuz I’m not really sure– besides maybe stealing Cliff’s job and he’s the only mate I’ve got left. I mean, what, am I just gonna dick around here?” 

SIMBA: Simba rolled his eyes at the mention of Cliff. Even six years out, he still didn’t like him one bit. But—that wasn’t what was important. 

Apparently, he was gonna have to help Ber find a job. He was spiraling, heading right for a nose dive and it was Simba’s job to pull up before Ber crash landed directly into a panic attack. His hand squeezed the back of Ber’s neck again and then moved to rest on his thigh, squeezing right behind his knee. 

At their feet, Turtle barked insistently, the tennis ball still sitting in the dirt. Simba, taking pity, picked it up with his other hand and threw it.  

“He’s not your only mate,” Simba reminded Ber. “And you’ve other stuff you’re doing. Maybe there is something more you could do at Town Hall? Working with the kids. I know it’s not exactly the career path you want, but it would keep you busy until you figure it out.” 

Simba wasn’t necessarily worried. He felt a bit bad for not having spoken to Ber about any of this, but he figured Ber had a plan! With his…music stuff! Being a producer! Simba didn’t know how to do that! 

“Maybe you could, er, work with Franny? Doing…music.”

BERLIOZ:   Berlioz grimaced at once. “Oh god, I bloody hate Franny Robinson.” 

This was not entirely the truth– he just hated er, most of her music. It was fine, it just wasn’t him. He didn’t do country. He didn’t want to do country. Her band was better, he could respect the music they made, but it didn’t interest him personally. Plus, she was the exact sort of personality that clashed with Ber’s own. While sometimes he needed an extrovert– see: his husband– when it came to music, he needed someone much closer to himself: meticulous, independent, capable of going thirty minutes or longer without speaking. 

He didn’t think that was Franny Robinson. She thought out loud. Perfectly fine. But he’d hate it. 

Maybe outright dismissing the idea was pretty immature though. If he wanted to be a producer, then working with an established musical talent like Franny Robinson was exactly what he needed to do to make a name for himself. 

Jesus, at what cost. 

He grimaced a second time. “Town Hall’s only twice a week too. That’s not a proper…job.”

Technically, he didn’t need a proper job. 

But if he didn’t have more structure, would he even work on his own shit at all? Would he sleep past noon and dick around until Simba got back from work? He knew himself. That sounded like him. He’d get bored and listless and depressed. 

SIMBA: Simba chuckled. He could understand why his husband and Franny didn’t mix. Besides the kind of music that they were both interested in, Franny could have a rather intense sort of personality. Simba got on with her just fine but Ber probably wouldn’t. 

Which was fine except—

Simba didn’t know what to suggest next. He tried to wrack his brains, but his brain wasn’t very good. Even at the best of times. And this was a situation that he hadn’t really been able to prepare for. So, now he was thinking about who he knew in town and what Ber might like to do. 

“Well, uh, you’ll be busy with the play over the summer!” Simba brightened up as the thought came to him. 

“Maybe you’ll, uh, discover a muse or something while you’re there! And write an album. Or—something. I mean, you like working with the kids anyway. Maybe something will come from that?” 

BERLIOZ: Right, the musical. 

It wouldn’t be a bad time or anything. At this point, it had become a habit. Berlioz liked his habits. They operated similarly to the leather bands on his wrist and the leather jacket he toted around everywhere. He didn’t get into overthinking, because he’d done the musical enough times to know what to expect, and the kids were always– well, he didn’t really care what they thought of them, they were like, 12. (They were not, a lot of them were actually closer to his age, but since he lived with Simba and was married and all that, it never felt that way.) 

At the very least, he knew the musical could become a lovely way to procrastinate any actual decision-making. That was another one of Ber’s habits, y’know: procrastination. Why decide what he was gonna do today what he could put off till August, eh? Then he could have this panic all over again! Realize he’d wasted a whole summer, just as he wasted a whole year!

Berlioz could step outside himself objectively and see all this and still willingly walk into the trap.

It sounded nice. He wanted to have a nice summer. He didn’t want to job hunt and stress. He’d tell everyone he was directing the summer musical, which was a lovely thing to put on a resume, or whatever, and then everyone (Maman… Pere… Lou… Steve?) would leave him alone.

“Yeah,” said Ber. He started nodding slowly. “I guess that’s true. Can uh… can see how it goes. I mean, that’s sort of what you did, right? You were doin’ the musicals then you figured out you wanted to be a teacher…”

He wasn’t actually sure that was the order of things or the way cause-and-effect worked in Simba’s mind, but if it helped him justify doing nothing for several more months… why not? 

SIMBA: “Not exactly,” Simba chuckled. “I used a spell—remember?”

He did. It was hard to look back on it now because he was so far ahead, but he did remember that feeling of being so lost. Having no direction at all. Even teaching hadn’t been on his radar. Not just because he had been told his whole life that he was meant only for one thing, that that one thing was all that mattered. There was no way, in that point in his life, that Simba would have thought he was good enough to be a teacher. Worth being a teacher. Without that spell. 

His career had fallen into his lap and he had fallen in love with it. 

Berlioz knew what he wanted to do. That wasn’t the problem. And it was here that Simba realized where some of that guilt was coming from: Ber couldn’t do what he wanted here in Swynlake. Maybe one day, when he was established as a producer and musicians were falling over themselves to work with him (Simba knew this would happen, of course), he could have the pull to bring artists here. To their home. To his studio. Until then…he needed to establish himself in the industry. And he couldn’t do that here. 

Simba’s heart squeezed, because he knew Ber was staying here for him. He leaned over and kissed the side of Ber’s head, even though he didn’t say why he did it. He didn’t have the words to articulate it anyway. He was just grateful. And he wanted to promise that they would figure it out—that they would leave. But right now, that felt like too heavy of a thing to say. And it still didn’t fix the problem at hand. 

“You don’t need a spell. You know what you want to do. We just gotta…apply it to where we are at right now. But maybe some of the people in the musical will be enough to inspire you, yeah? Or maybe you’ll fall in love with some of my kiddos and wanna just be around them all the time like I do,” he chuckled and then—quite all of the sudden brightened again. 

“You know! I was actually just talking to Shereen.” Shereen was the music teacher at Swynlake Secondary. Simba was friends with her. Ber should know this, he probably didn’t. “She is taking maternity leave next year! Wait—that could be perfect actually.” 

BERLIOZ: Secondary? 

Ber hadn’t even considered Secondary. He’d graduated years ago and never really looked back. There had been the year that Simba taught there, and he’d come home with the most mad stories that put his own years in Secondary to shame. Then again, he had kept his nose out of most everything, preferring to spend his time in the periphery…skipping a class here and there, hanging out behind the school instead of in the courtyard. All that sort of thing.

He didn’t think he’d make a very good teacher though.

Being a good teacher– to Berlioz, good teachers looked like Simba. They were enthusiastic, passionate, and obvious about that passion. They wore it like a uniform, and then tried to share it with the rest of the class. It was important to be like that– to be loud. Because you had to command a whole bloody room of teens who probably didn’t care, sides one or two of ‘em. 

And while Berlioz was passionate– music was all he had, besides his family– he didn’t know how to live that passion loudly.

He didn’t think he could command a room either. Not full of teenagers. The work he had done so far was with primary kids, who were sweet and loved to impress adults. It had been an after school programme too, so they wanted to be there. 

Just felt a bit different.

The skepticism was obvious on Ber’s face. “But– I don’t have a teaching degree,” he said like a confession. “I dunno anything about teaching like you.” 

SIMBA: “I didn’t have a teaching degree either when I was at the secondary,” he pointed out. 

“You just need to be a graduate of university, which you will be, eh? And take a certification class, which you can do online. Plus, you have teaching and leadership experience!” Simba said, getting more animated the more he spoke. Oh yes, this was a brilliant idea, in his opinion. 

“Working at the Town Hall program, leading the musical orchestra. They’d be lucky to have you.” 

Ber would like it…probably! He might be a bit intimidated by the secondary kids, but Simba knew the secondary kids would love him. Why wouldn’t they? Ber was cool and kind, he had this gentle way of encouraging. He wouldn’t judge them. Yeah, maybe he’d have a harder time handling the rowdy kids but the nice thing about music was that it was an elective. Most of the kids there really wanted to be in the class. 

BERLIOZ: I didn’t have a teaching degree when I was at the secondary.

Right, well– that was different!

Wasn’t it? It felt different to Berlioz. He could attempt to build an argument, but really the only point he had in his favour was that Simba had been in the process of getting a teaching cert, yeah? He’d been taking classes tailored to that career. He knew things… knew all those… those secret teacher things that Berlioz couldn’t even imagine, because he’d never thought about teaching in the first place. Teaching felt like the antithesis of who he was. 

Though as Simba talked more and listed his credentials, Berlioz blinked. He leaned back a bit, one of his hands splaying against the wood. When Simba put it like that–

Had he been a bit of a teacher all along? 

Not a particularly good one, mind you. Again, the music program– it was really volunteer, there was a lot of one-on-one time and it was all very loosely organized. He didn’t make up a curriculum or anything, just uh, appeared, did what he was asked to do. Did a lot of tuning for kids. Encouraged ‘em. That was all. And the musical, he let Simba lead and just existed in the back, much like the music in the musical: an important backbone, surely, but a good musical you never actually thought about the music that much. The story, the dancing, the acting, it all moved seamlessly forward, taking center stage (literally). 

He really wasn’t sure he could be a real leader… on his own. 

“I– I guess. I dunno. It seems really hard,” said Berlioz. “I wouldn’t know what to do if a classroom just uh… er… y’know– fell apart. What do you do then?” 

He’d been in enough of those classrooms to know it happened. The teachers got a wrangle on it, but there was a terrifying couple of minutes there where chaos reigned. 

SIMBA: Simba laughed. “Pray?” 

It wasn’t super far from the truth. Sometimes, kids got rowdy and there wasn’t much you could do about it. There were 15-20 of them and only one of you. If they wanna stage a coup, there wasn’t much you could do about it. But, generally, kids were good kids and if you gave them the space to express themselves, they were perfectly happy. 

He rubbed his husband between the shoulder blades. Maybe it wasn’t a perfect solution. Maybe Ber would be miserable, but Simba doubted it. Ber was tougher than he thought. And kinder too. The kids would like him because he’d listen. Hell, he’d probably rip out the foundation of a lot of their structure, because he’d find it tedious and boring and too formal. Simba would bet money that Ber would come home complaining the first day about “really? They’re learning X, why aren’t they learning Y?” 

Ber had this way of seeing himself as so passive—which could be true. There were definitely things that he could insert himself into better. But, he was also passionate. And smart. And independent. He wasn’t going to take “because that’s the way it’s been” as an answer. Not when music was concerned, not when it was kids. 

“Music is an elective, so the kids taking that class wanna be there. They wanna learn. I had a few smart ass kids in my classes but you just—figure out what they need. Some need more material, because they’re whip smart and bored. Some need less, because they’re frustrated. Or some need attention, because they aren’t getting it at home or with their friends. You figure it out. And I’ll help you. And the other teachers’ll help you.”

BERLIOZ: Ber was actually doing something crazy. 

He was… thinking about it. 

After all, havin’ a teacher as a husband did make it a bit less scary, yeah? It was like– a cheat sheet in his pocket at all times, Simba’s advice just a text away. And what other options did he really have, yeah? He could fuck around and work on demos , but knowing him, without a bit of structure to his days, he’d end up not working on them at all. He’d just waste his time listening to podcasts, reading books, callin’ up Cliff and having a smoke. 

And really, it was Cliff he was thinking about. Because he loved Cliff (even if Simba wasn’t so fond). He was one of Ber’s oldest mates, someone who’d stuck by him despite any drama– laughing it all off the way that Ber appreciated, honestly, so they didn’t have to have any deep conversations about it. They had the type of easy, shallow relationship that Berlioz needed when he didn’t have enough energy to do much more than listen and talk about music. 

But he didn’t wanna end up like Cliff. 

He didn’t wanna be spending all his time at Pride U, like he never graduated. He didn’t wanna be getting day drunk on his days off with students that were getting increasingly younger than him as he got increasingly older. Eventually, Cliff would turn 30; would he still be stuck there, in a perpetual, rather pathetic second adolescence? 

Ber would… really rather not end up like Cliff. And if Ber couldn’t work with Franny, then teaching was it for him. At least… for now. 

And that was another comforting thought, beyond having Simba in his pocket, a text away. He did not have to teach forever. He could try it, and figure out his next steps. 

Slowly, Berlioz nodded. “I uh– I guess I could just apply and see what happens. I’m sure someone else will get it anyway.” Berlioz went the self-deprecating route here because it honestly felt the most realistic. “But might as well.” He sighed, feeling like this conversation had aged him ten years. “I hate growing up.” 

SIMBA: Simba chuckled and put his arm around Ber’s shoulder and tugged him closer. He kissed his head, squeezing him. “No one likes growing up.” A beat. “Well, maybe Nala.” He chuckled. “She was born as a little adult though.” He rubbed Ber’s arm. 

“It’ll be fine, we’ll work it out together, okay? And you don’t have to make a decision right now. Think it over. We’ve got the summer still. Apply but there will be other opportunities. Try not to worry too much. I’ve got you,” he told Ber in his casual, optimistic way. 

It was nice to have that. To feel confident about this, because he did. Ber was talented. And as much as he could lay around too much, he also liked having a project. Simba figured he’d find his way to something. These sorts of things were easy for Simba to be sure about. All the uncertain things in his life made it easy to feel confident about the other things. And, honestly, it was nice to not be the one with a problem for once. He felt useful. His confidence rose easily, he could grasp it like a rope and let it pull them into the next stage of their lives, which he felt was rushing to greet them maybe faster than he wanted it to.

They were both almost done with school. Simba was gonna have a bloody Master’s degree. (How? Sure, it’d taken him about four years, which was twice as long as it should’ve but--he managed.) Ber would be a graduate (also took him about twice the amount of time, but he had it!) There was a new phase, like a new horizon, rising up. 

“I’m proud of you, y’know?” Simba told Ber after a moment. “Graduating is a big deal. I am proud of you.” 

BERLIOZ: He was glad Simba was confident. It was moments like these that Berlioz needed it more than ever. 

Because yeah– he wasn’t confident, not when it came to the future. He preferred to live in the present. Don’t think too far ahead. When he did that, his anxiety reared, a dangerous and aggravated beast deadset on makin’ Berlioz see everything that could possibly go with his life, his family, his marriage. He used to make those thoughts go away by playing his music way too loud or smoking them out. These days, he turned to Simba more than anything else, because Simba was something concrete and reliable. Sure, he comforted himself in moments of nail-biting anxiety, we could all die, but at least Simba and I will probably die together, yeah?

Yes, that was his version of comfort. 

Thankfully things weren’t so dire. He was graduating– it was supposed to be this happy occasion, like Simba pointed out. There were reasons to get excited. No more shit boring classes he didn’t wanna be in. No more annoying assignments that teachers crafted just to give their students to do. Once he got in a groove, he might even like being outta school. After all, he hadn’t really done it before… at length. 

Summer first, though. Summer, the play, and putin’ off that strange new future for just a little longer. 

He leaned into Simba, nuzzling against his shoulder, wanting a cuddle more than he wanted anything else. “Well thanks,” he said and chuckled. “Took me long enough.” 

Berlioz thread their fingers together and squeezed Simba’s hand. “At least we’re doing it together.”

#swynberlioz #simber #pomp and circumstance #otp: cuddle if you'd like #otp: someday #otp: climbing over garden walls #otp: stupid beautiful boy #otp: i think you're lovely #otp: socked feet and all #otp: true love's kiss #otp: i wanna make plans with you #otp: let's go to vegas

[rainhalydia]

For the character meme: Val, Melisandre, Alys Karstark

Thanks for the ask, dear!

Val

How I feel about this character: I don’t like her! I know this is pretty unpopular, she’s very beloved in the fandom. I know she’s badass, but some of the things she says really rub me the wrong way, but I also suspect this is a problem I have with most free folk characters.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: that guy who died climbing the Wall. I know her and Jon are supposed to have a crush on each other, but I’m meh about it.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: her sister and Mance. I don’t really see her having many friends? She seems very reserved, even cold, to me.

My unpopular opinion about this character: that I don’t like her? Actually, sometimes I think her badassery is kinda forced... She’s not a spearwife or anything, as far as we know, but she’s not only totally okay going back to the side of the wall where the ice zombies are, but she’s successful both in avoiding them and in finding Tormund. Okay then.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I’d like her to slap Jon over the baby swap when she finds out about it :)

Melisandre

How I feel about this character: I like her a lot! I didn’t dislike her to begin with (Cressen annoyed me in his prologue, so we were off to a good start here), but her one pov chapter finished selling it for me.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Stannis, Selyse

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Devan, maybe. No one else, really. Again, another very reserved lady.

My unpopular opinion about this character: While I think she’s the one to talk Stannis into burning Shireen, I think it’s going to be in circumstances so dire that even the readers are going to be like “...weeell”. Also, I think once that’s done she’ll have a very deep crisis of faith and that’s going to be more important than Stannis reaction. Also, she’s completley badass for surviving slavery and doing all that social climbing for the sake of her mission.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: that she was better at interpretating her visions. That would save everybody so much pain in the long run.

Alys Karstark

How I feel about this character: I like her. The only decent Karstark in three generations or so.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: her husband! Their marriage was so sweet! I think they have some impressive chances of making it work, which, not something to sneeze at in this series!

My non-romantic OTP for this character: her brothers, who are asses but who she seems to love, Jon just a little.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I wish she was not another thing shoehorning a reminder in the text that Jon is a Stark, actually. That’s not all she is, but she very much is that. I also wish we had heard more about her before she appears, but alas, gardener.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: that she survives winter with her husband and they live to old age happy together.

#ask game #val the wildling princess #val of the free folk #melisandre #alys karstark #omgellendean

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

Sleeping Beauty (Once Upon A Time in Westeros #1 - Rewrite)

Written for a new project where I will use fairytales as an inspiration for stories where one half of the OTP has to complete a challenge to reach the other half of the OTP

Myrcella Baratheon is lying paralysed on a bed, waiting for her prince to kiss her awake. In her motionless state there is not much she can do but hoping that her prince is just as brave and strong and amazing as she believes him to be. Because to get his father's crown and become the next King in the North AND to win Myrcella's hand in marriage he will have to complete the challenge the red priestess crafted for him.

Fairytale AU

Once Upon a Tìme, in a Kingdom far and far away from here, Myrcella Baratheon laid on the softest mattress in all the realm. Only her chest was moving up and down slowly. Every time she tried to wiggle her toes, nothing happened. Whenever she attempted to unfold the hands resting on her stomach, she failed hopelessly. She couldn’t even open her eyes to enjoy the beautiful room in the highest tower of the oldest castle of Westeros.

“Your prince is bravely fighting his way through the thorn bushes covering the castle walls.” The red priestess entertained Myrcella with random observations of Robb’s journey through the challenge course she herself had crafted. “I can almost see his blue eyes from here already.”

If the muscles of her face hadn’t been temporarily frozen Myrcella would have smiled.

When her family had visited the King in the North, Eddard Stark, and his family Robb’s blue eyes had been the first thing Myrcella had noticed. It had been almost impossible to break their eye contact to greet his parents and siblings and every time she stared into those bright blue eyes again it felt as if she was either drowning or soaring.

“The sun is making his hair gleam reddish.” The red priestess continued her one sided conversation next to the paralysed princess.

The always changing color of Robb’s hair was another thing Myrcella had noticed quite soon. When they had left for their first picnic in the Godswoord under the watchful eyes of the Heart Tree Robb’s hair had seemed dark, still wet from the bath he had taken right after his daily training with his brothers. But once the cold winter wind blew it dry it seemed more brownish. And when the rays of the evening sun had touched it, the hint of red he inherited from his mother had shined through.

“He is now climbing the wall. I hope he doesn’t expect his challenge to be over already. He has an entire garden of rosebushes left to cross. And then he will have to face me.”

Myrcella had never been the kind of princess to fight her own battles, but she had never felt as powerless as she felt right now. There was nothing she could do to help or encourage Robb. She could only wait patiently, knowing that her brave prince would complete this challenge to not only win her hand in marriage, but to also win the crown his father would proudly place on his stubborn head.

“After all, he will rule over the biggest Kingdom of Westeros. We have to be sure that he will be a good, brave and strong king.”

No one who had ever met Robb doubted that he woud be one of the best kings the kingdom could wish for. Her parents would most likely kill her personally if she would ever dare to say it out loud, but she was certain that Robb would be a far better king than her eldest brother. Robb was brave and fought his own battles among his soldiers. He was also loyal to his friends and country, willing to fight for it even if it would cost him his life. And from his father he had learned to rule with honour. His emotions, no matter how strong and overwhelming, never clouded his judgement. And no lie would ever cross his soft and tender lips.

“I have to admit that his determination and willpower are admirable.” The red priestess admiration was hearable in her normally so stoic voice. “He is currently cutting himself a path through the garden towards this tower.”

Myrcella’s heart beat rapidly in her chest knowing that he was almost there and that quite soon he would break the immobilising curse holding her down on the bed. Almost couldn’t come soon enough. All her muscles already hurt from lying in the same position for way too long and she was aching to hear all about his adventure and all the challenges he had had to face to reach her and the castle.

“And I am afraid that I am needed elsewhere now, princess.” The red priestess pressed a soft kiss on Myrcella’s forehead. “It won’t be long now. I promise.”

A cold breeze of air swirled around the sleeping princess and then there was nothing but silence. Maybe the silence lasted only seconds, maybe minutes or even more, but eventually a deafening roar thrummed in her ears.

The reports of the priestess had been brief and not quite informative, but not knowing anything was much worse.

Another roar echoed all around the tower and caused the entire building to tremble. The air was warming up and Myrcella felt her lungs struggling to keep on breathing. But it felt like she breathed in more smoke than oxygen and if she had been fully awake she would have coughed and coughed. Now there was nothing she could do against the agonising ache in her chest. Apart from waiting patiently until her prince would come to free her.

Sansa had asked her, right before Myrcella had stepped into the carriage riding her here, if she wasn’t afraid that Robb wouldn’t make it. And even though there was a soft voice in the back of her mind wondering what would happen to her if Robb would fail, Myrcella didn’t allow that voice to gain any hold over her.

Robb would make it. Robb was brave. Robb was strong. Robb was fierce. Robb was stubborn. And most of all, Robb was just as much in love with her as she was with him. He would make it.

And yet, a shiver rolled down her spine when the next roar came and turned into a high pitched shriek, giving the little voice in her head more control than she liked.

What if…

She didn’t get the chance to finish that thought.

With a loud bang the wooden door slammed against the stone wall and the heavy footsteps she would recognise anywhere and everywhere rushed towards the bed in the middle of the room.

“Myrcella…” His soft hand pulled her golden hair from her face and his warm breath touched her nose. “I made it…” He sounded out of breath and he placed a hand on hers. “I will be the next King in the North and you, my beautiful Myrcella, will be my queen.” His soft lips touched hers and a strange warmth spread through her entire body.

When she tried to wiggle her toes they were actually wiggling. When she attempted to unfold her hands she entangled her fingers with his. And when she opened her eyes she stared into the most handsome face she had ever seen.

His hair was glued to his forehead and pearls of sweat shimmered on his cheeks. Dirt and mud covered his skin and the clothes he were wearing were ripped and blooded.

“What happened?” Myrcella pushed herself up. Her muscles were protesting against the sudden movement, but she ignored them and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What did you have to do?”

“It’s a long story.” Robb lifted her up and his blue eyes kept on staring at her while he turned towards the door. “A story that started in a dark and cold dungeon with shackles around my ankles and wrists and ended with a dead dragon and a true love’s kiss.” The smile on his face brightened. “But it was nothing I couldn’t handle and nothing I wouldn’t do again for the girl I love and the Kingdom I treasure.” Once more his lips touched hers, but this time only briefly so he could concentrate on descending the stairs carefully with his Queen in his arms.

Their kingdom waited for them with open arms, knowing that a bright future was waiting for them. And Myrcella and her Robb? They lived happily ever after.

#Robb Stark #myrcella baratheon #robbcella #game of thrones #got #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #robbcella fanfiction #myrcella baratheon fanfiction #robb stark fanfiction #fairytale #once upon a time in westeros #ongoing story collection

[princessvicky01]

Cake and Cuddles

Part 10 - The final chapter! This ends my OTP epilogue for Cullen x Annabel post trespasser and has been an emotional journey. For those who have read and left comments/likes/reblogs/kudos - thank you so much, you really don’t know what it means to have your encouragement.

Summary (SFW): It’s Cullen’s birthday, and what better way to spend it then with his family? The Dad!Cullen domestic fluff we’ve all been waiting for. Enjoy!

Click for: Whole story on AO3 or Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4  Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

And just in time for the end of @cullenappreciationweek 2019!

Cake and Cuddles

It’s far too quiet.

Annabel frowns as she slips her jacket off. Worry and suspicion bicker for her attention as she climbs the steps, listening carefully for any telltale cries or screeches that she usually received on her return.

When Cullen hadn’t met at the gate, she wasn’t overly surprised. He must’ve had his hands full without her around, and she never could quite shake the pang of guilt that leaving her family behind brought with it. The fading sun’s rays now pave her way back to them with a welcoming orange glow, and warm eagerness begins to replace her trepidations.

Maker, but she had missed them. It had only been just over a week, but it had felt like a lifetime. No doubt her weary husband would agree. Smiling to herself, she rounds the corner of the steps to be greeted by her boys.

Prince, the great lumbering marabi, and so-called ‘guard dog’ doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at her approach. It seems the boys had thoroughly worn the old dog out, based on his heavy snoring, that continues while Arthur marches a carved pony up the great mountain of the dog’s side, oblivious that his mother was merely a few feet away. A second pony follows, or brave knight, it seemed, as the toys continued their quest along a treacherous path of a snoring mabari’s stomach. Piled either side of Arthur, one sprawled over the dog’s paw while the other lay spread over the floor with a miniature carved dragon still in hand were her little twins, Bryan and Maxwell.

Leaning on the bannister, she spends a few silent moments savouring the sight of them, the rise and fall of her toddler’s chests and the tiny snippets of playful conversation she catches from their big, but altogether still small, brother. Arthur had blossomed in Skyhold, having more attention, more care and more adventure than any young boy could ever wish for. As she watches, he suddenly exclaims something in gibberish, then reaches over to grab a report. It’s then that she spies the sprawled line of paperwork between his play area and her desk. Ah. So, the picture wasn’t quite so perfectly innocent after all.

Time and time again he’d been told to leave the desks and paperwork alone, and yet he seemed drawn to them with an endless fascination of putting chalk and ink to paper. The smile on her lips becomes slightly crooked, it seemed little Arthur was a perfect combination of her and Cullen, free-spirited but still with a love for paperwork. In fact, she had already requisitioned a bespoke miniature desk for him so he could ‘help’ by practising his letters and doodling on paper that didn’t contain important military secrets.

All but chuckling to herself, Annabel decides to intervene, it’s only then that she realises she can, in fact, hear two distinct snores. Twisting, she spies Cullen, sprawled over the small sofa, flat on his back, with a children’s book loosely held in one drooped hand while the other wraps over his latest prized possession. Baby Rose.

The young babe, just under four months old, had nestled against her father’s chest, head resting right over the beat of his heart, and it seems that Cullen has never slept more soundly. Drawn to the tiny buddle, Annabel crouches by their side, carefully taking the ‘tale of the stubborn druffalo’ out of Cullen’s hold, making fingers twitch, ever alert, even when exhausted and lost deep in the Fade.

“Mama!!!”

The overly zealous shout wakes Cullen with a jolt, the baby griping in compliant as her pillow shifts under her, thankfully he has just enough sense to stop himself bolting upright and disturbing her completely. It had taken him hours to get her to sleep, as it had every evening that Annabel had been away, the infant finding sparse comfort against the relatively hard planes of his chest. Those trials were over now though, his bleary eyes catching sight of his radiant wife as she catches Arthur’s bear hug and squeezes him so tight he erupts in a fit of giggles.

Another snuffled complaint from Rose sounds, and he can already tell that’s it, the peace has been broken, and she begins to wail, but still, he couldn’t be happier.

“Annabel… I… What time is it?” Shuffling more upright he shushes the babe against him, but it’s no use, her tiny fists have already drawn tight as she demanded nothing less than everyone’s full attention.

Scuffing up her son’s dark mop of curls, Annabel dismisses his worry, then gestures to hold the baby, something Cullen feels rather guilty of being so relieved to see. Between the four of them, he’s not sure he’s had a moment’s peace since she’d departed, if it wasn’t Arthur trying to climb the battlement walls it was the twins squabbling, or Rose crying to be nursed. She had not been impressed by the milk Annabel had left behind. She’d thrown a tantrum at the bottle and refuse to quiet for anything but her favourite lullaby. That had made for an interesting war room meeting…

Suddenly Arthur is climbing to sit beside him, legs swinging as his brother’s take their turn at getting rather more subdued affection, rubbing puffy eyes and nuzzling against their mother’s side with loose grips around her waist.

“It’s time for bed,” she rocks the whimpering baby one-handed against her chest, the other prising that damn wooden dragon from Bryan’s grip. “Come on now.”

Cullen almost sighs in blessed relief. Oh, Maker only knows he loved his children more than anything, but taking care of four alone had proven to be the greatest challenge of his life. Of course, the other advisors and staff had helped out during the day, but every morning and night had been a battle to rise and settle them.

Slowly rising, Annabel has to wriggle her son’s hold free, and as Bryan begins to snuffle a cry, Cullen wraps him and his brother up into his arms to hold one on either hip. Arthur meanwhile has already scampered off, seemingly full of boundless energy, he proudly fetches some papers that look distinctly like the reports Cullen had spent the afternoon writing.

“Look, I helped Papa, just like you said. See,” eagerly he presents the ruined document with bright blue eyes which are the very picture of Annabel’s.

“Arthur,” Cullen’s tone verges on stern. “What did we tell you about not touching the papers on the grown up’s desks?”

Annabel raises an eyebrow and refuses to come to her son’s aid as he peers up at her.

“But it wasn’t on the desk! Honest, Prince knocked them all on the floor,” he points with a stubby finger at the hound who finally decides to wake up with a mighty yawn and little wag of his tail. “And I…” the child falters under his parent’s scrutiny, eyes eventually ending up on the floor. “…I just wanted to help. Like you said.”

Much like his mother, Arthur was impossible to stay mad at, and Cullen merely gives a resigned sigh. “Alright. Next time just check before you start helping, please.”

The boy nods and is playfully shoved forward by his mother. “Bed. Now. It’s Papa’s birthday tomorrow, and I’ve got lots planned.”

“Oh, really?” Cullen raises a smirk and a questioning eyebrow, his toddlers already sleeping against him.

“Yes,” Annabel nods, hand still urging Arthur forward least he forget the task. “But all of you only get your goodies if your well behaved.” Now it’s her turn to give a playful little smirk. “Now, bed.”

The family shuffles its way downstairs, the boys bedrooms and a small play area had been built into the once wasted space beneath the Inquisitor’s chamber and had proven to make the ideal nest for the family. Provided no more surprise children came along that was.

It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, his heavy lids blinking as he watches Annabel nurse their little girl. Just how had he ended up so blessed? When Annabel places her in the cot, the babe settles without compliant, and Cullen finds himself wearing a humble smile as he continues to study his wife. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knows Annabel is curling up against his side, and the telltale nudge of her feet sneaking to slip between his for warmth pulls him back from the edge of the Fade. “I missed you…” voice croaky and broken, he plants a kiss against the top of her head, resting there to soak in the scent of her.

“I missed you too,” her finger traces circles over his heart. “All of you.”

-

Sluggishly Cullen opens his eyes to be greeted by sunlight. He hums as he rests his lids once more, he can’t remember the last time he’d woken so late or feeling so revived. The room is peaceful with nothing but a light breeze dancing across his chest, and it takes but a moment for concern to fully wake him.

Silence? That really was a worrying novelty when you had four small children.

Sitting up, he finds only crumpled sheets and a scruffy note on Annabel’s side of the bed. Blinking away the Fade, he reads it slowly through the lingering fog of sleep.

‘Thought you’d earned a rest, Birthday Boy. I’ll be with the children in the garden. Come join us when you’re ready, but don’t take too long - birthday surprises await! Annabel x

He smiles softly to himself and lays his head back on his pillow. He’d always been an early riser, but right now, ten more minutes of peace sounded perfect. He ponders briefly on just what she meant by ‘surprises’, instantly he hopes for cake, and perhaps some time for them alone, although right now he would gladly welcome languid cuddles in front of the fire. And that is the image he takes with him back into the Fade.

-

“Papa!”

Strolling in his casual wear down to the garden the shout catches Cullen’s attention along with it’s high pitched chortling. Pausing at the bottom step, he spies Annabel sat on the grass with her back to him, the twins by her feet and a dark-haired stranger holding his daughter.

“Papa, look!”

He doesn’t know the voice, but vaguely recognises the small red-haired girl it belongs to as she rushes over with flowers in her hands. When the stranger looks up from the bundle in his arms, Cullen instantly knows it’s the ill-tempered Lord. Annabel’s brother. Is that what she’d meant by surprises? He had rather hoped for something more pleasurable. Although the scowl he remembered Bryan always wearing was gone, replaced by a soft smile that makes him decide to study the Trevelyan’s for a while.

“It’s lovely Evelyn, I’m sure auntie Annabel would love to wear it.”

“No, papa I made it for you!” With innocence and joy, the little girl holds out a scruffy daisy chain, as proud as anyone had ever been.

“Don’t fret, there are plenty for everyone,” Kelandris, his wife, holds out a bunch, already wearing one herself then placing one on little Bryan and Maxwell in turn. The toddlers instantly find their new headwear fascinating, it lasts for all of thirty seconds until they steal each other’s and ruin the delicate chains in the process. They seem happy enough with the flowers though, squashing and throwing tiny petals with glee.

“Ah, I see, in that case,” Bryan tips his head down to his daughters’ level to accept his new crown before rising like a king. “Thank you, my lady.” He nods respectfully as the girl chuckles and climbs into Annabel’s lap to crown her too.

“Plenty enough for you too Commander,” Bryan’s sideways remark catches Cullen off guard. The Lord had given no indication he’d spied him, and in fact, Cullen had expected the opposite given his rather uncharacteristic antics.

Annabel twists, greeting him with a beaming smile and the girl is soon rushing to him with her pink and white daisy chain. “Uncle!”

Crouching, he meets his niece, even still she can’t quite reach his head to place the delicate flowers there, so he boosts her up. She’s very endearing as she hurries back to her mother, and it seems Cullen fits right in as he joins the mini flower festival. Sitting crossed-legged by his wife, he greets her with a fleeting kiss, Maker he had missed those lips, and as much as he might wish to indulge in them further now was not the time. Perhaps that was one of his surprises? That certainly would be much more enjoyable than the company of nobles.

“Bran! Get down from there!”

Cullen instantly knows that voice, it seems to transport him hundreds of miles and decades into the past with its reprimand, back to Honnleath, although he can hardly believe it. Whatever childish reply is made gets lost to the wind, but Mia’s certainly isn’t. “I don’t care what Arthur is doing! If he impaled himself on his blade would you do the same!?”

“Mmm, perhaps we should’ve recruited Mia as our Commander,” Annabel’s teasing quip brings a smile to Cullen’s lips.

“Aww, come on ma’am, I can take it,” Iron Bull’s telltale tenor catches Cullen attention and draws him up to his feet. Just how many people had Annabel managed to gather for his birthday? Any hopes of a lazy day of cake and cuddles were quickly fading. Although the sight of Bull carrying four children off his horns as he charges in with Mia close behind makes up for any disappointment.

Arthur drops from the Qunari with all the boldness of youth, and lands hard but is soon back on his feet, knees grazed and shirt already mud-stained. “Papa!” His joy is bright enough to light up the world as he rushes full pelt to him. “Did you see?”

Hauling him up in both his arms, Cullen swings him around on the spot, his son’s jubilation spreading a broad smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “What’s wrong, huh, run out of trees and walls to climb?” He scruffs up his son’s thick curls before setting him down.

Laughing, Arthur pats the wooden play sword he wears on the belt around his waist. “We challenged him to a duel, and since we won, we got to ride the bull!”

Annabel scoffs back a spluttered chortle at the phrasing which Cullen makes sure to quickly skim over. “You bested worthy opponent indeed, but can you best the Commander of the Inquisition?”

“Or the Inquisitor herself?” Leaning with her hand on one hip Annabel has gracefully perched against his side, where she belonged.

Arthur’s eyes light up, and he nods eagerly. “Yeah! Kids versus grown ups! Kids versus grown-ups!” He declares the chant at the top of his lungs as he pulls his miniature sword free, and his cousins promptly gather around him to join in the rallying cry. Between them all, they had produced quite the brood, and Cullen suddenly feels like his suggestion had perhaps been a bad idea.

“I’ve got cake!” Rosalie’s shout saves the day as she emerges with Branson carrying rolled up picnic blankets. Dropping their swords as one Bran, Julie, Arthur, William and Evelyn all rush over to the goodies, followed by two giddy toddlers who struggle on uncertain legs to catch up.

“Looks like she saved your ass there chief,” Bull mocks before beginning to absently wander towards the gathering. “Hmm, I wonder if she has those little fluffy ones with the pink frosting…”

Cullen shakes his head at the throng of his extended family. Mia naturally takes charge of seating the children while the other adults set out the brunch consisting of tea and cakes. For all the chaos, never had his heart felt so full. The laughter of his children, and his nieces and nephews bringing nourishing joy with it.

Still by his side, Annabel wraps her arm loosely around his waist to rest her head on his shoulder. It seems he would get cake and cuddles after all, but there would be nothing quiet about it. And turns out, that is just how he likes it.

-----

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, if so likes, reblogs, comments and kudos really do mean alot to us writers and help us keep going!

Can’t believe it’s over... I’ll still write Cullen fanfic, I love him too much to stop, but mostly likely just more one shots. 

#cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen appreciation week #annabel trevelyan #cullen x annabel #my writing #happily ever after #part 10 #dad!cullen #fluffy fluff #sniffles

[zephfair]

[climbs over the wall and rolls into your garden] ICHIGO

WARNING: you roll into my garden, I’m going to scoop you up and keep you! 💜

OK, for Ichigo, I love him with Grimmjow and I first shipped him with Ishida, but I guess my true OTP for him is Rukia. They were so great together! There was so much growth and friendship and snarking! They got along so well and pushed each other in the best ways. I’ll forever be saddened by the epilogue.

Brotp: Chad, definitely, best friends forever, but also Kon!

Notp: Orihime >_> I adore her, but honestly, I think they’d both have to change too much and sacrifice too much to make it work. Orihime deserved better!

My favorite thing about him: HIS FAAAAACE. No, but really his hilarious expressions in the manga and the fact that he’s not the typical stoic shonen hero. I adore his little shocked and embarrassed faces the best! Also I love that he makes friends very quickly, and how most people love him immediately. He might cultivate that bristly little hedgehog exterior, but inside he’s a sweet soft marshmallow!

Least favorite thing about him: ...the epilogue? >_> I think that shonen thing of constantly having to power up and the fact that Kubo-sensei kept giving him all kinds of new and increasingly bizarre forms. Not that I didn’t like them, but I guess I felt badly for Ichigo always having to level up, poor kid.

Ask me for my unwarranted opinions?

[notdepressedjusttired]

Can you??? Answer??? All the Soft Asks??????

This is gonna take a while ;;;;;

🌸Blankets: Have you been in love?

Yes.

🌸Stuffies: How did you meet your best friend?

I have 3 of them??

My oldest friendship dates back to Kindergarten. His name is Joshua, he gave me a flower, and told me I was pretty. I still talk to and hang out with him. I tease him a lot because I’m older than him by 7 months but he’s like;;; 6’ tall? I love him with all my heart though. We’ve been through a lot of shit together.

My current IRL best friend I met my freshman year; her sophomore year of high school. We actually only passed by eachother during passing period, but we both had the same nerdy Doctor Who bag. I had said I like her backpack and she was about to say thanks, but she burst into laughter after she saw we had the same bag. A few weeks later we were both cast in our school’s first musical of the year and she hasn’t been able to get rid of me since. We’ve gone through almost too much together if I’m being honest…

My BEST FRIEND BEST FRIEND is @thighkyuu We met on here over a year ago after one of us was having a bad night; I can’t remember which, but we must have talked til like 4 AM. We bonded over Mysme, anime, music, our philosophies about life, our depression and anxiety ((fucked up as that may sound it’s true)), just all kinds of things. We’ve both been through our separate traumas over the course of that year, but we were there for eachother. She’s been my only constant over this year and I would do anything for her.

🌸Fluffy Pillows: What happened in your most recent dream?

Jesus, here comes my voltron obsessed ass.

Okay. So. Everyone knows that I love Keith, I’d do anything for him, so naturally we’re partners. “There is no way you two aren’t twins.” If I remember, I think Lance said that.

Anyway, in the dream, this was before they left Earth. Keith and I were in the shack going over our cork board filled with papers/files stolen from the Garrison, photographs of the strange markings on the cave wall, the rock formations in the desert, and all of this string; we’re covering the board trying to figure out what the hell pulled us out in the middle of the desert. All the sudden there was a flash of light and a huge BOOM. Naturally we both ran outside and saw an alien space craft entering the atmosphere. My first thought of course “I’m taking my hoverbike and explosives from the back.” “I’m taking mine to see what the fuck is in that ship.”

I set off the explosives and get the fuck out of there. It all goes as canon but I’m riding next to Keith on my hoverbike while he has 4 other people on his bike. Im dying from laughter and Keith just looks pissed but then we get to the cliff and we’re both ecstatic about it while 3 of the 5 on his bike scream in terror. The rest goes as canon but I’m tagging along and adding in my 2 cents in every now and again.

When we go to look for Red, Keith can’t get a clear feel for him. Keith knows the general area he’s going to be in but can not figure out which hangar Red is in. Suddenly theres like this ping in my head and I grab his upper arm and start pulling him to the hangar Red is in. We’re both relieved as fuck and Keith goes up to him and asks for entry and Red denies, I look over and see all the soldiers running toward us and start backing the fuck up. “RED OPEN THE FUCK UP!” still no entry, Keith opens the hangar door sucking everything out into space. We’re both freaking the fuck out cause what the hell do we do?! Red comes in. Keith is in the pilot’s seat; I’m standing next to him cause what else am I supposed to do??

Then I woke up.

🌸Scented Candles: How do you relax?

I watch voltron. Sketch Keith. Listen to music. Go on tumblr. You know anti-social fun stuff.

🌸Gem Stones: What’s your birthstone/favourite stone?

My birthstone is Garnet. It is also my favourite stone.

🌸Pyjamas: Describe your favourite pyjamas!

I dont wear pyjamas… I’m usually fully dressed or completely naked when I go to bed.

🌸Fuzzy Socks: What’s your favourite movie?

V for Vendetta. No competition.

🌸Kittens & Puppies: Name of your pet or your ideal pet?

Zarina Karina McBeana The Third. My bichon. She’s turning 11 this year *sniffles* they grow up so fast.

🌸Laughter: What’s the funniest joke you’ve heard?

My ex-boyfriend saying he’s sorry for everything he’s done to me and then asking for me back. I was clutching my fucking sides I was laughing so hard.

🌸Mittens: Do you like the snow?

❄I❄❄L❄O❄V❄E❄❄S❄N❄O❄W❄

🌸Hot Coco: What’s your favourite Starbucks drink?

Chai anything. I’m easy to please.

🌸Soft Kisses: Describe your OTP

We been makin shades of purple out of Red and Blue.

🌸Rainy Days: What do you do on a rainy day?

Sleep. Go on tumblr. Sleep more.

🌸Flower Petals: What’s your favourite flower?

Orchids because I too die if not given the proper attention.

🌸Cotton Candy: What’s your favourite candy?

Albanese Gummi Bears. It has to be Albanese or I will not eat them.

🌸Bubble Baths: Your favourite memory?

Turning around and seeing Sam’s face for the first time IRL at Kamicon a couple weeks ago.

🌸Wooly Scarfs: What song do you think relates the most to you?

Sick of losing soulmates by Dodie Clark. There are many kinds of soulmates. Friend soulmates, romatic soulmates, mentoring soulmates. And I’ve lost too many soulmates in my short life. I dont think I can handle losing any more…

🌸Roasted Marshmallows: Your camping with friends! Describe the forest you’re pitching your tent in.

We found a clearing in the thick of green woods next to a stream. The friendly scent of pine needles reminds me of home. Joshua is pitching tents. Mary Grace is chatting away with Abby and Tina about the mountain we’ve just climbed down. Sam and I find ourselves in the middle of the forest enjoying the smell of the dew drops in the grass as we collect kindle wood. Cosmo is tuning her ukulele when we finish the fire and set up camp. The evening begins creeping in as the sun starts to fade from view. We all stay in a comfortable silence as we look up at the stars and swirling nebula; listen to the sound of the gentle breeze and Cosmo lazily strumming “I can’t help falling in love with you” by Elvis Presley. The air is chilled but everything feels warm.

🌸Bird Songs: Name 5 things you love

Keith Kogane, friends/family, music, theater, sharp objects.

🌸Old Books: Do you read? If so, what’s your favourite book series?

I do read. My favourite book series continues to be the hunger games. My favourite solo book is The fault in our stars.

🌸Warm Hugs: Who would you love a hug from right now?

My choreographer Kristina Lewis… She took her own life 2 years ago… I’d do anything to bring her back and tell her how much I love her…

🌸Clouds: What’s the best shaped cloud you’ve seen?

It was the shape of a hippo! I was so excited.

🌸Fae: Describe yourself as a fairy

Little shit. Sets things on fire all the time. Makes people’s lives a living hell. Wears red and black clothes only. Definitely one of those fairys that have dragon kind of wings.

🌸Holding Hands: What was the name of your first love?

Daniel.

🌸Cupcakes: Favourite cupcake flavour?

Vanilla bean. I’m a very plan person.

🌸Tealights: Describe a romantic date perfect for you

At home, Pizza and candy boxes everywhere, blanket pile, lights off, movie marathon, cuddling, forehead kisses, raspberries being blown into the neck and cheek, smiles, giggling, flustered faces.

🌸Gardens: What’s the sweetest gift you’ve received

My tech teacher bought me these beautiful detail brushes ((for those of you who dont know I was head painter at my old school)). They’re my most treasured possessions.

[mythicamagic]

can I get Yuma for the "give me a character" thing?

Why I like themI feel like Yuma is an underrated character, even though he’s a friggin Bae. Sorry, uh..right. A more in depth argument. Ahem. Well, aside from that, he’s just super likeable. He’s tall, strong, and another scary delinquent type like Subaru, but Yuma is more upfront about what he wants. It’s not that he’s necessarily more honest, but it’s just that he’s unafraid to do whatever he wants, but his damn grin and amiable personality makes it hard to dislike his brash nature. He’s just super easy to like, what with his backstory, survivors guilt, his lil garden and odd insistence on making sure everyone eats (because he experienced what it’s like to starve) he’s just always great to have in a scene. Also, his voice is super gorgeous. SuzukiTatsuhisa’s characters make me swoon

Why I don’tHe’s arguably more violent than Subaru. Where Subaru for the most part takes his frustrations out on walls, his room or fighting (or biting Yui), Yuma is super rough with Yui. His brute strength when he goes on a rampage can be really friggin scary, but again like with the others, this is just a part of who he is.What I do loathe is his english dub voice.

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

anime (LOOK HOW TALL HE IS COMPARED TO HER)

manga

Favorite season/movie/game

Don’t know yet, but his More Blood is great.

Favorite line

*to Yui* ’Big words, coming from someone who never voices their opinions.’

Idk, I just like that line. I feel like Yuma likes it when people are upfront with him.

Favorite outfit

OTP Height differences make me weak. Yuma and Yui are totally up there as one of my fav pairs. Omg, they grow so much because of each other. I really think that Yui honestly enjoys being able to garden with him and they have an interesting dynamic. Yui starts off as her usual self but because Yuma keeps pushing, and pushing and pushing her, she ends up voicing her opinions clearly, to make him pay attention to her feelings. 

(the scene above is one of my favourites in DL)

In turn, Yuma slowly notices this smol human and learns to look forward into his future rather than constantly into the past.

Look how sassy she is oml

They’re just really great together. Cute, funny, hot, angsty, and full of feels.

Brotp

Any of the Mukami’s. I like that he challenges Ruki’s authority occasionally, as it helps keep the group a unit where everyone is saying their piece, if that makes sense. I like that he squabbles with Kou over everything like real siblings, and I like that he tries to include Azusa in his usual way. Yuma is just really great in a group environment. 

Head Canon

Has at least five children with Yui if not more. He just seems like the type to want a big family. I can imagine his lil kids climbing on him like a jungle gym as he’s trying to work in the garden.

Unpopular opinion

Am I the only one who’s okay with the concept of Yuma and Shuu parting ways after they open up to each other about the past? Like…Yuma has changed A LOT since he was a young boy and can’t remember anything. And even if he did remember, the friendships you have as a kid aren’t the same as an adult. I just think that once it’s all out in the open, it’s fine if they’re not friends afterwards. People do move on. I think Shuu knowing that Edgar is alive, and that he’s been forgiven (even though it wasn’t his fault) would be enough. Idk

A wishIf there’s ever another game, for Yuma to be happy! From what I’ve seen, at the end of Lost Eden, it’s pretty depressing even though he does have Yui. Let Yuma have an army of kids and a garden. Also let him discover the truth about him being Edgar from Shuu without the drama train coming in like it does in every game and hitting me in the feels.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

Another damn sad ending. Why are Yuma’s endings so sad! I get that they’re meant to be, because they’re bad endings but dude, his ones always make me depressed :( 

5 words to best describe themTall, Hot, Brash, Adorkable, Sadistic

My nickname for themTall Bear

[simba-bonfamille-lyons]

Putting the Pieces Together /./ [Simber]

In which Simba and Berlioz discuss a potential diagnosis...[takes place: idk anymore what is time, in...March probably?]

@ber-bonfamille-lyons

[tw -- discussion of ADHD (in a negative light), anxiety, discussion/thoughts of mental illness]

SIMBA: It was easy to forget the conversation that Simba had had with Dr. Powers by the time he got home. There were books in his tote bag and a list of websites in his email, but when he entered the house, he was alone. Ashlee and Berlioz still in classes. He changed and then headed out for a run with Bowie and Turtle, pounding out the thoughts circling around him like sharks. By the time he got home and showered, he was in a better mood. Why had it even been bad to start with?

By the time Ber and Ashlee got home, Simba was back to himself--singing in the kitchen while he finished dinner. He kissed Ber and asked Ashlee how her day was. They ate dinner, watched a bit of telly, a rather boring, ordinary night, all things considered. (Simba was trying very hard not to consider them.) 

When it was time for bed, Simba wasn’t ready for sleep. He was restless. So, he kissed Ber into the covers and crawled over his body. 

It was still not very late by the time Ber pressed his head to Simba’s shoulder, his arm around his waist, their legs tangled together. Simba’s fingers trailed up and down Ber’s spine restlessly, his eyes on the ceiling fan. The room was lit by a single warm lamp on Simba’s bedside table. It was very quiet. It made Simba want to squirm. He should say something. He didn’t know what he should say. He felt Ber shift next to him and he wondered if Ber could sense his restlessness, even though he was not moving except for the play of his fingers along Ber’s smooth, damp skin. 

He sighed once. “You know Dante?” Simba finally murmured, his brow furrowed, looking much too deep in thought. He chewed on his lip for a moment, his hand pausing on Ber’s shoulder. He pressed his fingers into a few of the dark freckles there.

“I talked to his dad today, about how I think he has ADHD. He was pretty cool about it.�� 

Simba was thinking about his dad. For all his positives, his father had always been a bit old fashioned. He wondered if anyone had ever told him they thought Simba had ADHD and Mufasa had shook his head, saying that Simba just needed a firmer hand. More discipline. To work harder. He wished he could ask, even if that was the answer. Part of him just wanted to know if anyone at all had seen…

BERLIOZ: Yeah, Ber sensed Simba’s restlessness alright.

It wasn’t somethin’ he was exactly finetuned to. Simba, most days, was restless, and so it took a bit to sort out a typical Simba-restlessness from something closer to agitation, to a Simba worrying over a problem in that chaotic and gorgeous brain of his. When Ber got home from his own long, long day, no sirens had gone off telling him it was the latter. Things were exactly how they should be: happy dogs at his heels, happy husband in the kitchen. They kissed, Simba gabbed a little about this and that, someone he’d met on his run, gossip from the teacher’s lounge– and Berlioz let it all roll through him the way he liked. The best part about being married to someone restless like Simba, see, was experiencing life through him. Ber didn’t need to have a thousand friends; Simba had a thousand friends, and Berlioz knew a bit about each one of them from a distance. It made his life feel full and colourful without draining away his energy.

So there was dinner, no problem. When they sat down to watch TV though, somethin’ stirred in the back of Ber’s mind, his eyes darting from the screen every so often to Simba’s bouncing knee. That wasn’t really unusual, but he didn’t seem as relaxed as normal. There was energy in his body and thoughts in his head.

Even as Berlioz curled around Simba in their bed, he could feel that frenetic energy under his skin. 

Ber’s finger drew idle circles over Simba’s heart as Simba spoke. It wasn’t what Ber had been expecting to hear. If Simba was mullin’s something over, he’d gotten used to it being Board-related or at least town-related, Simba carrying the weight of Swynlake around him at all times. 

Class though? Simba only had hilarious stories to share about class. Well, sometimes he blew off steam or expressed worries but… 

Ber lifted his head. “Oh?” He wracked his brain–pulled up the stories of Dante. 

Now that he was thinking it over himself, there were a lot, a lot of stories of little Dante. He liked to make himself the center of attention.

“Oh,” he said again, “y’know that actually makes a lot of sense, from what you’ve told me. Well, uh… that’s good, innit? He’ll get tested?” 

He had a feeling Dante wasn’t what Simba really wanted to talk about. 

SIMBA: Did it make sense? 

And would it make sense when Simba told Berlioz he had ADHD? Or, well, he might have it? Would it change anything? Would Ber look at him differently? Think he was stupid? Or feel bad for him because his brain was all fucked up? Simba knew Ber’s own brain was all fucked up—his own words—but this was different. A different fucked up. And it was Simba. Simba didn’t have the fucked up brain. Simba was supposed to be the strong one. 

His hand rubbed up and down Ber’s arm. A motion not entirely conscious. Part of him wanted to jump out of bed and start pacing back and forth. He felt agitated. He felt—scared and confused and off-kilter. These things made him agitated, as he was learning in therapy. When things were out of control. Or when they surprised him. He felt out of control now. He was surprised. And he was angry. 

Not for the first time, his life—and especially his childhood—was forced into a new perspective. One where, once again, the people that Simba had loved and idolized most had failed him. Why had his mother never seen it? Why had his father never seen it? Not a single teacher…

“Yeah, it’s good we caught it early. There have been lots of studies done that learning coping skills at a young age can vastly reduce symptoms. I felt—I dunno. Kinda bad, though, telling his dad. Like—who am I to say that about a kid? I know it will help, maybe. If he does have it but…what if he doesn’t?”

BERLIOZ: Berlioz was still pretty sure they weren’t talking about Dante.

He couldn’t entirely connect things in his brain yet though, mostly because of Simba’s own assumptions about himself, which had become Berlioz’s assumptions over the years. Simba’s performance after all was dazzling. He was the strong and certain one, confident in himself no matter the situation (well, alright, not entirely true– Berlioz had seen an uncertain, doubtful Simba before). Still, whereas Berlioz saw a thousand problems in the easiest scenarios, Simba powered on. To Berlioz, he could talk to anyone and do anything. Any problems that cropped up in his classroom, he’d solve with his trademark smile. 

Dante was in good hands. Simba must know that. He did have his doubts, but they had always been existential ones about his life’s purpose, whether he was living up to the Lyons name. But he loved teaching and knew he was a good teacher, yeah? 

Well, Ber would remind him if not. 

Berlioz tilted his head. “Well… I think it’s your job to say that about a kid, yeah? You’re just lookin’ out for him. And if he doesn’t have it, he could have somethin’ else that crops up or…” Berlioz shrugged. “It’s better to know than never to know. I wish someone woulda done somethin’ about me.” He chuckled. “I dunno what they woulda done but y’know– something. If I were in therapy earlier maybe I’d not be such a mess.” 

SIMBA: It’s better to know than never know.

Was that true? Simba wasn’t sure. He had never been someone he considered particularly smart. Everything he did was based on feeling, on gut instinct. Things like…reading or preparing for something filled him with a kind of dread that made his bones feel like they were made of lead. It wasn’t that he didn’t have his strengths, but knowing things wasn’t exactly on the list. That was why he taught five year olds. At the very least, he knew his shapes and colors.

He had gone his whole life not thinking at all about ADHD. He didn’t even know what it stood for! Attention…disorder? No, the H meant Hyper, right? See. He didn’t know things. And that was fine, because he knew what ADHD did. At least, when it came to kids. He knew the signs that he was supposed to look for and that was enough. You didn’t have to know everything. 

He didn’t want to know that he had it. Or if he had it. Or whatever. 

It would just mean--

Well, Simba didn’t really know what it would mean. At this point in his life, there was no changing things. He liked who he was. Most of the time. And the things he didn’t like had nothing to do with ADHD. Probably. Definitely. 

“I dunno,” Simba disagreed, but his voice was soft, contemplative. He wasn’t looking at Ber, but across the room, through to the dark doorway of the bathroom. His fingers were still tracing circles on Ber’s shoulder, though. “Other kids will look at him weird. They might tease him. And he could--think something is wrong with him. If he didn’t get diagnosed, he might just go through his whole life just fine. It’s not like anxiety.” 

BERLIOZ: Berlioz lifted his head from Simba’s chest. In the dark, it was probably hard to see the pucker in his brow, but it was there. Maybe Simba would simply feel Berlioz’s frown instead, the way it brought a new tension to his limbs. Not that he pulled all that far away. He was still close, legs tangled in Simba’s legs, his arm across Simba’s chest. But he disagreed with Simba here entirely. Strongly, actually. Sure– he didn’t have ADHD. But he’d known plenty of kids who had ADHD. Pep did; he used to sell Ber his adderall cheap, just a couple of pounds, but he’d clean stopped that when he got to uni, because suddenly grades had mattered so much more and Pep couldn’t get through his classes without it. His first year had been really stressful, not that Ber had been there for half of it– somethin’ he kinda felt bad about– but the whole point being that he knew ADHD, while not like anxiety, did affect a person. 

You felt different. 

And Ber knew that feeling. He knew that it sucked. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Ber quietly. “I mean… I dunno, I don’t have ADHD obviously but– not knowin’ why you are the way you are, thinkin’ you’re just messed up because everyone around you is one way but you’re not– it feels like shit. At least you get a name for it, y’know? It’s better than just calling yourself names. I…I did that all the time.” He still did, but these days, he caught all those words– crazy, wrong, messed up– and knew what to do with them. 

SIMBA: Yeah, Ber was probably right. He usually was about these kinds of things.

Simba still felt…weird about it. Maybe because it had just been so long. He had formed his personality around those things that made him different. He wore his stupidity like armor. It was just who he was! Who would he be without it? Without being forgetful, or the class clown. Would he be able to relate to the children as much? Would he still be as childish and light-hearted, because it was easy for him to forget the hardships of adulthood? 

If he had ADHD (it was still a strong if), then it was the thing he had built everything in his life around and if it suddenly disappeared…he felt like he’d collapse like a house of cards. There would be no Simba left. He was loud and forgetful and spastic--these were the things that…made him him. 

For a long time, Simba didn’t respond more than a hum of potential agreement. It was long enough that there was a possibility that Ber might’ve thought he’d fallen asleep or was well on the way to, but--his brain wouldn’t shut off. It just kept thinking the same thing on a loop. Fighting with itself. He wanted to tell Ber, but telling Ber would make it something that wasn’t just something his therapist mentioned to him in a session. If he told Ber…Ber would take it seriously. Would want him to get help or something. And Simba didn’t know if he wanted that. 

But he also couldn’t lie. He didn’t lie to Ber. Not anymore. That sort of mistake was left far, far in their past. They told each other everything. If he didn’t, he would just feel guilty. Though…telling him also felt like he was failing him. Telling him that he was somehow not the person that Ber had actually married, but someone entirely different.

Someone with fucked up brain chemistry or something. Simba didn’t even know how it worked. Was ADHD even a mental illness or just…what? 

“The doc thinks I might have it,” Simba confessed quietly, still looking ahead into the darkness of the bathroom. He didn’t know what else to say. There really wasn’t anything else that he wanted to say about it. 

BERLIOZ: Simba went pretty quiet, besides a low, warm hum in his throat. Berlioz waited a moment, then another, then felt the weight of the day start to drag him down. Maybe Simba felt that way too. They often drifted off to sleep while pillow talking like this. Never on purpose– usually Simba conked out first anyway, and Berlioz was never far after. 

So he put his head down on Simba’s shoulder and let his eyes droop, though they didn’t close. His hand shifted on Simba’s chest, fingers gently stroking his warm skin, as though he were playing a gentle lullaby on a string instrument. The silence grew, but it was just another blanket– something cozy to wrap himself in.

Ber’s eyes had closed when Simba finally decided to speak. 

He opened them again, but didn’t move– because Berlioz realized he was not surprised at all. 

The pieces of the conversation thus far rearranged themselves. They’d been puzzle pieces and now they all found their places. In hindsight, Ber shoulda seen it– actually, he had seen it, but he’d been waiting, that’s what it felt like. Waiting for Simba, waiting for thought to become word, for this abstract feeling to become real. And now that it was, Ber searched himself for worry or concern but didn’t find much there. 

What he did find had much more to do with how quietly Simba had spoken. ADHD didn’t seem like that big of a deal to Berlioz after all. Kids had it; kids took meds for it. But it was different when it was you who were gettin’ a diagnosis. For Ber, getting diagnosed with anxiety and a panic disorder had been a relief– but it made sense Simba wouldn’t like it.

Simba liked being strong. Simba probably thought this was a bad thing.

It wasn’t. Probably wasn’t exactly good though. 

Ber’s eyes flicked around in the darkness, and he shifted a little. “Oh?” he said at first…not quite sure what else he should say. It felt like saying the obvious– That makes sense– was pretty insensitive, at least to him. 

“That’s uh– I guess, what do you think? You think they’re right?” 

SIMBA: Simba shrugged and felt small in that way he didn’t like. He felt like a little kid who didn’t understand something. Who wanted to hide behind the pillar of his dad’s leg or under the covers, because nothing could reach you inside your bed. Actually, the desire to pull the covers up over their heads ballooned bigger as soon as the thought materialized in his mind. Instead, he just shifted a little, putting the arm not around Ber behind his head. One of his legs pulled up, making a tent beneath the sheets. 

He sighed and his lips twisted a little. His heart was racing and he didn’t know why. His gaze was still focused into the middle distance and his eyes searched through the dark, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

“I dunno,” he mumbled eventually, his tone almost petulant, like he’d just been scolded for running around the room or not sitting still. 

It feels scary, he wanted to say. It feels too big. 

Instead, he chewed on his lip and tried to fight back the urge to cry. He didn’t even know why the feeling was there. Embarrassment, frustration--he hated that the doctor had said anything because now it felt like he didn’t know himself at all. It wasn’t like Ber who had known something was wrong and was glad to be handed an answer. Simba hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with him. It had always been everyone else, criticizing him. It was teachers that told him he didn’t care enough, Nala who didn’t understand why he couldn’t concentrate on writing papers, his mum who snapped at him for having too much energy, and his father, most of all, who looked at him--so disappointed sometimes. 

“I don’t want it to be true.” 

BERLIOZ: I don’t want it to be true. 

Yeah, Berlioz could understand that. 

After all, wouldn’t he give his anxiety back in a heartbeat? Sure, he’d talked to Nancy about the good things about anxiety. That was all part of the process, part of drilling down to his triggers, the big ‘why’ of his anxiety, because while it obviously was an illogical reaction to his shit life, that didn’t mean the reasons it was there were all illogical either. And so he had learned to look at his anxiety in a different light, and how it might make him more empathetic, more patient, more aware of his surroundings. He had done exercises where he wrote out what he appreciated about these traits. 

But the thing was– he could still be all those things without the anxiety. So, yeah. He’d give the anxiety back as long as it meant that he was still himself. Maybe one day, his anxiety might not disappear, but it could be something small enough that he’d carry it without feeling too much of its weight. He’d take with it the lessons, and leave the pain. He could hope, yeah? 

He wondered if Simba would feel that way. Right now, at the beginning of a journey with something like this, it probably felt– massive. Like a huge wall that he’d run into head first, not something he could slip into his pocket and keep hidden from the rest of the world. 

Course he had no idea how he was gonna say any of this to Simba– in fact, he probably shouldn’t. They had always been too different. The way Simba handled this, how he might feel about it in the future, none of that Ber could speak to. 

Berlioz propped himself up on his elbow now, his one hand still across Simba’s chest. “You’re still you though, y’know?” Berlioz chose to say. “If you have it, I mean. You’re still you. And you can deal with it the way you want.” 

SIMBA: You are still you.

Maybe that was what Simba wanted to hear, but it still begged a million more questions. Was the person he was…bad? Was the person he was not the best version of himself? Was the person he was because of this chemical imbalance? If he took medicine, would he not be himself then? And would that self be one that people liked more than who he really was? These were probably not questions for his husband, but ones for his therapist but…

“Can I?” Simba asked, snorting lightly. He sat up in the bed, no longer under the pretense that he was going to sleep anytime soon. His mind was racing and he felt restless, uncomfortable in his own skin. He sat with his back against the headboard, his arm still around Ber’s shoulders. 

“If I don’t take medicine and then…I don’t know--forget something, it will have been entirely preventable and you’ll be upset with me…or someone else will be upset with me. But--if I take medication…will I even be the same person anymore? What if it changes me too much? What if I won’t recognize myself? Or--what if it doesn’t even make a difference and then I’m left forgetting things and being incompetent and having people get pissed at me for this thing that I should be able to fix but can’t fix? And if I don’t fix what’s broken isn’t that bad?” 

BERLIOZ: These were all pretty valid questions, lots of which were echoed by Berlioz’s own experience with meds. Only– he’d wanted the meds. He’d thought that popping a pill and getting a brand new personality was the solution to everything, as easy as putting on a new coat and pair of shoes. But his doctor hadn’t wanted to do meds, not at first, because of the complexity of them. Antidepressants and anti-anxiety pills were no joke. There were dozens of types all with their own side effects and finding the right dosage was playin’ a game of darts with a blindfold. That’s what Nancy had said. 

He had valium when shit got real tough. Always a small dose. Just enough mgs to keep him calm. And she’d encouraged him to keep using weed too, if that helped, and it did, so that’s what his treatment plan had thus far looked like. He had not put on a new personality; his identity remained in tact. 

As for Simba– there were other options sides Adderall, right? For a while, Pep was barely on his and kinda functioned, more or less. During uni years, he had seemed like himself too. Meds were probably not a bad thing– but every person was different, y’know? 

“I dunno if… I mean, broken’s a harsh word,” said Ber. “But I think no matter what you do– none of its permanent, y’know? You can go off meds if you hate ‘em. You can try other things. I mean, Pep has ADHD and he wasn’t always on his meds, he mainly took ‘em when it was revision. I know you both are different,” he added quickly. Very, very different. 

“It’s just…it’s okay I guess to be in a gray area for a while, that’s all. Just depends on what you want, mi amor,” he added softly. “I mean, did you feel broken before all this? Do you feel like you need any of that stuff?” 

SIMBA: A gray area.

Simba hated gray areas. He always had. His whole life. Even as a very little kid. He’d always had opinions. What foods he liked (most foods.) What music (most music.) What people (most of them.) 

That was one of the reasons he felt so off kilter. This was a gray area now. A gray area of whether or not he had ADHD. There had been no formal diagnosis. Merely a question. It wasn’t even the first time it’d been posed to him. Marzel had asked. Had assumed. Simba had laughed at him, but as he laughed, gray clouds of doubt had gathered inside of him. He’d promptly forgotten, of course, under the weight of everything else--Arthur’s death, Marisa’s death, Dian’s disappearance. His run for Board, his alcoholism being plastered everywhere. 

He had forgotten. Ha. The irony was clear as day now. 

The question made Simba scoff, but behind the scoff was a painful burning. In his chest, in his throat, behind his eyes. It felt like his heart had been lit on fire and gray smoke was billowing up through him. 

“I dunno,” he said and shrugged his shoulders. 

“There are times…I just…I always just thought it was because I was stupid. When I forget things or…have trouble reading. Or can’t focus on writing a paper. I just…always thought I wasn’t meant for school. I  remember, when I was a kid--I always felt like…I was trying ten times harder than all the other kids and I got in trouble more than anyone else, but I was different for a hundred different reasons. How many legacy kids at Sevenoaks do you think looked like me? Though, I guess that excuse never really made sense, considering Nala…” He snorted. 

“All my teachers treated me like I was not worth anyone’s time so I just--cheated. And I did well at other things. Sports. Making friends. Because that’s who I am. Someone who is good at sports. At making friends. But what if I--could’ve been good at the other stuff too? And why didn’t my parents ever realize anything was wrong?” 

BERLIOZ: Most of this wasn’t exactly news to Berlioz. He knew that Simba thought he was stupid. He said as much, though always with a laugh or something, like if he was smiling, then everyone would know it was a joke and laugh with him, not at him. Ber had done similar things. He’d been the first person to ever call himself crazy, terrified of hearing that word come from another person’s mouth. But he didn’t think Simba had been the first. That was the difference. He’d heard it from other people and slowly believed it, until it got comfortable enough to wear around the way Ber wore his leather jacket. 

But that was pretty messed up.

The rest was messed up too– that Simba could struggle and no one could see, that his parents wouldn’t wonder and ask the right questions. It was easy to get angry at both Sarabi and Mufasa here in the future, from a distance. Ber had felt the same toward his own parents too. Mostly Adelaide obviously, but really Hector was to blame as well– both of them hadn’t been around enough to glimpse Ber’s pain, even if Ber tried to mask that pain anyway. 

But y’know, over the years, some of that anger loosened. Raising kids was difficult. There was a tonne of shit that no one taught you. Adelaide, so annoyingly neurotypical, raised in her silver bubble, given everything, adored at such a young age for talent that had been nurtured, had no idea what it was like to be anxious. If she’d never seen it for herself, how could she recognize it in her own son? 

So. Yeah. Ber understood. But he’d climbed over those hills and arrived on the other side, had sympathy now, and little regret. 

Might take Simba some time to get there too. 

“I mean, a lot of this stuff– when we were growin’ up, it wasn’t like it was talked about much. And I guess they had other things on their mind. It’s not an excuse or anything,” he added quickly. “It’s not fair, you’re right. I used to wonder what if about a lot of things too. But…I mean, I like my life now. With you.” He nudged Simba. “I wouldn’t wanna change anything that led me here. It’s more about goin’ forward, y’know? Getting a diagnosis and treatment could make things easier for you, maybe.” 

SIMBA: Simba wanted to argue. ADHD was supposedly over-diagnosed in the late nineties and early two-thousands. Right when he should have been diagnosed. He had grown up with the think pieces floating around. It wasn’t like anxiety or depression, it didn’t have the same stigma. Not necessarily. Not when you could give a kid a pill and supposedly they’d turn into a perfect student. It was a horrible thing, all the discourse around it. He’d learned about plenty of it in his courses, but he remembered hearing about it when he was growing up too. 

It wasn’t the same. Someone should have known. All it would’ve taken was one teacher, who believed in him or saw something in him that wasn’t stupidity or lack of trying. All it would have taken was for one of his parents to think something was wrong instead of thinking that Simba was just a failure, who didn’t take his legacy and privilege seriously. How many times had he heard that growing up? 

Simba, I just don’t understand. You have so much more than so many other people, you need to appreciate that. One day, you will take over InterPride and  you cannot do that if you flunk out of your business module. Simba, sit down. Simba, stop fidgeting. Simba, pay attention. 

He knew Ber was trying to help but it just felt like…

“I wish Dr. Powers never would’ve said anything,” Simba finally said, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “If he hadn’t I’d just--keeping going through my life the way I am, even if it was wrong. But now--how is a diagnosis gonna help? All it does is make me realize, not for the first time, that my whole life has been--I don’t know. Some sort of comedic farce. How does any of that make things easier? It just makes me…” He searched for a moment, trying to pin down the feeling in his chest: “...angry.” 

BERLIOZ: Ber definitely couldn’t relate– anger was never the feeling he jumped to first. When anger arrived, it was after he’d already beat himself up. When anger arrived, it was because he was exhausted and desperate for another way out. Anger became a hand that could lift him from the dark.

But he knew his husband– and his husband responded with anger, maybe not first or second, but certainly up there. 

And he had a lot to be angry about. 

Ber was angry for him too, in his unique way. The whole InterPride debacle was bullshit - should have never put that on a kid’s shoulders in the first place. Taka was a nightmare. His long-lost vampire relatives? A horror show. No one deserved so much shit, back to back to back. Berlioz worried, sometimes, it would never stop.

Though in comparison with all that, getting diagnosed with ADHD seemed small and manageable, didn’t it? Unless it wasn’t– to Simba.

And that’s all that mattered here. Not Ber’s feelings, but Simba’s. And Ber was never one to tell Simba what he had to do. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty unfair,” he agreed quietly. Cuz it was, even if Ber would have found relief in it– he probably would wonder why it took so long, why he had to pivot his life now, so he got that part. “But if that’s how you feel, then you don’t have to get diagnosed. I love you the way you are.” He shrugged in the dark. “Even if you forget stuff sometimes or interrupt me or…whatever. I don’t mind. I like those things about you. So if you’ve had ADHD or not, it doesn’t have to change things, really.” A pause. “I just want you to be happy.” 

SIMBA: Simba sighed, trying to dispel some of that anger. It was true that it was hard to hold onto his anger when he was warm under the sheets with Ber, his husband’s body solid against his own. That was why he had waited until it was late and they were lying in the dark, in their bed to bring this up. Here it was easy to shut out everything else. Something that looked so harsh in the light of day could be softer, more gentle in the dark. 

He managed a small smile for Ber, leaning to kiss his forehead. 

The thing was…as much as he believed Berlioz, he also didn’t. Simba was extremely aware of how bad his forgetfulness could get. Especially when he was busy. It hadn’t been so bad recently, but he still remembered their disastrous attempts at wedding planning (kidnapping wedding planner aside.) He remembered the fights they’d had, how awful they had been. And even though he knew Ber meant it, that he loved Simba the way he was…would those be the sorts of things that wore down their marriage over the years?

Birthdays forgotten? Dates missed? What about if they had children? Would Simba miss performances? Would he forget school projects? Would he not give them the attention that they needed? 

Simba didn’t know the answers to those questions and that…bothered him, just as much as the rest. It felt impossible. He felt more lost than ever before. Every time he took a step forward, it felt like he was taking two more back. He was so tired of constantly fighting to just--be happy. Once, it had been so easy, hadn’t it? Maybe that was a lie too. The lie of childhood. 

“I am trying,” he told Ber honestly. He was the only person Simba would admit such a thing to. That he had to try. That it didn’t come as natural as sunshine to him, which was what he projected to everyone else. 

He moved back down to put his head on the pillow, rolling onto his side and sliding his hand around Ber’s warm ribs. 

“I’ll figure it out.” He kissed him once, softly. “Thank you for always being here. Love you.”

#swynberlioz #simber #putting the pieces together #<3 #otp: cuddle if you'd like #otp: someday #otp: climbing over garden walls #otp: stupid beautiful boy #otp: i think you're lovely #otp: socked feet and all #otp: true love's kiss #otp: i wanna make plans with you #otp: let's go to vegas #realized this has been done for weeks and i forgot to post it lol

[hunnybadgerv]

Kissing Day at Skyhold | Dragon Age | A Templar’s Promise

Summary: The Hawke family didn’t celebrate many holidays, but there is one Kirkwall festival that’s always held a special place for Aderyn … Kissing Day.

a/n: This was inspired by a wonderful prompt from @thesecondsealwrites. She sent a nice little suggestion: From the types of kisses prompt lists: stay in bed kisses, mischievous and deep, punctuating flirtatiously whispered bargaining words. OTP of your choice. I really appreciated it. I tried it with a few different pairings, before this just happened. Thank you again for the prompt, and hope you enjoy one Hawke’s quiet celebration of this holiday.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

Kissing Day at Skyhold

The sun crept into the room slowly, like a thief intent on making off with the comfortable slumber of a loving couple. The twitter of birds waking in Skyhold’s gardens slipped into the room on the swirling breezes that fluttered the leaves of the creeping ivy that invaded through the wide-open gouge in the roof.

Aderyn watched the sunlight shift through the dancing leaves, which made them glow in vibrant shades of green. She had no desire to move, no reason to climb out of her lover’s embrace and welcome the day. At that moment, she was perfectly content to remain lazy and relaxed. For she knew it would end soon enough.

Using his thick arm as a pillow, their legs still entwined from the post-coital cuddling that lulled them to sleep in the dark of night. The shift of his leg along hers brought a smile to her lips and a soft thrum hung in her throat. The sun cast its light through the gaping hole in the ceiling. She only spared a single moment of thought for why this feature of her lover’s quarters had yet to be repaired. Her attention turned to the progress of the light on the wall opposite.

Two rows of brick, she thought.

Once the sun rose high enough in the sky that it shone upon two full rows of dingy gray stone, then Cullen would stir. He possessed the most precise internal clock she ever encountered. Much like her father Malcolm, Cullen Rutherford was an early riser and could be a cheerful sod when circumstances allowed it. In most people it annoyed her, but she adored that trait in him. Seeing his smile first thing in the morning always made the day a little easier to bare.

The light moved slowly that morning. Its pace and her mind tormented her with ideas that left her skin tingling with the remnants of thoughts and memories of both soft and passionate sunrise exchanges with her love. But, of course, today wasn’t just any morning.

Over the years in Kirkwall, she’d become quite a proponent of one if its more innocuous, though well-celebrated, holidays. Many decried Kissing Day as a bawdy, materialistic display, though their comments usually fell on deaf ears. Aderyn viewed it in another light entirely. Perhaps because she was unable to openly display affection for the man she loved when she lived in the city.

This would be the first time she’d get to celebrate that day with in him the open, freely, with no fear of who might catch the former templar kissing a known mage, an apostate. The genteel smile on her lips widened at the thought, then spread even further as Cullen shifted.

Sure enough. Two rows, she confirmed with a quick shift of her gaze.

The arm pinned beneath her head, curled around her shoulder and his other hand skimmed across her stomach as he groaned softly. A tender kiss pressed against her temple; his lips lingered lingering there, warm but a little rough against her skin.

“Good morning, love,” she whispered, turning her head toward the touch of his lips.

“And to you, my dear.” His voice held a trace of his smile. As she rolled onto her side to face him, Cullen squeezed her tight. “Did you not sleep well?” he asked. He knew her too well, and she was almost never awake before him. Calloused fingers brushed fiery red curls away from her face as he studied her countenance.

“Perfectly well,” she said. Her answer wiped the furrow of worry from his brow.

“Then why are you the first awake?”

“You don’t remember what today is, do you?” His amber eyes narrowed and Aderyn was certain he was running through a mental list of every significant date in their relationship. As the silence stretched, she finally chuckled and offered him a trace of mercy. “I’ll give you a hint.”

With that, she set her hand on his cheek and brushed his lips with her own in a way that was so gentle as to be nearly ethereal. Her gesture, meant to spark memory, went further in delicate, refined increments. Her mouth moved more firmly against his; her tongue peeked out to trace his lips in a silent request. When his lips parted, the kiss deepened and left him groaning into her mouth.

All the while, Cullen’s comfortable embrace, which had cradled her close, pulled her body ever tighter against his. One hand supported the back of her head in an effort to discourage an end to the passionate display. His other hand slid along every curve of her, which he knew so well, encouraging Aderyn to extend her reminder until the quick little gasps of breath they managed to steal here and there proved not to be enough.

Short of breath, she pressed her forehead against Cullen’s once the kiss broke. “Now, do you recall?” she asked with glee brightening her tone.

“If I say I don’t know, will you kiss me like that again?” His lips pulled into a wide grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“For that, you don’t have to say anything.” Her laughter was quickly muffled as their lips met again.

The gentle breeze whispering through the room was drowned out by the soft, amorous hums and growls of the lovers’ passion. Cullen rolled onto his back, pulling Aderyn atop him. It allowed his hands to roam her bare skin far more freely, which she never would seek an argument against.

“You still don’t know?” she asked, propping herself up on crossed arms that lay across his broad chest.

“I know all the things today is not,” he said. His fingered traced the curve of her rear from the small of her back, downward, and back again.

Aderyn gasped at him in feigned indignation and pinched him on the nipple in punishment. He replied with a pinch of his own that left her squirming atop him until he embraced her tight again. Again, she stilled, balanced atop him, her body and limbs balanced precisely atop his, with giggles still upon her lips.

“You forgot my favorite holiday?” she accused, giving him a glare of mock upset.

“It is not Kissing Day,” he corrected, flipping her onto her back and covering her with himself. Leaning on his elbows, he loomed over her. “It’s three days hence.”

Aderyn tipped her head back in laughter. “Cullen, my love. It’s not on the twelfth this year.” She laid her hands on either side of his neck. “It’s the day, not the date.”

Cullen didn’t argue; he just kissed her again. “It was far easier to keep track of in Kirkwall.”

“That’s because everything in the city was draped in red or painted with hearts and puckered lips.” She blew a quick kiss at him as a demonstration.

His smile warmed her heart. It was so relaxed, and the way it lit his amber eyes took her breath away. She couldn’t remember the last time he seemed so carefree. He nudged her nose upward with his in order to achieve better access to her mouth. Draping one arm over his shoulder, the fingers of her other hand grazed his cheeks and his brow as he kissed her. Aderyn could imagine not greater start to this holiday—save one.

Their lips lingered; fingertips savored the familiar dips and contours of one another’s bodies as the sun crept higher in the mountain sky. The clang of steel could be heard above the birdsong now. Aderyn clung to Cullen, knowing full well exactly which choruses of Skyhold would pull him from her embrace.

His lips brushed hers in languid pecks, far shallower than she would have preferred. This signal she knew all too well. He would pull away soon, called from the warmth of her embrace, of her body, by duty. Even dropping the mantle of templar didn’t preclude their separations, though his service as commander of the Inquisition’s troops didn’t require the kind of absolute distance that existed between them in Kirkwall, or Lothering before that. In Kirkwall, an unveiled look could have doomed them both. In public, every look and every word were strictly guarded.

Here though, at Skyhold, that kind of separation was rarer. There were times when they would catch one another’s lingering gaze from across the courtyard, and an exchange that would have ended in cold aloofness just months earlier, usually concluded with soft smiles brimming with promises for later. There were no worries about the cost of a blatant touch of the hand. Aderyn had come to adore sunsets here in an all new way—with Cullen at her back, his arms around her, his lips brushing her ear with whispers of how no sunset could compare to her.

In bed, he shifted his weight to one side as he brushed his fingers over her red-gold curls. The look in his eyes became distant and forlorn, as if he was trying to find the right farewell before climbing out of bed.

“Don’t go,” she said before he could settle on his words.

“Aderyn.” He spoke her name with the same kind of softness he used to answer the same request with in the wee morning hours in Kirkwall after those rare evening when they could steal time together. It was consoling, but held a scolding hint beneath the surface—as if to remind them both of the consequences of such indulgences.

“One day,” she started. When his lips thinned, Aderyn acquiesced. “One morning, then. Surely that can’t be too much to ask.”

“I adore you—”

“But,” Aderyn said before he could.

Cullen stared down at her and sighed through his nose. “I have a duty.”

With a sigh of her own Aderyn let her hands drop to the mattress. “I’m all too aware.” With a heavy dose of petulance, she sighed again and glanced past his shoulder toward the leaves near the hole in the ceiling. “Duty, honor, sacrifice, and all that nonsense.” She could feel the pout on her lips. “Just this once—”

Cullen pressed his index finger to her lips. “You always say that.”

“And how often does it work?” she countered despite his finger.

“More often than once,” he reminded, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“But not this time?” The pouting returned, even dipping into the tone of her melodic voice.

“You seem determined to think so, but have I moved?” he challenged. He brushed his fingers over her forehead as he traced her brow line.

This brought a hopeful smile to her lips, which widened his.

“But I will have to leave long enough to notify your brother that he’s on his own with the training today.”

“Must you write it now?” she asked, as her hands snaked across his shoulders once more.

“Seems like it might be best.”

Her lips brushed his. “Could it wait a bit. In a while, I’ll have to retrieve your surprise from the kitchens. You can write it then,” she said between soft, playful kisses.

Cullen pulled away slightly. “What kind of surprise?”

“That chocolate almond pear cake of my mother’s that you love so much.”

“You shared that recipe with the cooks?”

“Of course,” she said, leaning up to press a kiss upon his mouth. “How could I not? Especially today.”

“Aderyn, I love you,” he said with a soft laugh and an appreciative smile. “Even when you pout,” he added against her mouth.

Any argument she might have made faded away as Cullen’s kiss deepened quickly. Aderyn pulled him closer, her leg skimming his hip and hooking over it. She was bound and determined to spend as much of this holiday right there, wrapped up in the sheets with him. They’d never been able to spend a Kissing Day thus, though she hoped it might well become a new tradition for them.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Fanfiction #Badger Scribbles #Kissing Day at Skyhold #Cullen Rutherford #Aderyn Hawke #Kissing Day #Kissing Day Celebration #Kissing Day 2017 #thesecondsealwrites #Thank you so much for this prompt #It was a lot of fun to write #And I love having the chance to give Aderyn and Cullen a nice fluffy moment #They get far too few #Seal's Kissing Day Celebration