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#this is new information to me. not unwelcomed just very new
wolfiesmoon · 3 months
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Shaky hands
Twisted wonderland x gn!reader
my hands are very shaky, especially when i get nervous or uncomfortable and since i often get embarrased and inconvenienced by them why not have someone comfort me for that instead ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅Malleus Draconia
Malleus just assumes you're scared of him like the rest and are pretending to stay calm.
I mean, if your hands shake so much when around him, that must be what it is. That is a clear-cut sign of fear, after all.
He doesn't mind it, but he doesn't get why you keep insisting to hang out with him then.
But you, on the other hand, like Malleus. Like like him. And it just so happens that your hands become ten times more shaky around your crush. You try to cover it up by fiddling with them and keeping them distracted but it's still obvious a lot of the time.
"Are you scared of him?" Lilia asks you, tone still calm and casual.
"Ah, no... You've got it all wrong..." you denied, cheeks heating a little.
It should be fine to tell Lilia, right? He might be a tiny little bit cunning but you doubt that he'd take this information to his advantage and blackmail you or something. He wouldn't do you like that.
"I, ummm... like him." You hid your hands behind your back to hide your obvious nervousness.
"Oh my. I never expected to hear this in a thousand years." Lilia's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't seem upset or like he was going to take advantage of you. Just pleasantly surprised.
"Just how much do you doubt Malleus...?" Lilia laughed at your comment.
"Depends on what field we're talking about. You should make a move. Who knows what might happen."
So here you are, walking next to Malleus, about to do something bold. Which happens to be gently holding his hand.
Listen, that's bold in Malleus standards.
You try to calm your hands down but nothing works so you just give up and go for it, gently taking his very still hand into your shaking one.
His hands are surprisingly warm.
"Why are you holding onto me?" He asks a bit coldly and a slight shiver runs through you. You're still not used to his cold, blunt way of speaking sometimes.
"I, ummm... how do I explain this... this is supposed to be... You know what? Do you mind it?" You just realised he might not like the feeling.
"It's strange but not particularly unwelcome. Are you not scared?" He asks, making you tilt your head. Scared of what?
"Your hands keep shaking."
"O-Oh, about that... don't worry about it. They always do." You gave him a somewhat awkward smile. He always seems to glance at your hands when you're together. So he must have been looking at that.
"Oh, I see." He replies simply.
Somehow, he feels a little relieved that you aren't afraid of him too.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅Leona Kingscholar
You narrowly avoided getting a corrosive potion spilled on you just 10 minutes ago, and your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline.
Oh my god, why does this school insist on giving you a new heart attack every day? When it isn't Grim, Deuce and Ace causing trouble it's narrowly avoiding being melted by a potion.
You don't know why, but you ended up in the garden where Leona sometimes falls asleep. Your legs just kind of took you there.
He was already awake when you found him.
"Why are you here? I thought you actually cared about class, or something." He yawned.
"I actually.... don't really know."  You looked off at some of the plants, too awkward to look him in the eye.
"What happened?" He asked all of a sudden. You must still look scared and shaken up.
"Ummm, a dangerous potion almost spilled all over me." You explained, twiddling your fingers to make your hands look less shaky.
He sighed. "If that's all, then stop shaking like a leaf." He sounded annoyed, but you doubt that he actually was. He almost seemed relieved.
"It's not that easy, genius." You shot back, furrowing your brows.
Suddenly he grabbed both of your arms, clasping them together in his own. "There. Problem solved." You had no idea if he held your hands on purpose or if that's just his simple solution to prevent shaky hands.
The slight blush on his cheeks would compel you to think it's the former.
Actually, you're not sure if you want to know the answer. What in the world would you do if a prince fell in love with you? It's a children's story book you don't even want to begin to imagine right now, as tempting as it is.
"Hey, Leona! I brought you your- Ooooh!~"
You tried pulling your hands away but Leona's grasp was too tight. He could have easily let go of your hands and pretended nothing's happened, but he didn't. Okay, now this is really weird.
"Since when are you into herbivores?" Ruggie smirked.
"Shut up, Ruggie."
Ruggie looked to you, looking for a possible explanation from you instead.
"No comment." you avoided eye contact.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅Riddle Rosehearts
You looked really nervous and scared to Riddle at that moment. And you really were.
You have a really important test in 15 minutes and your hands can't seem to calm down. You're already getting frustrated at them, attempting to stabilize them against a surface or taking deep breaths, but alas, nothing works.
"You seem to be troubled." He mentioned, glancing down at your hands.
"Oooh, it's really obvious, isn't it...?" You sighed. This is way too embarrasing.
"It's quite alright, I get how you feel." Riddle's tone became a little quieter and more gentle and he sat down next to you.
"Can you distract me for a bit? I mean, if you aren't too busy with dorm stuff." You fiddled with your fingers, hoping he would say yes.
Riddle is strangely calm around you. When you're with Ace, Grim and Deuce he's his usual uptight dorm leader self but when the two of you are alone that tone fades away.
How strange.
"Are you listening?" Riddle snaps you out of it, furrowing his brows.
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" You scratched the back of your head clumsily.
"You're always lost in thought. You should get rid of that habit. And it's rude to not listen to the other person when they speak." He scolds you. Sometimes he worries that you do that in class, too.
"Right..." you clenched your shirt, hand still shaking a little.
"This clearly isn't going to work. Let's revise one last time together." He clapped his hands, waiting for you to take out your notebook.
"Are you sure you have the time to be doing this?" You asked, now really worried that you're keeping him from something important he should be doing.
"It's shameful of me, truly." Riddle sighed, not explaining what he meant any further and leaning the notebook towards you so you can revise.
Somehow, he's willing to ignore his house warden duties to help you calm down. He wants to be concerned by that, but how can he leave you alone when you look so worried?
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I swear i intended to write for someone new this time😭 oh well maybe next time
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ineffablesuffering · 7 months
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Pub Quiz (Crowley X Reader)
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*not my gif!*
Warnings: use of alcohol, i think that's it? oh and crowley in a turtleneck - thats a major warning.
Pairing: Crowley x gn!reader.
Word Count: 2,355 (i got a bit carried away writing this whoops)
Note: to the lovely anon that sent me a request; i'm working on it! i see you!
Masterlist
_____________________________________
“Oh, c’mon it will be fun, you never want to do anything fun,” you whine.
“I’m plenty fun,” Crowley said, sipping his whisky. You roll your eyes at him. The Drunken Donkey was hosting a music quiz and you were desperate to go.  You had grown up around all sorts of music and back when you were a young teenager discovering the world of ‘decent music’ as your dad had put it, he would test you on your knowledge and it was something you had become quite fond of.
“Please,” you beg, “I’ll buy you a new plant, wash the Bentley, and buy you a drink.”
Crowley let out a sigh and looked down as he swirled the whisky in his glass. It’s not as if he had anything better to do with his time and he was rather fond of spending time with you, not that he’d ever admit that. An uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, feeling pulled on his heart when he looked up at you to see you giving your best puppy dog eyes. “Fine! Fine,” he said exasperatedly, “but don’t complain when I beat you.”
“We’ll see about that,” you say with a cheeky grin.
A few hours later, you were waiting for Crowley to make an appearance outside The Drunken Donkey. You had returned home to get changed into something a bit more appropriate for an evening in the pub, and so it seems had Crowley. He rounded the corner and you had to try to stop your jaw from hanging open. He wore all black, which was nothing new but the turtleneck jumper? Yeah, that was new, and he looked downright sinful.
“Well don’t you scrub up nicely,” you say when he approaches you, butterflies erupting in your stomach.
“Not so bad yourself,” he comments with a smirk. Your cheeks flame. “Ready to lose?”
“Oh, you’re so on.”
You both head inside and Crowley heads to find a seat in the busy pub as you approach the bar.
“What can I get for you my lovely,” the woman behind the bar said. You order yourself your favourite drink and a large Talisker for Crowley, before tapping your card and heading off to find him.  
“For you,” you say placing down the whisky in front of him. He shoots you a small smile that’s enough to make you clutch your drink a little bit tighter before sitting down opposite him. “So basically, you need to have this app to take part in the quiz, you just put your name in it and then tap the right answer. Simple! Do you need help or are you old enough to do it by yourself?”
“Oh, very funny,” he huffs pulling his phone out and situating himself. “Now remember; no crying when you lose,” he smirks at you. You just look at him as you take a sip from your drink.
“We’ll see about that,” you put your own information into your phone. “Shall we make a bet?”
“A bet with a demon Y/N? That’s a bit risky, even for you.” He gives you a wicked grin and he leans in closer. You can smell his cologne at this proximity, and it makes your palms sweat a little bit. You really do need to sort yourself out.
“Well,” you lean in, not letting the proximity to him make you nervous. “I’m feeling rather confident tonight.”
“Okay then. If I win, you have to buy me a coffee every day for the next two weeks.”
“And if I win, you have to drive me around in the Bentley for two weeks, chauffeur hat and all.” You smile sweetly holding out your hand. He grins and shakes your hand.
“Deal.”
Soon the quiz master is telling you the rules, and you feel a sense of nervousness in your stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea, he did have nearly 6,000 years of experience on you, which is an awful lot of time to listen to music. The quiz master explained that there was to be four rounds; the 1980s, the Naughties, Guess the Next Line and a round specifically dedicated to Queen. Crowley perked up when he heard the last round, he smiled smugly at his phone, thinking he had this in the bag. It would be nice to not have to pay for coffee for two weeks, he thought to himself. He takes a quick glance at you over the top of his sunglasses, seeing you slightly wiggle in your seat. Your nerves, weirdly, gave him a sense of confidence.
“Okay ladies and gents, Round One: The 1980s,” the quiz master starts. The first song plays and within the first second, you’re tapping the answer.
“What?” you say as you look up and see Crowley staring at you slightly open-mouthed.
“How did you know that so quickly? The song barely started!” he points out.
You feel your nerves start to disperse and that sense of confidence washes over you again as you shrug with a smug smile on your face getting ready for the next song. The opening notes to The Look by Roxette play as you tap again within the first few notes of the song. You start to sway along in your seat. You hear Crowley growl as you continue to get the questions right and get them right quickly.
Soon the round comes to an end and the quiz master puts the leaderboard up and you smile smugly at Crowley as you see your name at the top of the board and him close behind in second place.
“What was that about you beating me?” you grin cheekily.
“Shut up,” he grumbles “It’s only round one. Don’t get too cocky.”
You giggle at him; the host announces that they are starting round two. You shoot him a wink before looking back down at your phone getting ready to start. You miss the redness that dusts his cheeks.
After the end of the round, you find yourself at the top of the leaderboard again, but this time Crowley is only a few points behind you and getting closer.
“I’m catching up to you, Y/N,” he says smugly, “You seemed to miss a few songs there, are you slipping?”
“No,” you say confidently. “I just know the 80s better.”
“I see,” he finishes his drink. “Another?” He gestures to your now empty glass. You nod at him before he heads off to the bar. A small smile graces your lips. You rather enjoy spending time with the demon. You love spending time with Aziraphale too, but this was different. Crowley just seemed to get you and your sense of humour. He was kind, although he would never admit it. He once acquired a first edition copy of your favourite book for your birthday one year, but he brushed it off as something that anyone would do. That’s when your feelings towards him started. Something about the gesture was so heartfelt and thoughtful that you couldn’t help but fall just a little bit in love with him. You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the drink being placed in front of you and Crowley retaking his seat.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, startling you.
“Oh sorry,” your cheeks heat again, a common occurrence around Crowley, “I was just thinking about how I can’t wait to be driven around by you for the next two weeks,” you reply cooly, not letting your thoughts get the best of you. He takes a sip of his drink and leans back in his chair, not quite believing you.
“Hmm, I wouldn’t get too comfortable Y/N,” he smirked at you.
Before you could respond, the quiz master introduced the third round. The round went by smoothly, and you were now tied with Crowley in first place, who had been slowly creeping up behind you as the round went on. You felt yourself becoming more nervous as you went into the Queen round, knowing this is something that Crowley would do well in. It really was anybody's game. The round goes by quickly and before you know it the quiz was over. You look at Crowley and he looks back at you. He seems nervous. The quiz master is soon displaying the final results and you see your name at the top of the leaderboard, one point ahead of Crowley.
“Would you look at that,” you cheer smugly, sticking your tongue out at him.
“Don’t be so juvenile,” he groans at you.
“Don’t be so sour,” you grin at him “Oh I can’t wait to have a personal driver for the next two weeks.”
“You just got lucky.”
You lean over the table, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said giving your face a once over, ever so slightly lingering on your lips.
You lean back in your seat, feeling quite proud of yourself. “You know, I think I should demand one of those special apology dances you make Aziraphale do for you.”
“Absolutely not.” He said, finishing his drink, “I don’t do the dance.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” you bring the last of your drink to your lips with a smirk.
“Shut up,” he huffs, glancing around the still-busy pub, the quiz long forgotten by everyone else in the room. The night was still young and despite him losing to you, he was rather enjoying his evening and didn’t want it to end. His gaze lands back on you as you type out something on your phone. “Do you maybe want to come back to the bookshop for one more?” he asks. He sounded nervous, as if you might reject his offer. “Aziraphale’s in Edinburgh visiting a friend, and I know he’s got some lovely vintage wine hiding somewhere.”
“Yeah, I’d like that a lot,” you smile at him, and he smiles back. He stands up and offers you a hand which you take, and you walk down the street to the bookshop.
A few moments later, you were in Aziraphale’s bookshop lounging on his sofa with Crowley. You sat cross-legged facing him, and he had an arm stretched behind the back of the sofa, sunglasses placed on the table by the door. You suggest to Crowley that you should put some music on, he snaps his fingers, and the sounds of Duran Duran filled the air. You smile at him, of course, he knows how much you loved them. It’s just the kind of demon he was, thoughtful, kind, and caring. One glass turns into two as the music continues to play in the background and you talk about this that and everything in between. He tells you tales of Rome and Athens way back when and you watch him talk. He describes everything in such a way that draws you closer to him. His hands waving around as he talks, little drops of wine occasionally falling from the glass that he never thinks to put down. He truly was a sight to behold.
“You’re staring,” he said finally placing his glass down.
“Am I?” you say blinking, you turn your head to the side.
“Hey, I never said I minded,” he said, your attention suddenly back on him. Was he flirting with you? The butterflies returned to your stomach, and you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the way he spoke to you. He stood suddenly; a hand stretched out towards you. “Care to dance?”
You look at his outstretched hand for a beat before a shy smile appears on your face as you gently place your hand onto his. He helps you stand and is quick to pull you close to him. You look at him and he looks at you with a small smile on his face as he snakes a hand around your waist. The music suddenly changes into the soft melody of Spandau Ballet’s True. You giggle and hide your head in his chest. Was this his doing? You look up and find him gazing at you.
“So…” you begin.
“So…”
“This is different,” you smile.
“A good different or a bad different?” he asks twirling you.
“A good different.” You say before falling into a comfortable silence. You lean your head on his shoulder and he leans his on top of yours. The two of you swayed to the music as if you were the only two people on Earth.
“I’m glad you dragged me along tonight,” he says softly, the vibration of his words running over your body.
“I’m glad I convinced you to come, even if it means I need to buy you a plant and wash the Bentley.” You laugh. He chuckles.
“Don’t bother,” he says chuckling as he lifts his head. You move your own to look at him. He really did have the most beautiful eyes.
“I guess you’re right, I did win after all.” You grin at him, removing the hand that was once in his and placing it on his chest giving him a tap, “I’m just that good.” His now free hand now found its way to the side of your face. You tilt your head, confused at the movement. His face had an unreadable expression on it. “Crowley are yo-“
“Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up,” he said almost breathlessly, as he pulled you close and kissed you. A beat passes before your eyes flutter closed and you kiss him back, the hand that was once on his chest now cupping his face bringing him even closer to you. He pulls away just enough for him to rest his forehead against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he whispers just loud enough for you to hear him.
“Me too,” you whisper back, “Me too.”
He grins at you before kissing you again, his lips warm and soft against yours. He pulls back, a hand still cupping the side of your face, his thumb rubbing up and down against your jaw. “Would you maybe like to go out on a date sometime?” he asks softly. You nod, a smile wide on your face.
“Yeah, I would.”
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kisseobie · 4 days
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jasmine
pairing: non idol jongseob x fem!reader
genre: fluff
a saccharine summer evening spent at your favorite nail parlor is so much sweeter when you’re accompanied by a boy made out of star-shaped tangerines 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
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tags: established relationship, reader is slightly anxious, the sweetest boyfie seob, reader is sooo girly, slightly suggestive if you squint, jongseob thinks ur the prettiest girl in the world, usage of petnames (baby, princess, etc..), yall are so in love it’s sick, no smut in this but mdni pls
a/n: haiii everyone ^_^ so i haven’t written self inserts in years but i desperately crave more jongseob fics (as u can see from my last post lol) sooooo here i am!! this is very self indulgent but if i like how this goes i mighttttt start taking piwon requests :p please be kind as i haven’t written in a veryyyy long time… anyways enjoy 𓇼⋆。˚
listening to: jasmine - dpr live ♪
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“they have to soak off my previous set before they get started so you really don’t have to stay with me here if you don’t want to seob.. it’s gonna be 2 hours at least.”
you shyly inform him as you begin to retrieve your phone from your back pocket to search for your appointment confirmation email as the pair of you come to a gentle halt in front of the entrance of your favorite nail salon. you pause before entering, turning to face towards him as the salty breeze of the nearby boardwalk cards through jongseob’s copper colored hair, a sight that makes you swoon. “you sure you won’t be bored?” you ask shyly, and jongseob gives you a toothy grin in return, eyes crinkling softly as he tilts his head towards the sliding doors of the salon, a sweet and silent reply to your hesitance that speaks, “i’m never bored when i’m with you”. he slowly lifts his hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and kisses your cheek, all whilst interlacing his fingers with your slightly smaller ones as you both make your way into the salon.
you somehow find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with him.
it’s been just short of a year since kim jongseob first approached you, fidgeting with the fabric of his favorite hoodie and swaying back and forth on his heels to ease his nerves as he asked you for your number. the sweet boy expected for you to kindly let him down (partly because you had never spoken to him a day in your life, and partly because of the gorillaz logo on his apparel), but to his astonishment, you simply punched your number into his keypad, and one text reading: “hi :)” led to a plethora of late night conversations, hushed giggles shared in his bedroom, and coffee flavored kisses in the mornings (much to his roomates’ dismay).
he’s wearing that same hoodie this evening too.
the domesticity of your blooming relationship is new, but never unwelcome, so it didn’t surprise you when he asked to accompany you when you were cuddled up with him a few nights ago, haphazardly mentioning that you were planning to get a new set of acrylics soon. seob had been paying for your previous sets despite your constant disapproval, but this was his first time going with you to a booking, and it felt oddly intimate, like you were starting to enter a more serious stage of your relationship.
jongseob’s reassurance allows you to let go of your irrational fear of him dying of boredom during your appointment, and with that, you two carry onto your seven o’clock session.
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“girl, that’s your man? that’s the one you were telling me about?”
are the first words that leave your nail tech’s lips as as you settle down into her usual station, setting your purse to the side, straightening your jean skirt, and adjusting your bra strap as you question the surprise written all over her face. you had spent countless of sessions with her discussing your relationship with jongseob, her even being there for the details of your distant crush on him prior to you being asked out. always the persistent type, she had been practically begging for you to bring him around these last few appointments, mentioning something about “taking a good look” at the boy who had swiftly stolen your heart.
your tech must have noticed the slight blush of embarrassment appearing on your cheeks, because she jumped to clarifying her previous statement with, “i don’t mean that in a bad way babe! he’s definitely very attractive, i was just surprised you were so shy in approaching him is all.” at these words you tilted your head a bit, only more confused about the implications of what she was attempting to tell you.
“y/n, he was staring at you the entire time you were checking in like he’d hang the stars and moon for you if you’d ask. he had that dopey lovesick look and everything. he’s obviously smitten, you have literally nothing to worry about.” she relays to you with amusement as she dips your fingertips in acetone.
you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in and quietly giggle. “really? okay i’m really glad you said that, he’s been so sweet to pay for all of my sets without me even asking him to and i was just so worried that he’d hate me forever if he got bored sitting here. i think i’m just not used to doing simple chores with him rather than elaborately planned dates” you whisper to her. you then take a peek at your boyfriend’s comfortable form lounging on one of the hot pink seats of the salon, his nintendo switch clad in one hand, and his cheek pressing against the other. you notice he only has his left airpod in, just in case you needed to call for him. your heart melts at the sight, and you finally turn your full attention back to your tech, now removing your old set of nails.
as you wait patiently in your chair you begin to lightly sway your head to the song playing on a distant salon speaker, one that your boyfriend coincidentally has on repeat each time your with him nowadays. “it’s called jasmine, it reminds me of you.” is what you remember him telling you one morning, when you woke up for the first time in his bed, wired headphones connecting you both as the dpr live track overtook the cozy atmosphere.
every now and then you and seob glance at each other from across the salon, to which you both begin breaking out into big smiles and rosy cheeks. your nail technician carries on with replicating the reference nails you showed her to a T, but not without silently noting the heart eyes you and jongseob shoot at each other everytime your eyes happen to lock. this time, he mischievously motions for you to glance at your phone, a quiet “ding!” from your cell grasping both you and your tech’s attention.
[seobie ᥫ᭡]: you look so pretty right now baby, i’m so excited to feel your nails in my hair later lol
[seobie ᥫ᭡]: and maybe scratching my back too ;)
[seobie ᥫ᭡]: omg that was so embarrassing im so sorry please look away plead im so bad at this fuck
you look away from your screen embarrassingly fast, flustered and avoiding any eye contact with both your loser boyfriend (who is wallowing in his own embarrassment) and the woman now raising her eyebrows in front of you as she waits for your nails to cure under the uv lamp.
she is so making fun of you for that next time.
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“andddd we’re done! just go wash your hands and your boyfriend can pay at the desk. he looks like he’s gonna flip if he isn’t holding you in some way in the next two minutes and i really don’t need to witness that.” she exclaims, not without exaggeratedly rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
you begin to fully assess your fresh new set of acrylics, now topped off with a sparkly clear coat. your nail tech even added some oil to your cuticles to try and make up for months of self-inflicted damage. after a minute of observing, you hum in approval, deducing happily that your boyfriend is going to love the colors you chose: tangerine with hints of cherry red to subtly match with his hair.
“perfect, just like always. thank you so much!” you say while handing her a generous tip, to which she holds out her hand in refusal and shakes her head. “no tip today, just go spend some time with him, i’m so happy for you y/n, seriously.” she replies kindly. you give her a hug to say thanks and tuck the cash back into your purse, turning and making your way towards the chair your boyfriend is currently occupying as he watches you with a warm smile, hands crossed in front of his chest as he holds back a laugh.
“what’s so funny?” you question as you approach him slowly.
“i called her beforehand and sent her a tip for you, i knew you were gonna try to pay somehow.” he giggles as he stands up. you scoff, but deep down you know you should have known he would outsmart you like this.
“i can’t believe you! i’ve told you a hundred times before that i don’t want you to spend your money on me!” you try to reason with him, to which he cuts your frustration off with a simple “who’s going to take care of you then, princess? now show me your nails!” he says as he hovers his hands in front of him, a signal for you to follow suit so he can observe the result of the previous two hours of work.
you decide to drop the subject for now and let excitement take over once again at his request, bouncing up and down whilst placing your hands atop of his palms, not allowing him to speak before you explain that “they match your hair, see? i asked her to do orange and red ombre!! and i know you love stars so i also asked her to add little golden star studs on my pinky nails! what do you think babe?” you half squeal out at him, clearly awaiting his approval.
“you did this for me?” he asks.
you deflate a little, dreading the small chance that your next words will result in an underwhleming reaction from him. “well yeah, sorry if it’s weird, i just wanted to do something nice since you offered to accompany me even though you would just be sitting in your chair for two hou—” he cuts off your anxious rambling with a strong kiss to your lips, followed by both of his palms covering the sides of your face to pull you impossibly closer. you gasp from the sudden movement, and just as you close your eyes to reciprocate, your boyfriend pulls back to show you the prettiest smile you have ever seen on his face.
“i guess you like them.” you sheepishly respond, holding back a smile equally as large.
he just replies by peppering your tanned skin with tangerine flavored kisses, each peck accompanied with the words “i love you, i love you so much”.
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you and jongseob finally step out of the salon hand in hand, the cool air blowing onto your faces as you squeeze your interlocked fingers. jongseob presses on the pedestrian call button with one hand as you both anticipate the streetlamp to shift to green. you fill the comfortable silence with giggles and the occasional kiss to the cheek the entire commute to the subway, uncaring of prolonged glances from onlookers. words are only spoken an hour later when you’ve finally enter the warmth of his (and practically your) bedroom. jongseob turns towards you this time, clearly not as timid as he was hours before, smirking while pronouncing,
“in case you were still wondering, that offer from my text earlier still stands…”
it’s your turn to roll your eyes and shut him up, tugging him roughly towards you with the front of his stupid hoodie as your mouths connect with an urgency you’ve never felt before, the pair of you hurriedly falling on top of his bed as your nails make contact with his scalp.
𓇼⋆。˚
in the quiet of the night, considered by some as early hours of the morning, jongseob holds your bare frame tightly against his own as he strokes his hand along your freckled back. your warm breaths tuck into the small crevices of his chest as your tangerine tinted nails draw hearts lightly into his skin, and with that, the two of you gradually lull into a peaceful slumber, but not before you look up at him and whisper,
“i did it for you.”
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a/n: mwahahahahahahahaha it’s finally out.. thank u for being patient!! it was honestly so motivating to see that despite the fact that so many people had never read my writing before, their love for jongseob made them crave this fic soooo much LMFAOO we all are so down bad for this man it’s a bit insane. anyways like i said i haven’t written for years so this was short and a little choppy but i tried my best and hopefully i’ll get better with time ^_^ anyways i’ll be finishing up my next fic soon and then i’ll start working on requests!! thank u for reading, it means a lot to me <3
please do not repost my writing!
tags:
@chuuswifereal @angelcbf @lakoya @zendieya-8 @bambispostsblog @saturnh0ney @theyluvsosa @youresolivlie @woozixo @www90kitsch @sirenla @ihatewreckingballmains @curiousgworge @haileyyey @khfviq @highkeyadumbasslmao @lovebunnys-world @astro-doll-the-star @kyokopi @meowmeowjang @imma-penguin1 @sophia-is-tiny
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mybutcheredtongue · 19 days
Text
I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased
post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (see full series list here)
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1993
A man stands in the doorway, leaning on a long staff, hidden away behind the shadow of a black travelling coat. Every head in the Hall turns to him, a great crackle of lightning forking across the enchanted ceiling. The man lowers his hood and shakes out a man of long, grizzled, dark grey hair and makes his way up to your table.
The loud, dull clunk of a wooden leg echoes throughout the silent Hall with every step he takes, and your ears prick with the recognition of that clunk — you've heard that clunk before...many times before.
He makes it to your table, lightning flashing and illuminating the man's face. The skin of his face is scarred and looks rough to the touch. There's a large chunk of his nose missing, his mouth is thin and his lips are cracked. But nothing compares to his eyes — the most unsettling part about him.
One is small, dark, and beady. Dark like the depths of the Black Lake. The other is quite the opposite — as large as a coin, the iris a startling, vivid blue. It's encased within an eye patch, held on by straps of leather. The blue eyes moves without reason, spinning and twirling in its socket without blinking. And though the glass eye makes most look away from squeamishness, you give a little smile. You're well used to that eye by now, that skin, that clunk, that man.
It's the face of your old mentor, Alastor Moody.
Or, as he's more widely known...
Mad-Eye Moody.
Moody sits down at the table, shaking his man of grizzly hair. He pulls a small knife out his pocket, pulls a plate of sausages towards him, and spears one on the end of the knife before eating it.
"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore says brightly into the stunned silence. "Professor Moody."
Usually, the Hall erupts into applause from both the staff and teachers. However, tonight, it's only you, Dumbledore, and Hagrid that clap. Mad-Eye's not that bad, really, you just have to get used to him. He's a sweetheart!
Okay, that's a total lie.
But you do really just have to get used to his... peculiarities. Everyone'll be well adjusted to him by the end of the year, you're sure.
Moody doesn't seem to care about his unwelcome welcome, instead pulling a flask out of his pocket and taking a swig from it. Well, that's something he's always done — carry his own personal flask to drink out of.
"Constant vigilance!" He'd told you. "You'll never know if what's in front of you has been poisoned or not!"
Dumbledore clears his throat. "As I was saying," he says, smiling out at the crowd of gaping students, "we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that hasn't been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" Fred Weasley exclaims loudly.
The tension that had been thickening ever since Moody's arrival breaks as nearly everyone bursts into laughter at Fred.
Dumbledore chuckles appreciatively. "I am not joking, Mr Weasley...though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar..."
Minerva clears her throat loudly from beside you.
"Er — but maybe this is not the time...no..." says Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what the tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."
Of course, as a member of staff, you've already been well briefed on the tournament and what's involved. You've heard it all before, and as per his instruction, you allow your attention to wander.
⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。
You trek down the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, clutching a letter addressed to Remus in your hand. You dread having to walk back up all those stairs for your last class of the day in an hour. A few students are milling about the corridors, a few chatting amicably while others complain about the homework they've already gotten on the first day back.
You round a corner, glancing at the oil paintings on the wall next to you. Then, you start to hear the sound of a dull clunk echoing down the hallway, and Moody appears, hobbling towards you. His glass eye is swivelling erratically in its socket, but his good eye isn't looking at you.
"Oh, sir!"
When you were training to be an Auror — which you never got to finish — you always addressed Moody as sir. Never Mad-Eye, never Alastor. And when you were talking about him with somebody else, you always said Moody. His character demands respect and you don't hesitate to give it.
But this is different. Now, you're proper colleagues. It's a bit strange, like adjusting to working alongside Minerva when you first started here. Hopefully you'll adjust to his presence just as easily as Minerva's.
Moody flinches when he hears you call out, head snapping to you, regular eye fixating on you.
You give him a hesitant smile, nodding at him. "It's — uh — it's been a while, sir. It's good to see you again."
Something flashes in his good eye — recognition. His glass eye spins and looks at you, scrutinizing you silently. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up under that interrogating eye.
It's a while before he answers.
"Yes."
"I know this probably isn't the field you expected me to go into — but you know, after everything..." You chuckle awkwardly, shrugging. You immediately curse yourself for that — that chuckle would have instantly gotten you reprimanded during your training.
"It's unconfident!" he'd said. "You're letting your guard down, appearing vulnerable. Do you want your enemies to think you're an easy target?"
But now, Moody doesn't comment on it. He barely even seems to register it.
"Right," he says curtly, before continuing on his way, hobbling down the corridor. You turn and stare after him, mouth agape at his coldness. You thought you had bonded during your time together, that he thought of you as a good student. And you really looked up to him too, you still do. But he disregarded you like it was nothing...like he forgot who you were.
As you stare after him, he pulls his flask out of his pocket and takes a swig from it, grimacing. He glances back over his shoulder and catches you staring. You quickly turn around and continue towards the owlery, feeling incredibly embarrassed.
Reuniting with your old mentor? Check!
Did it go well? Nope!
How embarrassing.
⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。
It's Thursday evening, and you sit in your office, reading Astronomy's Articles. The fireplace crackles in the corner, radiating warmth throughout the room. There's quite an interesting piece here on how old astronomical teachings influenced pop culture, and you're nearly finished it when there's a weak knock at the door. At first you think you might've imagined it, but the knock comes again, slightly louder this time.
You go over to open it, revealing Neville Longbottom, who is currently staring down at his shoes. In his hands, you spot a heavy book. He's shaking.
"Neville, dear, what's wrong?" You ask gently, concern obvious in your voice.
"C — can I please come in?" The poor boy's voice is no louder than a whisper. You nod wordlessly, opening the door further for him to come in and then closing it softly behind him.
"Sit down there, Neville, and a take a deep breath," you say kindly. You grab a jug and fill it with water, placing it on your desk with a glass for him. You pull all your papers out of the way and he sits down.
You sit down at your chair, looking across at him encouragingly. You don't say anything, just wait for him to start himself. While he's quiet, you take a look at the book in his hands, titled: Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties.
"I — I don't want to bother you, Professor."
You shake your head. "Neville, you could never bother me. Please, tell me. What happened?"
He doesn't meet your eyes, hands fiddling with the book.
"I just...Professor, when my parents...when they...did they really go through all that p-pain?" he asks shakily.
You're highly taken aback by this. What is he doing asking something like that? The answer will only hurt him further.
"Oh, Neville, what brings this on?"
He doesn't answer you for a moment, looking down at the cover of his book.
"Professor Moody...he — he showed it to me," he responds quietly, like he's telling a big secret.
"Showed what to you?" You're almost reluctant to hear the answer. Something heavy settles in your stomach sickeningly.
The office is silent as Neville breathes heavily. He fiddles with the book again, bounces his leg. It's like you can hear every blink of his eyes, every individual lash brushing against his under-eye. What would Alice say if she seen him like this? She'd be devastated, no doubt. You're here to look after him. Harry and Neville. Both lost their parents, parents who were your best friends. You could never sit by and watch as their sons sit in turmoil, battling something extremely difficult.
"The Cruciatus Curse," Neville breathes.
You blink in confusion. "I'm sorry, what do you mean he showed you the Cruciatus Curse?"
"O-on a spider," he says quietly. "He-he pointed his wand at it and said — "
"Crucio," you whisper, horrified. "Why would he do that?"
You're confused and shocked and horrified. Moody really did that? In front of the students? In front of Neville? He knows exactly who Neville is, he knows exactly who his parents were and what happened to them.
"He — he said we needed to know. That we n-needed to see it to know how to defend it."
You bring your hands up to your face. You've seen the curse performed before, when you were helping Moody track down a dark wizard who'd taken a Muggle hostage, and nothing about it is pretty. It's scarring — it's the kind of thing that lodges itself in your mind, and the image never weakens. The sounds never fade.
Neville hasn't stopped trembling since he walked in here.
"Neville..." you bite your lip, unsure what to say, so you do the only thing you think you can: you stand up from your chair, and hug him. You pull the frail boy into your arms, gently stroking his hair soothingly. You're conscious of the fact that really, Neville's only maternal figure in his life has been his grandmother who — while being a formidable, strong woman — can't hold a candle to the warmth that Alice had. The heart of gold and love that she had — that she still has, somewhere — for her son. He needs you to provide that warmth and support now.
He pulls away to talk again. "My parents...do you think they suffered...? "
"They did, Neville," you say, pulling away but leaving your hands on his shoulders. "They suffered. I'm afraid I can't tell you any different."
Neville's eyes begin to water and he doesn't meet your eyes.
"But," you continue softly, "they were brave, Neville. They were so brave and strong and stood their ground. Anyone else would have ran, fled with their tails between their legs, but not your parents, Neville. And — the people who hurt your parents? They're all in jail. Rotting away in Azkaban, which is an awful fate. Perfectly deserved for the horrible scum that did that to Alice and Frank."
Neville nods slowly, taking a shaky breath. He sits for a few moments, quiet, as he thinks over what you said. Eventually, you feel confident that he looks a bit less shaken, colour returning to his face. He stands up and you give him a sympathetic smile.
"Would you like to stay here for a little longer?" you ask softly, and he shakes his head.
"No, it's okay...I'll get going now."
You nod, patting his shoulder and moving to open the door for him. "Alright." He exits and you follow, locking the door behind you. When he looks back at you in slight confusion, you say, "I'd like to go have a word with Professor Moody."
Moody's office isn't too far from yours. Neville departs off towards the Gryffindor Tower, the time nearing curfew. You knock on the door, waiting impatiently for the door to open. Eventually, you hear hobbling behind the door and it opens a crack.
"Sir!"
You can only see the blue eye, spinning rapidly in its socket. He looks you up and down, scrutinising you.
"What?"
"Look, I just talked to one of your fourth-year students. Is it true you showed them the Cruciatus Curse? That you performed it on a spider?"
Part of you is scared. This is you, standing up to the best, strongest Auror you've ever met. Your mentor. But at the same time you're filled with anger. How could he do that? How could he put that on Neville, and all those other students who had to bear witness to that torture?
Moody doesn't answer. His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips for just a second, before receding back. That's something you don't think you've seen Moody do before. No, you've definitely not seen him do that.
But you recognise it. You definitely remember being grossed out before by that exact move. He must've just caught it from someone else, after all, they do call him Mad-Eye. He has been known to be somewhat far-gone.
"I'll admit it was an unorthodox way of teaching, but they needed to see it," he answers curtly. "They need to see in order to know how to defend it and resist!"
You shake your head furiously. "There are other ways to show them how to defend themselves! You can't do that. They're children, sir. They shouldn't be coming out of class half traumatised!"
He pulls the door open more, revealing his cracked face. His good eye stares daggers at you and he moves forward, forcing you to take a step back. He leers over you threateningly.
"Don't question me, girl."
You stare back at him, searching his face for any sliver of a joke, but are met with the hard, steel expression of a man who is certainly not joking. The Moody you know would never say that to you. He would never use that threatening tone with you, no matter what you did. Constructive criticism, yeah, a bit of frustration, yeah, but not this. You've never had to feel scared in his presence.
But you do now.
You're suddenly aware of the fact that this is a strong, strong man in front of you. You would never be able to fight him off. Your lip trembles, and embarrassingly, you feel your eyes start to water.
This was your mentor. This was someone who you looked up to so much, and now he's looking at you like some scummy substance he found on the bottom of his boot. You feel hurt. You feel so badly hurt and embarrassed and scared.
Moody continues to stare you down, before grunting and doing that janky tongue movement and slamming his door shut in your face. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and stare at the closed door in front of you.
What do you do? Should you tell someone? None of the other teachers know about that class, otherwise something would have been said. Minerva would already have been banging on your door to talk about it.
Is it worth your while even reporting it? You doubt anyone would care. It's Alastor Moody, famed Auror. Who would they really rather support: you or him? You don't stand a chance against him.
You return to your office that night feeling sick to your stomach. Worries churn your stomach sickeningly and quiet tears drip down your cheeks. You're just so confused. Why would Moody do that to you? He never expressed any dislike for you before, but there it was obvious. You feel so foolish for allowing yourself to think the Mad-Eye Moody cared about you at all.
You feel lonely. You start to just want Sirius here, next to you, so you can talk to him. He always knows what to do. He always knows what to say. You want him to be here and to take you in his arms, stroke your hair soothingly, reassure you.
You just want him here.
♡*⁠。♡*⁠。
Spring, 1980
Bright, cheerful chatter fills the area, guests milling about and laughter bubbling up out their throats. Beside you, Sirius has his hand on your knee, circling it idly with his thumb as he chats to James beside him. James tells a joke and Sirius lets out a hearty laugh. You watch his face light up in joy, a beautiful smile spreading over his face.
He's so handsome.
His long locks just tickling his neck, the shirt of his suit unbuttoned to show the skin of his chest, his jacket shrugged off and thrown on the back of the chair. The sunlight catches his long lashes, the outline of his face, making him look like something out of a dream.
You glance around at the guests, thinking about what to do next. You take a quick sip from your wine and lean over to Sirius.
"I'm going to go mingle," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He stops talking, turning to you with a loving expression.
"Don't be too long," he says. "I want my wife back as soon as possible."
He kisses your lips softly, smiling, and you pull away to go mingle.
You make a beeline for Alice and Lily immediately, who are chatting animatedly with Remus and Peter.
"Hello, hello!" You greet with a grin and they all smile.
"Well, if it isn't the beautiful bride!" Alice exclaims with a laugh.
Everyone looks absolutely perfect. Alice and Lily in their pretty bridesmaid dresses, Remus and Peter in their groomsmen suits. It's a small enough reception, you could never invite too many with the way things are right now. There are a few Aurors and Order of the Phoenix members dotted around, some looking about the place like they're expecting an attack.
"Where's Frank gone?" You ask Alice. It's rare to see Alice without her dear husband, her husband of two months now. Even now, you can see the way her face lights up at the mention of him.
"Oh, he's just gone to get us some drinks," she says with a smile, looking past you to see a man standing at the drinks table, plucking two glasses out of the lineup and turning around to come towards you.
You throw him a small wave, and he nods back because his hands are full. Beyond him, you catch sight of a man you didn't actually expect to see tonight: Alastor Moody. He's standing beneath a large tree, shaded from the sun by its foliage. He's looking around him suspiciously, like he's afraid someone's going to spot him.
You place a hand on Alice's back, patting it as you say, "I've just spotted someone. If I don't see you leading a conga line when I get back I'll be livid."
She giggles, saluting you jokingly. "Yes, ma'am."
You smile at the group, taking your leave and heading for Moody. He looks up when you approach, his good eye settling on you while the other dances in its socket.
"Sir, you came," you say with a smile. You really are shocked that he actually showed up. You gave him his invitation ages ago, and hadn't mentioned it since. He said nothing of any intentions to come to the wedding.
He nods, glancing around himself furtively like he doesn't want anyone to catch him here. "Yes, well...I'm here just in case something happens of course... in case you have a few unwelcome guests."
"What, like you?" You joke, and you can see how he tries to hide his chuckle, shaking his head gruffly.
"Dark wizards, more like."
He doesn't seem entirely certain of that, however. You can tell that he's not just here for that, but you don't say anything. You're just happy he's here. Nobody would attack your wedding. Maybe because there's Order members here, but something tells you that won't happen. You have such a happy gut feeling, you feel like you're on air today. Nothing could ruin it.
"Well, thank you for coming," you say genuinely. "I really appreciate it."
He glances away from you, seemingly fixating on something in the distance. "I can't have you getting attacked on your wedding day. It would make for a pretty shitty story."
You smile. "Thanks."
You stand together in silence. You glance out at the rest of the party: Alice is, as you instructed, leading a long conga line on the makeshift dance floor, now bathed in evening sunlight. You spot Sirius right behind her, enthusiastically throwing out his leg in time with Alice. You chuckle appreciatively at them.
"You know," Moody starts, and you turn back to him, "when they told me I'd have to take on a student, I thought they'd be a nuisance, getting in the way of my work. But you, I am...I'm glad it was you, and not some clueless thing who doesn't know their left from their right. You're good at this, and you'll be even better when you're finished with me."
Your mouth opens dumbly and you just stare back at him in surprise, before a great big smile spreads over your face. You don't want to say anything to embarrass yourself, so you just smile at him and he looks away, clearing his throat.
"Once you stop giving me cheek, that is," he adds.
You can't help but laugh, before he fixes you with a look and you straighten up again, pursing your lips, holding back any comments.
"Now, it's time you stop bothering me and go back off to the lovesick lad you've left behind," he says, nodding his head in Sirius' direction, who has detached himself from the conga line to beckon you over with a longing gaze. You smile back at him and don't hesitate to hurry towards the fun.
♡*⁠。♡*⁠。
→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡
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seapiglet · 8 months
Text
hm
I've seen a LOT of shaming going round at the moment, both here and on twitter, of people who are seeking out good omens spoilers, mostly by those who have watched the new episodes in advance. despite what neil and david and michael may have said on the subject, it's rubbing me the wrong way! so I feel the need to make a potentially unpopular post about
✨SPOILERS AND NEURODIVERSITY✨
(and accessibility) 🤚🏼
now I cannot speak for everybody here but as an autistic person with ocd I actually !prefer! being spoiled ahead of time and will frequently read the entire wiki article for a show I'm about to watch (though weirdly CANNOT skip ahead with books?) in order to alleviate anxiety around the unexpected. trust me when I say that knowing what will happen in advance *enhances* the experience for me and I have yet to regret being deliberately spoiled, even when it comes to my absolute favourite things on earth, things I may have been waiting months and months (or in this case years) for. in fact, the longer I've had to wait, the more the feeling of gut-twisting anxiety and uncertainty beds down in my system and makes itself a very unwelcome house guest.
it's all very well insisting that everybody just be patient and ~wait and see~ but for a lot of neurodiverse folks this can be a very unsettling prospect. personally, I don't like surprises! I don't crave the sensation of being shocked by an unforeseen twist! it makes me do a panic! even the thought of it makes me feel deeply uncomfortable.
we're not simply throwing our toys out the pram because we WANT something and we WANT IT NOW (shout out to verruca salt). there is a soothing comfort and stability to predictability that is difficult to explain to somebody who doesn't experience this.
at this point I should mention that OBVIOUSLY not all neurodiverse/autistic/diagnosed-ocd people feel this way but that doesn't negate the fact that a lot of us do and there's not much we can do about it.
I'm aware that everybody's currently moralising about the rightness/wrongness of illicitly distributing and trading nuggets of forbidden information like crack-laced pokemon cards* (surely in this fandom everything should exist in a grey area?) but please don't jump on this as an opportunity to prove who's the most terribly righteous and which of us gets to wear the Super Duper Bestest Fan Neil's Favourite prefect badge for the day. devolving into needless factions and one-upmanship so near to the official airdate does nobody any good.
on another personal note (this is the 👂🏼♿accessibility♿👂🏼bit) I was due to attend one of the screenings and now can't due to the apparent lack of subtitles. pleeeeeaase think of accessibility, amazon. please? some of us have severely messed up ears and/or auditory processing disorders - it's not hurting anybody to have the words up on the screen but it excludes many of us if you don't.
again, if you think it's terrible and wrong to want to be spoiled or to share spoilers you are well within your rights to think that, and of course I encourage anybody who is participating in a bit of blackmarket spoiler dealing to utilise ALL the tags you can think of to keep it secret (keep it safe), or simply leave it to the DMs, but I really don't see the good in shaming others who feel differently.
uhh thank you and good day 🎩
(*hopefully that still scans - my references are as ancient and ephemeral as my knee cartilage)
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morningberriesao3 · 8 months
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MWMD - Hold Me Close
Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson
Summary: Steve can't keep living on Wayne’s couch. So Eddie makes him an offer.
Word Count: 4K
Chapter: 3 of 6 CHAPTER LIST
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use.
Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending
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Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’
MAY 18th, 1986
Steve continues to walk around the trailer with a pained look on his face, stretching and popping his back, kneading at it with his fingers, swallowing Tylenol with his morning coffee. And he continues to refuse to go back home to his own bed.
“Seriously, Munson. Not another peep from you.”
Eddie has been trying for the last half hour to convince Steve that he’ll survive overnight on his own. He’s rarely in pain anymore and he has some pretty good drugs from the doctor that he can pop if it becomes too much (although he’s been frugal, storing most of them in his little metal drug box because prescription pain meds can go for like, five bucks a pill).
“Your back has been fucked up for days, man.” Eddie puts his hands on his hips and briefly thinks about how he’s been spending so much time with Steve that he’s now adopting his mannerisms. He switches to crossing his arms over his chest instead. “You’re literally in worse shape than me now. Go home.”
Steve sighs, shrugging his vest for Family Video on overtop of a pink polo. He kind of looks like a lollipop that Eddie wants to lick. “Can I level with you, dude?”
Eddie isn’t expecting the look he receives from Steve. Up through his lashes, soft, maybe a bit embarrassed. Definitely a little timid. Eddie nods.
“I don’t really want to go home.” Steve watches as Eddie takes in the information. He furrows his brows a bit, because who wouldn’t want to go back to a four-bedroom, two-level, mini-mansion with a swimming pool, to slum it on the ancient couch inside of a cramped trailer? “I know it’s like, a lot to ask. If I can stay here. I just – this feels like home. More than my place ever did.”
Eddie gapes at him.
“But I can leave if you want me to. I know this was supposed to be – um – temporary.”
“No,” he says slowly, squinting his eyes at Harrington like he has fine print written on his face that might give Eddie more insight. “You’re telling me you want to be here, and not at your place? Not just to like, take care of me?”
Steve nods, chewing on his lip on one side.
“Why?”
Steve raises his shoulders and lets them drop back down. “I don’t get along with my parents.”
“Shit, really?”
Eddie knows all about that. He left the home he used to live in with his folks to move in with uncle Wayne. Of course, it was because they had figured out that Eddie was gay when they saw him kiss another boy on the cheek on Valentines Day. God forbid. Eddie didn’t know it was wrong at the time, but he sure figured it out pretty quickly when his parents shamed him about it everyday for the next year. He was sure Steve would never have to deal with that, but yeah, he knows what it’s like to have shitty parents.
Steve just kind of shrugs it off, like he’s marinated with the idea for long enough that it no longer phases him. “Yeah. But, like I said, I don’t want to be a nuisance or anything.”
“You’re not a nuisance.” Eddie feels kind of bad, if he made Steve feel unwelcome by trying to get him to go home. He just assumed that he’d want to leave and was taking pity on Eddie by staying. But who was he to say no if Steve liked it better in the trailer? “You can stay as long as you want, man. Wayne likes you here. This place has never been in better shape.”
It’s true. Steve has made it a bit of a routine – cleaning and patching holes and painting on his days off. Things that neither Eddie nor Wayne cared about or were capable of fixing. It was another thing that Eddie just assumed was pity, but he’s starting to learn that maybe it’s coming from a different place entirely.
Steve perks up, a bashful smile playing on his beautifully full lips.
Shit, not that Eddie is like, staring at them or anything.
“Yeah?” he asks, nudging Eddie a little too hard in the arm with his fist. Ex jock. Underestimates his own strength. “Like roommates for real?”
Eddie subtly rubs his upper arm. “Like roommates for real. On one condition.”
The excited expression wipes away from Steve’s face and is replaced by one of skepticism. “And what is that condition?”
“You take the bed.”
“No,” says Steve simply, quickly, shaking his head and grabbing his keys from the counter where he leaves them. “Nope. Nadda. Not a chance in Hell.”
“Harrington!” The trailer door swings open and slams shut behind Steve’s ridiculous (perfect) mousy brown hair before Eddie can even get a word in. He runs to unlatch the door, fumbling down the steps and onto the sharp gravel where he dances around on bare feet. “If you say no you have to go home!”
It’s an empty threat. Eddie would never kick Steve out – make him go back to his parents that he obviously doesn’t like – even if he wanted to couch-surf for the rest of his life. But Steve doesn’t need to know that.
“Well, that’s not happening,” Steve says, rounding the curve of the driveway to his shiny BMW, which sticks out like a sore thumb next to Eddie’s rust bucket that he calls a van. “I’m still a guest and I refuse to kick you out of your own goddamn bed. So I guess I’m going home.”
Eddie bristles. “For fuck’s sake, dude. What’s it gonna take?”
“You could offer me all the money in the world –” which Eddie finds hilarious because Steve already has it, “– and I still wouldn’t kick you out of your bed, Munson.” Steve folds himself into the driver’s seat of his car, turning the ignition and cranking the window down to smile up at Eddie. “Should I move out tonight, or do I have a grace period?”
Eddie knows that Steve is playing along. They are both stubborn in their own way, so arguing will probably be counterproductive. Perhaps a compromise is better.
“What if we share?”
The offer slips past his lips before he realises that – fuck – that’s really weird. He only has a double bed, which means there’s not much room. And even if there was – even if he had one of those California Kings that he’s only seen in magazines – guys don’t just share beds platonically.
He opens his mouth to retract his offer, or maybe, somehow, turn it into a joke.
But Steve always has a way of surprising Eddie. Of making him nervous beyond compare. Of making him regret the things he says, and in this case, offers.
“Yeah, okay,” he says easily like it’s the most normal suggestion he’s ever heard. It makes Eddie’s eyes bug out from his face. “I want the side closest to the door.”
Steve’s window is rolled up and his car is backing from the driveway before Eddie’s coherent enough to form a response. Mostly because he never in a million years imagined himself sharing a bed with Steve Harrington (well, he imagined it, but he never thought it would come to fruition). Partly because, perfect, he likes the side closest to the window anyway.
It’s almost alarming how quickly Steve accepted the offer. No rebuttal. No counteroffers. Just a simple yes.
It’s enough to cloud Eddie’s mind with questions like ‘what does that mean?’ and ‘what did I just do?’ as he frantically strips his bed and washes the sheets and the blankets. He even puts the fluffiest pillow on Steve’s side (oh God, Steve has a side), because he’s nice like that. Also because the flatter pillow is about a decade old and Eddie doesn’t want Steve’s face pressed into the place he’s been drooling his whole life while he’s trying to sleep.
Well, fuck, maybe he does?
Steve only has a five-hour shift, and Eddie spends the entire time cleaning his mess nervously, like Steve hadn’t been in his room that very morning, wading through the piles of both dirty and clean laundry on the floor. He clears out the top shelf of his dresser because Steve has been living out of a suitcase and it was about time that ended.
It all feels very domestic. And a little embarrassing, because he didn’t think the first time he moved into a single bedroom with someone he’d still be under the same roof as uncle Wayne.
None of that really matters though, because Steve and Eddie will only be sharing a bed in the most innocent sense of the phrase. There will be no canoodling. It’s kind of sad, but it’s the only fact that keeps Eddie from having an actual panic attack.
Two bros, sharing a bed. As they do.
Maybe it would be easier if Steve had never seen Eddie naked. If his fingers had never grazed Eddie’s junk. Maybe it would be easier if Eddie hadn’t been squeezing the shit out of the soft flesh that covers Steve’s hips just a few days ago. If he didn’t explicitly remember exactly what that felt like. Maybe it would be easier if he hasn’t gotten into the habit of panting Steve’s name right before he comes, in the very bed they’ll now be sharing.
For actual, literal, Christ’s sake.
He just hopes that he doesn’t do something stupid in his sleep, like try to make out with him or something. If that’s even something people accidently do in their sleep.
Every thought Eddie has ever had leaves his head when he hears the slam of Steve’s car door outside of the trailer. It’s impossible that it’s been five hours, but when he looks at his alarm clock, he’s proven wrong.
He can’t help but wonder if maybe it’s all too much – that it’s weird he cleared out part of his dresser and made up the bed as nice as he could manage. But there was no going back now.
“Hey, man,” Steve says as he swings open the trailer door like he really does consider it home. “What’s that smell?”
Oh, another thing. Eddie sprayed his room down with lavender fabric refresher. It’s supposed to help you sleep, and Eddie feels like he might need all the help he can get in that department. Maybe then he won’t stay up to stare at Steve all curled up next to him.
“Nothing. Uh, just laundry detergent.” It’s kind of the truth, so it works. “How was work?”
“You know, stressful as always. Rewinding people’s returns is really taxing stuff.”
“So I hear. I don’t know how you manage, day in and day out and day in…” Eddie drones on dramatically. “That’s why I’m – what do they call it? – an entrepreneur. Totally self employed, baby. Short hours, all profit –”
Steve snorts as he unpeels his banana. “Yeah. You’re rolling in the dough.”
“I do well for myself!” Eddie snaps, mocking offense. “Plus, I don’t have to pay taxes on my income.”
“And that’s not even the most illegal part about it.” Steve cocks an eyebrow.
“C’mon, Harrington, live on the edge a little bit. I’m sure Mr. Reagan will live without my yearly input of fifty dollars and ninety-two cents.”
“Stick it to the man!” Steve shouts, jabbing his banana in the air and twisting it like a knife. It’s actually kind of hot. “Right?”
“You’re learning,” Eddie says, trying to hide the fact that he’s flustered over fruit weapons. Steve could wield anything and it would be attractive. Like a frying pan, or a brass candelabra. But using his bare hands (and teeth) in the Upside Down was arguably the hottest thing Eddie had ever seen. It was that moment that really sealed the deal for him. When his crush from junior year turned into something a bit more… real.
“So, I was thinking,” Steve starts, rustling through a bag that Eddie hadn’t even noticed he’d carried in. He pulls out a VHS tape – “Critters. It looks dumb but I think you’d like it.”
He inspects the front cover, littered with little monsters with sharp teeth and bold, red lettering for the title. “That’s kind of insulting.”
“You like dumb movies.” Steve shrugs. “Like Labyrinth, and Rocky Horror –”
“Do not slander Tim Curry!” This time, Eddie’s offense is a little bit more genuine. “He’s sacred and I will not stand for it in this house.”
“Whatever.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Anyway. I thought we could watch this really amazing looking movie, and order in Chinese or pizza or something?”
Eddie pretends to think about it for a minute. “Did you bring snacks?”
The bag rustles again as Steve does more digging. He holds out a couple packages of candy. “Twizzlers and M&Ms.”
“Popcorn?”
“There’s already some in the cupboard.”
“Hmm.” Eddie scratches his chin. Steve rolls his eyes, waiting patiently for Eddie’s obvious answer. “You got yourself a deal.”
“Cool,” Steve says, heading to Eddie’s (their?) bedroom. “Wow, dude. You can see your floor.”
Eddie blushes and shrugs it off as coolly as he can manage.  
Steve turns to him, pointing to the badly made bed. “You didn’t have to do all this for me.”
It’s not shocking to Eddie how obvious it was that he dejunked because of their earlier conversation. He kind of wishes there was a little bit more mystery in it, but he probably hasn’t tidied since 1984, so why else would he have done it today? “It needed to be cleaned anyway.”
‘Cleaned’ is a very loose term for what Eddie did, but at least it’s leaps and bounds better than it was when he woke up.
“It looks good.” Steve throws himself onto the bed that he’ll be sleeping on tonight (with Eddie, oh my God). He kind of rolls to the centre of it where it’s sunken. It’s an old mattress. “Smells good, too. Lavender?”
“Yeah.” Eddie chews on his lip, staring at how big Steve looks on the double mattress. All sprawled and consuming. He wonders how they’ll both fit on there, and it dawns on him just how close they’ll have to be.
Not that he minds, like, at all.
“That’s why,” Steve says in a way that makes it seem like he’s answering a question he’s asked in his head a million times. Internal and without explanation. It makes Eddie a bit nervous, like maybe he should be embarrassed about something if Steve’s been thinking about it.
“That’s why, what?”
“Why you always smell like lavender,” he explains, tucking his arms behind his head. “I always thought it was an oil or something, but I never saw one in the bathroom. But it’s just your bed.”
“I smell like lavender?”
“Yeah. When you don’t reek of pot and menthols.”
And the warm feeling that Eddie was experiencing is gone.
“Shut up,” he says, kicking at Steve’s foot that’s hanging from the end of the bed. “Are we watching the movie or not?”
That’s exactly what they do, popping popcorn and tossing it in a ridiculous amount of melted butter and salt. Eddie holds the bowl in his lap and each time Steve reaches over for a handful he can’t help but let his mind wander a little bit. Not that he’s a pervert or anything. It’s just been a really long time since another guy has been reaching into his lap for any reason. A really long time, as in a couple of years, and even then it was just the once.
They pause the movie halfway through when the food is delivered, which is fine because the movie is shit. But Steve’s right, it’s shit in the way that Eddie loves. The way where he’s laughing instead of jumping at the scenes that are meant to be scary.
Either way, he’s smiling by the time the credits roll and so is Steve.
“It was like Gremlins, but less scary.”
“Less scary?” Eddie asks. “You find Gremlins scary?”
“They’re pretty scary, dude.” Steve gets up from the couch and stretches, exposing a strip of skin that Eddie definitely doesn’t stare at. “Why do you think I call the kids gremlins? Terrifying.”
Eddie snorts at that, pointedly making eye contact instead of letting them drop lower (again). “Those brats are worse than any horror movie.”
“You’re telling me,” says Steve, picking up the empty dishes from the coffee table and carrying them the short distance to the sink. He washes them quickly, then dries them, and places them back into the cupboard where they belong. If it had been Eddie, they would have been left in the sink until the morning, or maybe until the next afternoon. If Steve stays much longer, Wayne is going to expect Eddie to start upping his game. “Bedtime?”
Eddie checks his watch and it’s only just past 9pm. But Steve looks at him so expectantly that he finds himself nodding. And truthfully, there are way worse things that laying next to Steve in his bed before he falls asleep.
They do their normal routine, brushing their teeth and their hair. Steve uses a fancy cleanser on his skin that he forced Eddie to never tell anyone about (“I have skin problems if I don’t use it, okay?”), and Eddie just uses a bar of glycerine soap. The cheapest kind from the general store. Maybe that’s why Eddie still gets pimples on his chin at the ripe age of twenty.
When they get to Eddie’s room, he can’t help but stand awkwardly and wonder what the hell he’s supposed to wear to bed. He’s usually a boxers only type of guy, but Steve has always worn sweats and a t-shirt when he’s sleeping on the couch. Eddie doesn’t even own sweatpants, but he might have a pair of PJ pants that he got from Uncle Wayne one Christmas shoved to the back of one of his drawers. They have a pattern of little frogs playing guitars and that’s just fucking embarrassing to wear in front of a guy like Steve Harrington.
He doesn’t have to wonder for long, because Steve starts stripping himself down to a single layer. Eddie averts his eyes as heat radiates into his chest and cheeks. Maybe now it would be extra weird if he just wore his boxers to bed. Since, like, Steve was already doing it.
“It’s nice to finally ditch those sweatpants,” Steve says, kicking his jeans ungracefully from one of his feet. “It gets unbearably hot at night.”
“Yeah. I mean, you could have – you didn’t have to –” Eddie struggles to find the right words. “No one would have blamed you for ditching them, man.”
“I know. It would just be a little awkward to have my junk almost out in front of your uncle.” Steve points to his crotch as if Eddie doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And when he does, Eddie’s eyes flick downwards.
Who can blame him? Steve just drew attention to it.
And yeah, his dick is clothed, but he’s only wearing these tiny tighty-whities that really leave, like, zero up to the imagination. Eddie can see the angle that Steve’s dick is resting at in his briefs. And he can tell that he’s – well – he’s circumcised. And even though Steve’s dick is soft, it’s um. Ample. Thick. And – and…
Jesus Christ.
Steve crawls into Eddie’s bed – the side closest to the door, with the fluffy pillow. “You good?”
Eddie’s brain is moving about as fast as a sloth in sand – meaning not very fast at all. So he says, “Act cool,” aloud, because that’s what he’s thinking. And then he smacks his palm to his forehead and says, “I mean, I’m cool. I’m all good,” like that might fix his blunder, even though it very much does not.
“Well, cool.” Steve says, smiling. “Are you gonna stand there all night, or are you coming to bed?” He pats the comforter next to him.
Eddie squeaks a noise that really doesn’t sound like him at all. He resents his vocal chords for betraying him at a time like this. He strips down to his boxers and is really thankful that they’re a lot looser than Steve’s briefs. Because he’s slightly chubbed, and Steve had seen his dick enough times that he’d know.
He crawls into the sheets, trying to keep a healthy distance between him and Steve. But Steve is fucking manspreading onto Eddie’s half of the mattress, so his thigh and shoulder ends up pressed against Steve’s skin anyway.
It’s not helping his little situation. His dick kicks up disobediently. Thank fuck Eddie is under the cover of a blanket.
“Geez, man. Move over,” he says, not because he doesn’t like it, but because he likes it a little too much.
“I can’t help it!” Steve wiggles a couple of inches away, but not enough to stop himself from touching Eddie. “Your bed is small, Munson.”
“Would you prefer a king-sized mattress for the king himself? I’m sorry you must reduce yourself to a double, my liege. How will you survive?”
“Shut up, man.” Steve smacks Eddie. Eddie smacks Steve right back, a little harder. “Ouch! It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t control where I end up once I’m sleeping.”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m a cuddler.”
“You’re telling me that now?” Eddie pretends to be horrified, even though the thought of being cuddled up next to Steve is admittedly wonderful. “That’s it. I’m retracting your invitation.”
“Too late. Are you big spoon or little spoon?” Steve asks, but before Eddie has the chance to respond (which would have been a load of bullshit, because how is he supposed to know when he’s never been cuddled?), he says, “Doesn’t matter. I’m always big spoon.”
“Does that mean I’m gonna wake up to you plastered on my back?”
Steve shrugs, making the sheets under Eddie’s ear crinkle. “Better get used to the idea now.”
They banter back and forth like that for about an hour before Steve’s eyes get heavy and he finally gets consumed by sleep. Eddie stays awake for another couple after that, reading a few chapters from Return of the King (for the nineteenth time).
He only wakes up once that night, and lo and behold, Steve is wrapped around him like a koala bear. Only Eddie isn’t facing away from him – they are chest to chest. Nose to nose. More importantly, they are dick to dick. One of Steve’s legs is hiked up on top of Eddie’s, which is lodged between Steve’s thighs. Steve is pinning him down with an arm securely circled around Eddie’s shoulders. Their goddamn noses are touching. Steve is breathing into Eddie’s mouth, and it takes everything inside Eddie to refrain from sticking his tongue out to taste Steve’s lips.
But Eddie would like to reiterate that he is not a pervert.
Instead, he readjusts the best that he can (because he definitely has a boner that is definitely pressed up underneath Steve’s cock). It doesn’t help much, so he tries his hardest to keep still. Because each brush of Steve against his dick, however light, sends a thrill into his core that makes him impossibly harder than he was a minute ago. And if Steve wakes up, if Steve feels Eddie pressed into him, nearly nestled between his glorious thighs…
So Eddie practices mindful breathing. He lets himself fall back asleep after twenty excruciating minutes, still with an erection that he can’t force away. Because really, it would be rude to move out of Steve’s grasp and wake him up from such a peaceful looking slumber.
And if waking up like that becomes another strange habit over the following days – weeks – Eddie isn’t going to mention it. Of course he’s not.
Because neither is Steve.
NEXT CHAPTER
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MASTERLIST
SOCIALS
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pongnosis · 18 days
Note
ponggggggg bestie do you think yassen names his guns. DO YOU THINK ROSS NAMES HIS KNIVES. i think yassen would be a little averse to the whole naming thing considering hunter told him not to refer to his victims by names because it made them human. i feel like he would internalize that and think of his guns as mere weapons, as convenience, as tools and nothing more but still i'm sort of curious because some part of me also thinks he could name them. idk. he was petty enough to become an assassin just to spite him and the fact that he has a fav gun??? [it was a beretta right?] but this is also somewhat a useful tip. idkkkk im sleepy and feeling rambly and im making it your problem. also i bet gordon gives them the goofiest or the most poetic names. no in between. man's got a sense of humour but also has that shitton of history ping-ponging [heh] around in his head. anyways i think i'll go & try to catch some sleep. byeee <3
I think the only sentimental thing Yassen might have is the Fer de Lance, and that's one hundred percent headcanon, given that she might as well be a charter (or SCORPIA-owned) based on the information we got on her in Eagle Strike (look, I like ships, don't ship-shame!). I just really like the idea of Yassen having one thing that is his, and the unwelcoming looks of her, the tinted glass in the windows, and the name all seem like something he'd like. Everything else, especially his weapons, I think he has a very pragmatic approach to. They're something to be used and discarded if necessary, chosen based on the needs of the operation, and little else.
… except the Grach. I HAVE OPINIONS ON THIS ONE.
So. SO. Eagle Strike, page 49 in my version (Walker Books 2015 edition, from the box set, so who knows what the line originally said, but I've only ever seen the Grach referenced in fandom): "The gun was a Grach MP-443, black, with a short muzzle and a ribbed stock. It was Russian, of course, new army issue."
This is yet another enty in "Why Timelines Are, Like, Vibes Man", the ongoing saga by Ahorz.
The Grach MP-443 (wiki link) was developed in the nineties but didn't enter service until 2003, and while it was adopted as the standard sidearm, this did by no means happen immediately. It took YEARS for mass production to really start. For years after, there were - and still are - other Russian guns that were in far more common use and much easier to get a hold of for Yassen, who would presumably want to replace his gun fairly regularly to avoid inconvenient evidence.
Ignoring the timeline issue of exactly what year the books are set in (and whether the Grach was even in actual production by then), it seems like a very deliberate choice by Yassen. The Grach is not the best gun out there. It's not the most reliable, not the easiest one to find, not the most common (and more anonymous). It was, however, the new standard sidearm for the Russian military - the country that took everything from Yassen - and going out of his way to choose a weapon that most of the Russian military still hadn't been issued, one after the other to discard of when they became evidence, seems just like the sort of deliberately petty move he would like. A subtle 'fuck you' to his former home.
ALSO. I agree, Ross absolutely names his favourite knives. He'll rant about the bad ones if you get him going, but his favourite, most perfect knives, those get the adoring names. He's so the type to have an original V-42 stiletto in beautiful condition that he's named Rose.
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didoldacc · 9 months
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oh boy (wonder) ● huening kai | chapter one
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this work contains violence and smut, MDNI!
warnings: sound of gunshots, curse words (i don't know if this one even should be in warnings) let me know if something is missing!
+this is not a dark fic, warnings are only there because it is unavoidable in a superhero setting. but this chapter is one of the lighter chapters.
smut warnings: none
word count: around 1.4k
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"they say the new vigilante wondering around devil's tongue is gotham city's boy wonder." you said while chewing your pen. you were definitely stressed. all of this had a very high chance to boost your path to climbing up career stairs yet the worries you had about your city made it impossible to focus on promotion ensured with the story of blue bird that you have been working on.
"nightwing?" your co-worker fulton asked.
"yes, him. i really hope he doesn't bring gotham's curse on us. you know our crime rates are record high, we are almost as fucked up as gotham but what blüdhaven needs is not a vigilante running around. i don't think it helps gotham city, either. he should go back where he came from." you felt an urge to argue even though no one was saying anything. even confused looks towards you was covering fulton's face.
"well, tell me where do you see a problem in this? you are in need of a good story for your next sweet paycheck. and it comes by itself to you. you can still add commentary in your stories, it can gain a lot more attention but other than that, you shouldn't put your thinking cap on." he argued back, sounding like he didn't get your point at all.
you decided to avoid having a prawle with him. "whatever... i asked for pictures of him to be taken, do you have them?" you asked. "yes, i have them. you know even though you never bothered to learn my name, you have no idea how far i would go to capture pictures for your stories." he said jokingly but you knew there is no smoke without fire.
you frowned "hey, give me some credit. i of course know your name, fulton." trying to object what he said.
"that's my surname, i am talking about my first name." his protest immediately daffed by you. "is that really important? that's all the information i need for a respected co-worker." hoping he would get the hint.
"let's get working. and also we need to get read for this night. i suggest we follow him."
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"welcome to our precinct, rookie. you are for sure going to feel unwelcomed here but don't get scared! they will start to treat you like a human being in no time." a random officer said. kai wanted to roll his eyes. his low-key attitude was definitely not suitable to a cop his age and experience.
"no worries, i survived gotham. i am pretty sure that some socially awkward stiations isn't going to be my cause of death instead of a psychotic clown terrorizing the whole gotham." he headed to his desk after giving him a sarcastic and dismissive response.
"look at the newbie over there! he looks so dreamy!" said a senior officer who didn't look much older than kai. "is he kai kamal huening, the adopted son of bruce wayne? i heard he lost his parents when he was a kid and adopted by the billionaire playboy." they started gossiping as if kai wasn't there. "poor guy, but lucky."
kai couldn't help but smirk to those women talking about him. even though they were obstrusive, he was used to it. gossips were unavoidable if you were a wayne. it was okay as long as they didn't know the batman and robin. yet he didn't worry about it due to very limited observation skills people had.
kai started to place his belongings to his desk. this was a new beggining to him, a chance to become a different man than his surly adopted father, an identity that had nothing in common with bruce's darkness. lost in the thoughts, kai stopped thinking once he saw his captain walking towards him. he hoped that she was just coming there to welcome him. kai immeadiately stood up. but once she started talking all of his hopes was in vain. just being there to welcome him was further away from the truth with the worlds slipping out her mouth. "isn't that a great coincidence the successor of the wayne fortune started his career as a dedective with a high ranking. i will keep my eye on you. anyways i am actually here to remind you that you can take the documents for your first case from my secretary." she left without giving him a chance to reply.
he went up to secretary's desk to take the file. the secretary seemed a nice sweet girl unlike everyone else around. "oh, you are here to take the 'blue bird' files, right?" kai felt his heart racing with his luck but he managed to stay nonchalant. "yes, i guess so? isn't his name nightwing? why the file is called blue bird?" the secretary's lips slightly opened for a minute then she pressed them together before answering. "i wouldn't know, sorry." kai smiled. "no, i am sorry. i was just talking to myself. it was rude." kai explained himself. he had a feeling that she was the one he wouldn't hate to be around. "guess i better get started." he said before leading to his desk. the sweet secretary waved good bye to him, both of them forgetting to exchange names.
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kai wanted to give himself a break and not to go to patrol this night but later decided to do so because he was in desperate boredom due to lack of human connection he had. before he left he wanted to call barbara. his hands were about to dial the contact name 'babs<3' yet he stopped himself. if he called her, bruce would know and the last thing he needed was bruce knowing kai was alone like himself. kai was never a grumpy and serious person like bruce. he had a phase where he was constantly mad due to his parents' passing but thanks to alferd and his more open-minded and fun-loving nature. yet kai was still afraid that he someday would turn into a bruce or the batman. so no he wasn't going to call barbara and she sure could outlive few weeks without talking to him.
"god i am really hoping that the new vigilante is on a patrol this night. otherwise we are fucking up our sleeping schedules for no reason." fulton complained.
"stop whining like a baby. if i am going to be the next lois lane i need this story." you sounded stern while saying it.
"or you could be the next vick vale." his sarcasm in his voice made you sick for some reason but you didn't chew on. "or her yeah." you mumbled.
you stared at the roofs where the so called nightwing hanged out the most. what was his deal? was he really robin? if he is, why did he leave batman? you needed all those answers for your story.
suddenly you heard a gunshot. the adrenaline taking over your body, the only thing you were managed to think was whether or not if this story was worth risking your life yet you still ran toward the gun sound, coming down from the ladders as fast as you could. you were certain that it was your lucky day when you heard more gunshots coming from there. "this will definitely get nightwing's attention."
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a/n: i know reader and kai may seem a bit annoying but they will have character developments and kai's character may seem just dick grayson named kai but don't worry it will be a mix of kai's and dick's personalities. i added this note cuz it bothered me while reading but then i remembered my plans for this fic.
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seeing with new eyes | egon spengler x reader
author’s note: so hi! this is my first little story i’m posting on here, very exciting stuff! i love love love requests so feel free to hit me with them :) i’m planning on putting together more of a comprehensive list of what i write for and such, but for now, ghostbusters fanfic
warnings: purposeful lowercase, jealousy, distant egon, flirting to make someone jealous, possibly ooc (it’s the first time in writing for ghostbusters), lmk if you guys see any i missed
it had only been a few weeks that i had been working with the ghostbusters to help janine take calls and make appointments, and thus far, they were the most exciting few weeks of my life.
i could hardly remember what my day-to-day was like before i scored my job at the fire station. coming in every day at eight to help janine schedule appointments, starting the coffee brewing for the boys, making sure the proton packs were ready for the specters they would face that day. it was all a routine that flowed so well it was practically second nature.
i even fit in well with janine and the ghostbusters themselves. well, almost all of them anyway.
there was ray, with his kind eyes and bright smile, who had immediately gone out of his way to welcome me to the station. he gave me the tour, teaching me all the little tricks along the way- “if you ever have business around here later at night, that stair kinda creaks—peter hasn’t gotten around to getting it fixed yet, you know how that is,” -and always made sure to keep me in the loop regarding information that referred to before i was hired. ray was easy to joke with and fun to share a snack with on our lunch break.
then, of course, winston. he understood better than anyone else what it felt like to join the gang a little later and made sure i knew he was always available to chat with. while spending time with him i learned more of the practical parts of hunting ghouls, “just in case!” he always said. winston was also one to not sugarcoat things and had pulled me aside after my interview to kindly but seriously caution me as to what the job entailed. i cherished the time we spent walking to the local sub shop and fixing up the ecto-1 together.
peter was an unavoidable presence around the station, although not an unwelcome one. the whole flirtatious douchebag bit he had going was a lot less obnoxious once i got to know the snarky but sweet man that laid behind it. peter was truly devoted to dana and seeing them together put a smile on face; this was due in part to how nice it was to see the two in love, but also because it gave me ammunition to make fun of him with. we playfully messed with each other often, switching between several of our running jokes in the same conversation—much to the confusion of the others.
and finally. the ghostbuster that seemed none too fond of me at all: egon. i admired him greatly for all of the things he’d invented while discovering more scientific information about ghosts than anyone in the field before him. and, sure, maybe i also admired the way his hair fell into his face when he was examining a new specimen and the way his eyes lit up as he jotted new findings down into the various notebooks he had scattered about. but that’s not very relevant. at least, that’s what i try to tell myself and janine. but after my first week working here, our interactions had been extremely limited.
———
while on my tour from ray, we wandered down to the lab. “this is the spot egon frequents, so if you ever need to find him, this is the best place to look.” ray informs me in a quiet undertone. the stark contrast in the boisterous way he’d been speaking upstairs sobered me. suddenly this whole operation felt much more serious-more real, even. we continued further into the room from the staircase to find egon bent over a microscope.
“egon!” ray greets with a slap on his friend’s shoulder. “ray.” egon mumbles back distractedly. his brows furrow as he adjusts the magnification on the equipment, before moving back and shaking his head.
“hard at work figuring out the molecular breakdown of that goo?” i ask, testing a joke to gage just how professional egon truly was.
while ray smiles, egon merely stares. he seems to be at a loss for words as he considers me and before i can apologize, he rushes out, “yes, actually. we got this when peter got, well, ‘slimed,’ we’ll call it. figuring out it’s exact components could help leaps and bounds in figuring out how exactly these specters manifest and what we can do to stop the influx new york has had thrust upon it.”
“oh! so this is definitely some, uh, important ectoplasm then. i have to admit, i don’t know much on the science side of all of this. would you mind if i borrowed your notes sometime?” i asked, shifting my feet. while it was slightly painful for me to have to ask egon for help understanding, i figured, who better than the brains of the bunch? if i was going to be working here for the foreseeable future, it would be good to have a deeper understanding of the creatures i’d be (indirectly) dealing with.
again, egon hit me with that look, as though he’s never seen something like me before. after an awkwardly long beat of silence, ray nudged egon with his elbow. egon suddenly sprung back to life, quickly maneuvering himself off of his stool and to a desk on the other side of the lab. he grabbed a stapled packet of paper and arrived in front of me, offering it to me with a fully extended arm. “it’s a thesis of sorts, you can read it before i submit it to the new york times.” egon says after i take it, tucking it gingerly into my bag.
i expressed my appreciation and shook his still outstretched hand, introducing myself despite the fact that janine told me she had already told all the guys about me. egon shot me a tight smile, and sensing rather than guessing that he wanted to get back to his ectoplasm, ray moved forward to continue my tour.
three days later, i ventured down to the lab on my own to return egon’s thesis. despite his occasionally overly scientific language, the paper had been a good read. i told him as much when i handed him the papers, making my best attempt at ignoring the flutter in my heart when our fingers brushed. “you thought so? it’s good to hear, peter was saying it may be too advanced for ‘normal people,’” at this point, he did air-quotes with his fingers and i tried my hardest not to be endeared by it. “i think he was just messing with me, ray agreed with me that it was a good middle ground of being too academic and too simple.”
with a jolt, i realized his dark eyes were directed to me for my opinion. “definitely! anything that was kind of complicated, you can deduce through the context. and from what i can tell, peter is always messing with everyone, i wouldn’t take his critiques too seriously.” i reassured, a broad smile on my face as i did so. egon opened his mouth to respond when the siren blared, signaling the beginning of a new case and then end to our conversation.
“well, i’ll catch you later! maybe you can brief me on your goo findings.” i added a wink at the end, trying to get a bit more friendly with the doctor. he stumbled his way through a goodbye before leaving the lab-not seeming to realize that he had his suit down here.
———
since that day, it seemed like egon was avoiding me. i wasn’t sure what i had done wrong. maybe the way i joked about his work? but no, he’d seemed fine when i did that before. the fact that i’d read his thesis? then again, egon had been the one to offer it to me.
i took my concerns to ray, where they were promptly overheard by peter.
“don’t worry your pretty little head about it, newbie. egon gets freaked about my jokes all the time and we still put up with each other!” he said bracingly, shaking my shoulders to make his point.
ray looked as though he wanted to interject, but winston called him from downstairs. he grinned apologetically and slid down the pole to see why his friend was calling him. before long, peter and i were sharing the left over lo mein on the table and discussing golden girls (a guilty pleasure of his.)
egon entered midway through this conversation without even glancing our way. he began to brew a new pot of coffee with his eyes fixed sternly on the machine. i felt a frown tug at my lips before i was able to pull myself away from analyzing this behavior and back to peter’s reasoning about how sophia was the best character. something was different though, i noted as peter scooted his chair closer to mine. my mind switched rapidly between peter’s sudden flirtatious behavior as he hooked his foot around mine to egon’s tense shoulders and white-knuckle grip on the cabinet.
“what do you think?” peter’s voice drew my eyes to him as i tried (and failed) to not notice egon in my peripheral. “about sophia.” he prompted again.
“oh, well i guess i would agree with you-” i began, before peter whooped excitedly.
“yes! i knew there was a reason i liked you!” he proclaimed, snatching my hand up and pressing a dramatic kiss to it. i raised my eyebrows at his prolonged eye contact before drawing my hand away with a chuckle.
“peter, we both know you only like me for my pretty face.” i joked. “well, it certainly doesn’t hurt.” he fired back quickly. suddenly egon snatched the whole pot of coffe, turning swiftly on his heel and closing the door harshly on his way out. “sheesh. looks like someone’s a tad jealous. you know, for egon being the scientist here, i’d sure love to study his brain. not for his supposed genius either.” peter scoffed good-naturedly.
i blinked at him in shock. “jealous? egon? no way.” i denied easily. the guy was extremely pragmatic and intelligent, i doubted he would let something so petty effect him. that and he’s completely avoided me the past couple weeks.
“watch, i’ll show you.” peter insisted. i stared at him before finally relenting with a roll of my eyes. “what’s in it for you anyway?” i asked. “well, an opportunity to bother egon, not to mention flirt with a beautiful lady-” i cut him off quickly, “goodbye peter!”
and so peter’s plan commenced. he flirted with me to apparently make egon jealous, despite the fact that i was sure egon despised me. when i told ray how ridiculous i felt this whole charade was, he agreed but chimed in with something that shook me. “although, if this is what it takes to get egon to make a move, i guess it’ll be worth it.”
i spluttered in shock. “what? it’s true! me and the other guys are sick of him being too skittish to do anything but stare at you.” ray continued as if he hasn’t just flipped my world upside down.
before i could retort, the door swung open and egon, the man of the hour, entered. ray quickly switched the topic to our shared favorite snack, cheez-itz. i stared incredulously at the choice in conversation but he gave me a look back that said ‘just go with it.’ we continued talking about cheez-itz until he left the room. “that was ridiculous.” i mumbled, putting my head down on my arms. ray patted my shoulder sympathetically, unable to reassure me because it really had been.
the following day, there was a new box of cheez-itz on my desk. i stopped a couple of feet away to examine the scene. “what’s the matter with you? you’re blocking the space.” janine said as she steered me to my desk. i silently pointed at the box.
“oh. huh.” she said, apparently also stumped. “wasn’t there yesterday.” i mumbled. she hummed as she took in the scene, before we flinched in shock as ray roughly opened the door. “(y/n)— oh, did you get more cheez-itz?” he asked reaching for the box.
“no, i guess someone… got them for me.” i concluded with a smile. ray handed them over with a shrug. “wasn’t me.” him and janine chorused. i shook my head. that much had been obvious. i sank into my chair as i tried to figure out who would gift these to me, when peter strolled in.
“venkman! what is this, some sort of courting gift?” i asked with a raised brow. “courting g—what are you talking about?” peter replied in bewilderment. i held up the cheez-itz in answer. “ah, no. not from me anyway. also you’re gonna have a visitor soon—” before he could finish speaking, egon hurriedly enters the room with winston trailing behind him.
“so there’s a party and no one invited me? real cold.” winston joked, coming to stand next to ray at my desk. before any of us could retort, egon turns to me and clears his throat.
“could i talk to you, (y/n)?” he asks, eyes shifting from me to the rest of the room.
i blinked in surprise. what was with these guys and catching me off guard today? “um, sure!” i replied, standing up so quickly that my chair rolled back. egon nodded appreciatively and walked back out into the stairwell. with a nervous glance at janine and the guys, i followed.
i shut the door behind me, finding egon standing tensely in the hallway. “are you alright?” i asked gently. he looked at me contemplatively before asking, “did you know peter is attracted to you?”
my eyebrows raised in shock. egon took this to mean no and continued. “that’s the reason he’s asked you out to dinner. he wants it to be a date.” he stared at me as he waited for my response. “oh. huh.” i said intelligently. i hadn’t been informed of this plan. i guess peter may have just started saying whatever he could to make egon jealous. i refocused when i saw egon take a deep breath in.
“do you want it to be a date?” his voice was strained. “um, i’m not sure. i guess i’d have to think about it.” i trailed off uncertainly. egon’s gaze lingered on my fidgeting hands before he burst out, “(y/n), i’d like to tell you something before you consider this date with peter. i… i have feelings for you.”
my mouth parted as i stared at him in complete shock. sure, i’d been told that egon liked me. peter had even started this whole scheme to prove it. but i never really thought it was possible. now though…
“well. this definitely changes things.” i mumbled, my mind going a thousand miles a minute. egon seemed uneasy and maybe regretful. “i-i’m sorry if i’ve ruined things—”
“you haven’t.” i replied firmly. i stepped closer and took his hand in mine. egon’s dark eyes searched mine before he slowly leaned in, bringing the hand not holding mine to rest against my collar bone and play with my hair. a smile involuntarily curled my lips up until i couldn’t contain myself anymore. swiftly, my hand caught his tie and i pulled him to me until our lips pressed together.
egon’s hand moved from mine up to my back and he pressed me closer to him, deepening the kiss with the new angle. i brought my other arm around his shoulders to keep my balance. he was a bit taller than me, and kissing him had me on my tip toes.
“does this mean we aren’t going out this weekend?” venkman’s pouty voice broke me and egon apart. his grip on my waist tightened slightly. “the jig is up peter. you can go crawling back to dana now.” i snickered. “yeah, well, sacrifices needed to be made. she’s been waiting on you two to get together longer than me.” peter replied with an overly dramatic roll of his eyes. he exited with a ‘you’re welcome!’ called over his shoulder. loud cheers erupted after he entered the room again.
“going off all the noise, i guess everyone knows we’re together now.” i hummed, turning to look back at egon. he stood with a puzzled furrow between his brows. “so all of the flirting peter’s been doing, it was all to make me jealous?” he asked. “yeah, he said there was no way you’d confess otherwise.”
at egon’s scoff, i raised an eyebrow. “well, would you have? confessed?” i inquired with a grin. his silence was answer enough. i began to giggle while egon merely shook his head and pulled me closer. “maybe venkman’s smarter than we all think.” he mumbled into my hair. i only laughed harder at this, clutching egon’s shoulders.
“so, wait—” i said, pulling away so that i could see egon. “the cheez-itz, were those you?” i asked in wonder. egon ducked his head, smiling bashfully. i gasped dramatically. “look at you being all romantic with the secret admirer stuff!”
egon moved closer once more, pressing another gentle kiss to my lips. “well, it’s not so secret anymore.” he whispered, before i pulled him in once more. at least now i knew that egon definitely didn’t dislike me.
tags! @maraudermap000
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wildlyglittering · 3 months
Text
Silver In Her Eyes - Part 4
Happy Saturday!
Silver In Her Eyes part 4 is up on Ao3 here and also below the cut!
Please show it some love ❤❤❤
Lucien appeared well.
His long, russet hair flowed to his waist and he smiled more, laughed more. Rhys had interrupted raucous noise when he entered the drawing room, Lucien and his new friends throwing grapes into each other’s mouths.
Rhys' visit was unexpected but also apparently unwelcome. Jurian and Vassa excused themselves to the garden while Lucien stood and watched them leave. When he turned to face his guest his eyes, both the good and the golden, pierced straight through as though he could see Rhys’ very soul.
Rhys turned his agitation into resentment.
Resentment that Lucien was well while Amren made herself ill, resentment that Lucien greeted him as cooly as Varian now did. Resentment that Lucien found delight in the world when Feyre bloomed and grew like a rose before the sharp snap of winter claimed her.
There was the looming issue of allies. Varian’s growing coolness might influence Tarquin and Kallias was fretting like some old crone. Rumours persisted that Keir was whispering promises in Tamlin’s ear and Eris seemed extremely displeased at the lack of negotiated terms between himself and Night.
Even Helion had spoken to Rhys. About how worried he was over Rhys, how Rhys wasn't himself. Rhys had gritted his teeth. Now Helion thought him weak and it just wouldn’t do.
Rhys knew if he secured Lucien, Helion would remain an ally and Lucien could be used to convince Eris to drop his request regarding Nesta and potentially get Tamlin to choose Night. The trick was to secure Lucien in the right way.
Rhys joined Lucien by the window as Jurian and Vassa now lounged on the grass continuing their game. Vassa laughed when one grape missed and hit her in the eye.
“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” Rhys asked. “How...puerile.”
Lucien scoffed as he moved away to lean against a bookcase. “We were having fun. It’s what friends do with each other. You’d know if you had any left.”
Rhys snarled, more beast than High Lord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I have friends.”
The golden eye whirred as an eyebrow raised. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Detached, disinterested, bored.
“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” Lucien looked back to Rhys. “You forget I lived with Tamlin for centuries and stood in front of Amarantha myself.” He gestured to the very gold eye Rhys was glaring into. “For my troubles.”
Rhys took a breath. This was not securing Lucien the right way. Rhys wouldn't benefit in losing his temper and giving Lucien a reason to slam the door in his face – not until Rhys had dangled his carrot.
“Apologies. I am... tense. Keir is making a power grab. He seems to think now is his chance to strike. He’s wrong of course but he has some invested parties and I’m now forced to try and find the same.”
“I’ve heard.” Lucien paused, his face falling into a frown. “What I don’t understand is why now? When Feyre is having your son, doesn’t that weaken his position?”
Rhys closed his eyes. He’d been able to contain the truth to the Inner Circle and Madja. Keir was an unfortunate slip up, one that wouldn’t be repeated once Azriel found the fae who shared that piece of information.
“Who knows what Keir is thinking,” Rhys said, opening his eyes, “but you can probably guess why I’m here.”
“Influence Tamlin? Beron?”
“No, not him.”
Lucien tilted his head and Rhys decided honesty would be the approach.
“Eris has promised to ally to me in exchange for certain conditions. One of those is that he marries an Archeron. For his sins, he’s chosen Nesta.”
A wry smile emerged on Lucien’s face.
“I have to dissuade Eris. Cassian and Nesta are together. I’m hoping you can appeal to Eris’ better nature as his brother, his love for you means you’d have his ear. I’d so hate for mates to be torn apart. Wouldn’t you?”
Half honesty then. Lucien didn’t need to know about the blades Nesta Made.
Lucien exhaled, facing towards the window, his pulse thundering in his neck before he relaxed as though something swept in and whisked his upset away.
“Ah yes,” he said, “the glory of Eris’ brotherly love. If Nesta hasn’t chosen him in return, why not tell him no? She doesn’t seem the type to be shy on how she feels.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes. No. This reluctance of Lucien to be involved wouldn’t do.
Rhys conjured images, of Eris turning his head from the eldest Archeron to the one that tended the thorns. He constructed an image of Elain amongst her roses, being swept up by Eris and dragged to the Forest House where she walked the hallways, wailing like she did now.
Rhys fluttered them across to Lucien’s mind like butterflies where they should have landed so delicately that Lucien wouldn’t have realised they were not his own fears.
Instead, they caught on a torrent in the outer reaches of Lucien’s mind and tore into pieces, their fragile wings shredded and gone. Rhys kept his face neutral as his heart raced. Power had built within Lucien, the natural resistance of a High Lord against a High Lord but without trying, without even knowing.
The second approach then. Rhys’ back up plan. He snapped his fingers behind his back, a cry of surprise echoed out from the garden beyond.
“Elain’s here,” Rhys said, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve winnowed her into the grounds. Take a look.”
Lucien’s face snapped to Rhys’ but he lifted himself from where he leant against the bookcase to move nearer to the window, Rhys joining him.
Elain now stood in the garden, glancing about her at the trees in confusion as a shocked Vassa and Jurian went to greet her. Rhys had promised her a visit to the Mortal Lands, a great garden for her to view and she seemed eager to accept the invitation.
Her fingers curled into the pale pink fabric of her dress, colour blooming to her cheeks which Rhys had yet to see in Night.
Lucien drank her in like he’d been deprived of water for years.
“It is a tragedy, isn’t it? When mates are torn apart,” Rhys said by Lucien’s shoulder. Some small guilt spun down Rhys’ web, knowing he dangled a mate in front of a male when Rhys himself was on the precipice of losing his own.
But it wasn’t the same. Elain and Lucien were nothing in comparison to he and Feyre.
“She looks well enough,” Lucien said, “but she’s sad, lonely. All the pieces of her life are falling away.”
“Night is good for her,” Rhys said, noting how Lucien placed a hand against the pane of the glass. “I think it would do her good to remain. I don’t know how she would fare though if she lost Nesta to Autumn. Another piece taken away I suppose.”
She’d fare fine, Rhys thought. Considering as the sisters could scarcely exist in the same space.
Lucien blinked, his palm dropping from the window and he turned to face Rhys, their bodies too close for his comfort. That damned golden eye whirred again.
“Rhysand, you speak of Eris wanting to marry Nesta to ally with you, of your concern over Cassian and their bond, of Elain’s wellbeing. Surely you can tell Eris no and be done with it. Or perhaps ask Nesta what she wants. That isn’t what you think of those under your protection is it? That they are merely pieces of furniture in your Court without will of their own.”
Rhys’ teeth pressed together. An impulse to dash out that damned eye rose within him, an impulse he quashed. Instead, he turned towards the window where Vassa was now offering Elain grapes but Elain was ignoring her, instead staring through the window back at Rhys, her brown eyes watchful.
“Of course not,” Rhys said, and with a click of his fingers, Elain was gone.
***
Rhys had been fouler than usual.
Where others saw confidence, Nesta saw arrogance. Where they saw charm, she saw manipulation. She never had love in her heart for him and though she tried to find a slither of affection for Feyre’s sake and Cassian’s, Nesta felt that she had always been looking at a different person.
She knew he’d travelled to the Mortal Lands to visit Lucien and had taken Elain with him. She’d not learnt that from Elain but from Feyre, the only sister still willing to speak with her. A simple note landing on her desk; Feyre was busy planning the nursery, the baby was kicking and keeping her awake, Elain had gone to the Mortal Lands.
Nesta guessed that Rhys’ interaction with Lucien had been far from pleasant based on the way Rhys stormed into the House of Wind.
She hid her smile behind her hand, a smile which didn’t linger long as Rhys checked over the blades she forged, chastising her for producing less.
“Three,” he said, a dark mist swirling around his feet. “Last week, the number was five.”
Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she told him. “These three are what you get.”
He’d slammed the door on his way out while Nesta rolled her eyes at his retreating back.
It was no lie. She was exhausted. The time it took for her to forge a single blade had increased. Her back hurt and her head throbbed, her fingers slipped when she held the tools and she’d almost dropped a dagger on her foot.
The clash of hammer on metal was still a song but now each blade joined a screaming chorus in the room and Nesta couldn’t recall when there had last been silence.
She loved the blades but she knew, as she had always known, these were not ordinary. That she had poured a part of herself into their being.
The pile was growing but it wasn’t enough and deciding that Rhys would never be happy if she produced two or twenty, Nesta left the House, the hood of her cape pulled over her face and she stepped out into the fresh Velaris air.
Her desperate, clandestine walk along the cobbled fae-lit streets was not to meet a lover but the two friends she had made on her own. The café was small and squashed between two shabby buildings that would be overlooked by any of the Inner Circle if they tried to find her.
Hours were spent tucked in an alcove, the three of them; Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, so close Nesta had to push down the pang of sadness at remembering when she, Feyre and Elain had to share the same bed.
This time there was nothing but joy. They consumed cups of hot tea and thick slabs of cake with chocolate so rich Nesta smelt it as it left the kitchen. All she wanted was this. A home, friends, someone who loved her.
Nesta returned to the House drunk on excitement. When she approached the first steps, she considered turning and fleeing into the darkness of the wilderness. Yes, the House gave her everything she required but a gilded cage was still a cage.
That excitement soon died when she reached the top. At first Nesta thought exhaustion had overtaken the adrenaline but she realised what she was hearing – or rather what she wasn’t.
Silence.
The blades that spent their time calling to her no longer did. Her stomach squirmed as she ran, her heart racing.
The door to the blacksmith was open, the blades gone. Only Rhys stood in the darkness, the moonlight highlighting his form.
“Did I give you permission to leave?”
“Am I a prisoner?”
He ignored her. “I thought you were tired, Nesta. Isn’t that why only three blades were made this week?”
Her laugh was brittle. “Have you not heard of rest? I asked if I was a prisoner but let me re-phrase; I am not a prisoner. Nor am I your slave. It seems the fae struggle to let old habits die out.”
The growl was low and strong that Nesta first thought it was thunder. But Rhys’ eyes were now blacker rather than violet, the mists swimming about his fingers.
Ice grew within her, her bones hardening, her blood freezing. Nesta’s teeth chattered together as her skin turned grey. He’d freeze her from inside out and then she’d shatter into pieces on the ground.
“You are worthless,” he said. “Letting your baby sister risk her life to keep you fed and clothed, allowing her to come close to starvation. Even the first blow against Hybern wasn’t yours. You benefit from the success of others while doing nothing of note. Your family doesn’t want to see you and Cassian is with you because he has to be. You are no one’s choice, Nesta, no one’s. I am gracious enough to give you a gift to make you more than useless and this is how you repay me.”
The heat she’d felt before burned in her, the flames licking the inside of her skin. A voice spoke into her ear. Do not let him see. Stay as you are, as hard as it may be.
Nesta shivered and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth lest her teeth bite through it.
“You leave this House without permission again and I won’t be so forgiving. Agree to it. Agree.”
Nesta’s words were forced. “Agree.”
He moved away, dropping his power as he did, walking past her without a backward glance as Nesta sagged on the floor like a puppet whose master had cut the strings.
She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. The effort of pushing down whatever rose within her had exhausted her and the fire which burned inside her had turned any tears to steam.
Nesta made it to her room. She was alone in the House again, no Cassian, no Azriel. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had demands held against them but unlike the others, she wasn’t acting through love.
Her arms and legs were heavy as she crawled into bed, barely removing her cape, not even removing her dress. An ache started in her chest and she pushed her hand against it. This wasn’t an ache for Cassian, it was for something else.
“Where are you?” she said aloud. She could never reach Ataraxia although she knew where the sword was housed. She thought of Betrayer who had been mounted in the blacksmiths, of the other swords surrounding it.
Nothing. But she was starting too large - she was weak and unpractised so why did she think calling to a broad sword would gain an answer.
Nesta thought of the small, unassuming dagger which had been sheathed in the corner, its snake like handle twisting into an open jaw, sharp fangs protruding. That had been a blade which called to her with clarity, an image of Nesta slicing through Rhys’ cheek to draw first blood.
Viper. She spoke its name. This time not aloud but inside her mind, imagining the colours of the metal, the shimmer of subtle green along the metal, the sting of its point.
Nesta envisioned pulling; her teeth grinding, sweat dripping down her neck and back. A reverse birthing. No expulsion of life but a calling of it back. She dug her heels into her bed and pressed down, grabbed at the sheets with her fists tearing into the cloth.
Then the pull snapped and her eyes opened. There it was, lying on her stomach, blade pointing towards her heart, as though an invisible midwife had lain it upon her.
Nesta sobbed, even if she couldn’t form tears, sitting up and grasping Viper in her hands. Somehow it was warm and cold to the touch, shivering with anticipation, overjoyed to be back with Nesta.
Rhys had the blades hidden someplace Nesta couldn't reach but for now she had this one, her one. Viper.
It whispered to her, soft and slow, a much-wanted breeze on a too hot day. Mother.
***
“I will not forge.”
Cassian’s presence at the House was a rarity these days and she was loathe to spend their time together in any state of argument. After their fight regarding children, they hadn’t spoken before he’d once again left for Illyria.
Now he was home and while their old argument was cast aside, they were on the precipice of a new one. But this was one she meant.
Cassian had paused by the bed redressing, shirt half on, expanses of tattooed skin still on display while Nesta stood in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wood but she’d been long adept at making them soundless. All that existed was the heat.
She refused to continue forging, not until she learnt what the blades could do or who they were for - or who they would be used against. She also didn’t want Rhys to lay claim to any more, not like he’d done with her first three and the rest he’d stolen since.
Cassian’s shirt rustled as he continued dressing, movement finally returned to his body but she noted his fingers were stiff, fumbling as he worked the buttons.
“Have you said this to Rhys?”
“Not yet.”
Cassian stared at her and Nesta braced herself for the onslaught of his irritation, the protestations of how could Nesta do this to Rhys, his most beloved High Lord and friend.
Instead, he walked to her, placing large, warm hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched her face. A war waged within him; guilt, shame, worry. No, not worry, something stronger and with a more potent flavour – fear.
“Don’t tell him,” Cassian said, “let me be the one to speak to him.”
“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Furious yes, but not fearful.
“Because he’ll say no to you. He might not say no to me.”
Nesta clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t care if he says no. He doesn’t get to make that choice. I want to stop, so I am stopping.”
Heat flooded her hands, fuelled by the pit of rage stoking in her belly, and rushed up her arms and over her chest. For a moment Nesta felt like her face was on fire, that her eyes were burning.
Cassian reared back, dropping his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his palms singed.
“Nesta-” he begun
“I don’t know what that was,” she said, stepping backwards herself, groping at the wall behind her. “I don’t-”
“Tell no one,” Cassian said, the smoke already dissipating from his hands as he held them up, imploring her. “And don’t speak to Rhys.”
“Fine,” she said, pressing a shaking finger against her newly pounding temple. "Speak to him yourself if you think that will sweeten the blow but I will not sit in that room for him anymore.”
Cassian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes wide, his hand now rubbing his brow. A stab of sadness hit Nesta’s chest and she felt his confusion, his torn allegiance.
Part of him remained a little boy, a child forced to be a soldier rather than play at one. He wanted comfort, a mother to hold him, a mate to love him. Cassian had stood for centuries; fighting and commanding, garnering respect and loyalty, dragging numbers of creatures into a prison and here he was, subservient and scared.
The ice-cold shimmer of his fear was not directed at her but towards the male he called brother.
She walked towards him, pulling his hand from his face, before tilting his face down so she could press a kiss, sweet and chaste, upon his cheek.
Even as she did, Cassian leaning towards her, his chin on the crown of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace she knew part of him was too far away.
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sophsicle · 1 year
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Part II
(Part I I will be honest, they're not exactly parts, but they're close enough, like they're mostly just sketches of ideas for something so the continuity is real sus, but there is some connection, also I barely edited this so sooorrrrrrryy I just had an idea so I did a little tappity tap tap)
Regulus is alone. Which is a new and not entirely unwelcome experience.
Usually there are servants, courtiers, advisors.
Regulus is very often lonely. But he is seldom alone. And yet...here he is.
He stands in his brother's bedchamber, the bed still unmade, empty bottles of wine on the tables, piles of books on the floor. Clothes everywhere - over the chairs, balled up in the corners. Some are his brother's, some are, quite clearly, not. Mostly what Regulus sees is the small piece of parchment placed so delicately on Sirius's pillow. There's not much on it. Just five words. I asked you to come
It's hard to swallow. Regulus isn't sure what it is he feels exactly. Anger, grief, betrayal. Betrayal more than the rest of it. Their father has barely been dead three days.
"You haven't sent out a search party."
He grimaces, wiping his face clean before he turns around to face his mother. She's dressed in an ornate black gown, covered in jewels and lace, the most extravagant widow in the whole kingdom.
"No," Regulus says finally. "No, I don't see much point. We have no idea where he's gone."
His mother's dark eyes narrow. "Don't you." It is only many years of training - of beatings - that keeps Regulus's eyes from rolling. "I told you, he didn't tell me anything."
Lets steal a ship. What?
Come on Reg, you and me. Lets steal a ship. Lets go discover something. I don't want to die an old man in my bed.
You'd rather die a young man on a ship?
I'd rather live.
Regulus turns away from his mother, walking towards the window. You can see almost the whole grounds from here. The intricate gardens, the orchard to the west, the forest just on the edge of the property. The best view in the palace.
Makes sense, Sirius is the king after all. Has been. For a whole three days.
"You have a plan then? For finding him? Because the second the families find out he's gone for good this time-"
"I know."
"- they'll come for our throats. And I mean that quite literally."
"I know."
The families are the three other noble lines with a claim to the throne. The Blacks have been in power barely thirty years and their hold on the kingdom has always been shaky. Sirius leaving could ruin them. Will ruin them. Which Regulus thinks, is probably part of the reason his brother did it.
"We haven't got the army or the funds to fight a civil war, let alone win one," she's crept up on him, standing too close, a shiver running down his spine. "So I hope you have a plan to bring him back." Down below a man walks into view. He has long shaggy brown curls, barely contained by a leather strap. He's playing with one of Sirius's dogs - a giant black hound - throwing sticks. Not exactly courtly behaviour.
"I think I know someone who might have some information."
"Well then give him to Greyback so we can get it already."
Regulus feels himself go very still. Fenrir Greyback was one of their father's most trusted advisors, and oldest friends. He's also a torturer. No one uses that word, of course. No one says it out loud. But that is what he does.
"I don't think that will be necessary," the man below him bends down, scratching the dogs head so thoroughly that the ridiculous creature quickly plops down and shows him his belly. Even from this distance, Regulus can make out James Potter's laugh.
"Regulus, you can't be soft about this."
That's her favourite word for him.
His brother is reckless.
But Regulus is soft.
He takes one final look at the pirate below him before turning away. "I'll get the information mother. Don't you worry."
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tathrin · 11 months
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Back at you with the asks! You write Gimli and Legolas as distinctively representative of their own peoples, and clearly you have some pretty strong headcanons about dwarves and elves, as kindreds. What counts as "smart" and "capable" for each, and how much would your Gimli and Legolas be considered smart and capable by their respective cultures? What might each of their peoples think of Gimli's and Legolas' particular strengths? What might their relative weaknesses be, in their own contexts? How much do you consciously or unconsciously write them to balance each other's weaknesses, within or across cultures?
Ohhhhh boy wow this is an extremely delightful and, frankly, flattering question and I feel like you are maybe giving me more credit for Thinking Things Through than I have actually earned or deserve, but I am going to try to answer it in full the way such a fantastic query deserves as best I can anyway!
(the not-so-secret secret is that I write a lot more by instinct/seat-of-my-pants than I probably should shhhhhh.)
Legolas and the Wood-elves: he's everybody's little brother. He's one of (if not the) youngest elves in Mirkwood, one of the very last to be born before the Shadow (which was already creeping over the forest when he was born, although only a little bit; not enough that they had to really acknowledge it yet, even if they had sort of noticed its first unwelcome tendrils) grew so dark that they stopped risking birthing new children into their woods.
So Mirkwood (Greenwood still, then; Greenwood for a long, long time before they finally resigned themselves to the truth of the name everyone else had given them a long time ago) has always, in my head, been a very we'll be happy to spite you on purpose sort of place. Their forest is awash in darkness, so they will be joyful as a weapon against the dark. They're happy on purpose. Their merriment is a weapon. And they raised their children to be happy, dammit. Not naive, not vulnerable; they couldn't afford that. They raised them to know the dangers of their forest, and to know how to protect themselves against it, yes; but also to do so without ever giving up on joy and laughter. Which was a weapon, yes, but it was also very important to them that their children would still grow-up happy. That no matter how dark Mirkwood got, the children would never stop laughing.
Which was great, and I think informs Legolas's attitude and consistent cheerfulness during the Quest very much (of course it does, since it's being worked backwards from the canonical fact of said attitude, as an explanation for it lol)...but also, as a sort of unintended side-effect, the elves of Mirkwood didn't really want to see their youngest generation grow up, not entirely. Elves clearly have to be able to adapt to seeing someone they knew as a baby as a whole-ass adult, because they live forever (unless you kill them) so there's no just aging-out and letting the new generation eventually take over; the new generation lives alongside all the old ones too. So they'd have to have become adept at this shift in perspective, culturally.
However. The last generation of children born in Greenwood before it became Mirkwood is a special case, because their youth was such a source of joy to everyone else that they just sort of...never entirely stopped thinking of them as kids. (The fact that there hasn't yet been a generation of kids to follow them contributes to this too, of course; they're seen as The Youngsters because they still are the youngest.)
So on one hand, yes everyone has learned to respect the skills and fighting prowess of "the youngsters" because this is Mirkwood, and you aren't going to have many elves who don't go out and fight because practically everything in the forest wants to kill you a little bit. And Mirkwood values things like swift reflexes and sharp eyes and good aim, because that's how you stay alive; they value being able to judge the difference between a shadow and A Shadow at a glance because if you guess wrong "dying" is sort of the best-case result. They value loyalty and determination and the ability to be joyful even in the face of defeat and despair. And Legolas has all of those traits and skills, for sure.
In fact I think Legolas is one of their best archers (in a scene I can't remember whether I've published yet or not, his sister muses on how it might be because his spirits are so bright that his vision is yet unclouded by the Shadow that hangs heavy on the rest of them) and he's definitely trusted to, like, Walk Into The Murderforest And Come Back Alive, sure. They trust him in a fight! He's a competent adult and a skilled archer! But he's also still a kid to their eyes, in a lot of ways, even though he isn't and they know he isn't...but he still feels like one.
So it's not like they're condescending or cruel or anything, but they do I think look at him and instinctively think "oh no baby, must take care of" on some level. So: is he seen as smart and capable? Yes, for sure. But also: "omg Elrond did you really send A CHILD to MORDOR?" Elrond: he's six-hundred years old wtf. Mirkwood: "yes, a six-hundred-year-old BABY!" Elrond: .....wtf tho. So, again, it's not like his opinions or suggestions would be dismissed or ignored...but there's always going to be a bit of a protective urge there (because the elves of Mirkwood worked so hard to protect their last generation of children, and it's a hard habit to break even though they aren't children anymore) and a kind of eternal-head-pat vibe.
Also he is sheltered. (Or was, before the Quest. I expect Elrond was smart enough to try and avoid Thranduil as much as possible before he got on that boat to Aman.) I go back and forth on whether or not Rílaerloth was involved in the Battle of Five Armies, but Legolas was absolutely not brought along when Thranduil marched a bunch of their forces off to potential-war-with-the-dwarves. It's one thing to let your kids go out and shoot spiders and possibly risk a glancing encounter with a Nazgûl ("and what do we do if we see one of the Lords of Dol Guldur? That's right we run the fuck away, thank you children") and another thing altogether to bring them purposefully to something that might become a war.
Especially for the elves of Mirkwood, who lost so much in the War of the Last Alliance. None of the folks who lived through that would be keen to bring any of the "youngsters" into a full-fledged war I don't think, even a comparatively little one that they were all expecting would end up being nothing more than some Posturing With Weapons in the end. (If Thranduil had known that it was going to be an actual war he wouldn't have brought Rílaerloth, either, even if he'd have had to have Eregmegil sit on her to stop her.)
*You'll note that I haven't mentioned anything about lore or wisdom or any of the more traditional Elvish Talents here, just fighting and survival; this is tied to the whole more dangerous, less wise aspect of Mirkwood. They certainly do value wisdom and lore still, and it's not like Legolas is ignorant or an idiot; but there's a reason he forgets the words to old songs halfway through, and Aragorn doesn't. In Mirkwood they're more focused on "this is how you kill a spider before it can eat you" and "how to recognize a web that's fresh enough to be sticky versus one that's old enough to be safe to touch" and "when you feel a creeping darkness like this brushing against your soul, run like fuck" than on the things you learn in Rivendell.
In the evenings they don't gather in their peaceful Hall of Fire and exchange poetry compositions, they get drunk and dance around the fire and sing as loud as they can to scare the shadows away. They're more practical in the sort of lore they value because they have to be. They don't have a magic Ring to protect their borders; in fact, they literally have Ringwraiths and Dark Lords squatting in their own damn forest far too much of the time. Also, honestly, a lot of that lore is the history of other people anyway.
The elves of Mirkwood stayed in their forest because they wanted to; the ones who fled from Doriath and joined them there came precisely because they wanted a "simpler and more natural" elvish way of life. They weren't really involved in a lot of the Elvish Drama going on outside their woods (and when the stakes got high enough that they did get involved, three-quarters of their army died so. yeah. that's not really going to inspire them to go out and socialize more, is it?) most of the time. So if maybe Legolas can't remember the difference between Andreth and Adanel...does it matter, in Mirkwood?
(No, no it doesn't.)
Gimli and the Dwarves: I have a lot fewer Concrete Headcanons and Societal World Building done for the Lonely Mountain than I do for Mirkwood, so this is going to be very much a briefer response, I'm afraid. But I think Gimli was likely equal parts respected and overlooked by his people, because he is a very talented and erudite dwarf of a very fine line of dwarves, so on one hand everybody definitely would respect him and his capabilities...but on the other, I think they do take him for granted a little bit, because of course he would be good at x and y and also z, because he is Gimli son of Glóin of the House of Durin! And he's certainly talented—but also hasn't really done anything of great significance before the Quest, due mainly to the fact that there simply wasn't anything significant to do. So: respected, yes. But not always acknowledged, in a way.
Not given the "he's a kid!" treatment like Legolas is, but just having his competence and skill taken for granted much more often than it gets remarked upon. People expect Gimli son of Glóin of the House of Durin to be awesome (and he is!). Mind you, over-achiever that he is, he goes out and gets himself sent on this massively important Quest and then proves to be so much more awesome than anyone was prepared for...but it's not until he gets back, and the full accounting of his deeds and accolades and honors is recounted, that anyone in the Lonely Mountain really stops to go oh huh.
And I think even then, they probably still continue to take his prowess for granted a little bit, simply because they're so used to him being that way—and so used to expecting him to excel at whatever it is he's asked to do. I think the full breadth of his brilliance probably won't be properly realized and appreciated until some years later, when he's Lord of Aglarond and there's a bit more distance there, and more younger dwarves who grew-up on the stories of Gimli more than just "yeah that's Glóin's kid, he's good hand at [insert-skill-here]" running around to be in proper awe of Gimli of the Nine Walkers, Gimli Lockbearer, Gimli Elf-Friend, Gimli Lord of the Glittering Caves, Gimli Silvertongue, Gimli Friend of Kings...etc etc etc.
I think the older dwarves might actually end up a little blindsided by it, in a way, when it does sort of click in their heads.
Weaknesses & Balance: Legolas has a tendency to run-off half-cocked without thinking things through, trusting his instinct and skill to get him out of whatever he might end up running into (part of this is because of the aforementioned sheltering: yes Mirkwood is a dangerous place, but he's never really been anywhere but Mirkwood before, and the dangers of Mirkwood are dangers that he knows how to deal with so he doesn't need to worry that he's going to end up in over-his-head there). He's also definitely the short-tempered one of the pair (hello, Éomer!) although he's also the more easy-going in a lot of ways simply because there aren't a lot of things that do make his temper spike.
Gimli by contrast is more of a craftsman in his approach to the world, although not so much as to hesitate when faced with a need to act (for instance: "dwarves can't shape stone with our fingernails, but I'll come figure it out anyway!") but that's countered somewhat by his extremely overpowering sense of loyalty: if his idiot friends run into a bad situation, you can bet that Gimli will be right on their heels even if he ought to know better. He's more self-effacing, too, which can be both a good thing and a bad thing, although in his case it's mostly the former. Conversely, he's very prideful, too, although he's such a gentleman about it that you don't really notice ("I would take offense at x, if you weren't too ignorant to know better!" etc) because it's not a rude sort of arrogance; just a supreme, contended confidence both in himself and in his people.
I think Gimli wears his heart on his sleeve a lot more, although Legolas is the one who's more directly open about his own thoughts and feelings whereas Gimli is more inclined to keep things to himself. (Gimli thinks; Legolas blurts.)
Gimli certainly does share his feelings ("what about your companions! what about Legolas and me!"), sometimes trying to cover them with gruffness (see: "I was upset to think you might be dead when I found you underneath that troll, only because I'd gone to so much effort to keep you alive, you see! I definitely wasn't running around the battlefield frantically searching for you out of pure friendship and love, nope!" and "say not so! I'd be bummed if all the elves left because elves are kind of cool you know?") and sometimes dropping some full-on poetry at us (see: "I have looked the last upon that which is fairest!" as well as literally every single word about Aglarond lol) but it tends to pop out in half-involuntary bursts where he just gets so overwhelmed by how much he cares that he can't help himself.
Whereas Legolas is just like "oh yeah let me tell you about the Sea-Longing that's eating my soul from the inside out, nbd" or "sorry, can't translate these songs for you because I Am Sad." He may not walk around actively volunteering his thoughts or opinions unprompted often, but he doesn't seem to make any efforts to maintain a pretense or keep whatever he's feeling private either, when the topic comes up. He'll just walk around Singing What He Feels for the whole world to hear, why not?
And on the aforementioned topics of poetic phrasing and Not Having A Filter, Legolas is definitely The Awkward One when it comes to conversation and diplomacy. Gimli Silvertongue knows how to craft a clever phrase, thank you very much! He is eloquent and gracious and even-tempered and Legolas...well, we're all probably lucky if he's remembered to speak in Westron rather than his own weird forest dialect of Sindarin, tbh. When one of them needs to do the talking for them both, it's almost always going to be Gimli. Legolas is the guy you get when you need to shoot-down a flying Nazgûl; Gimli is the one you call when there's a delicate diplomatic situation to be discussed.
Legolas is also definitely the more easily distracted, and I think Gimli teases him about that a lot—although that's also a bit of a cover, because Gimli knows that Legolas's senses are so much sharper than his. Said distractability is in part a result of the natural flightiness of Wood-elves and in part the result of having those keen senses: he notices more things, so of course he's more likely to be distracted by them. Having said sharp senses also means Legolas can more safely afford to allow himself to be distracted, because he doesn't have to actually pay attention to notice an approaching danger the way Gimli does. (And yes, Gimli gets grumpy about that sometimes, but this is part of that "cover feelings through gruffness" thing: he doesn't want to admit that he worries that Legolas will get himself into trouble by not paying enough attention, and he definitely doesn't want to admit that dwarven senses can't keep up.)
In fact, I think post-Quest one of Gimli's biggest weaknesses is his concern that a mortal dwarf can't keep up with an elf. I think he worries about it a lot more than is merited by reality, actually, and I think that's informed in large part by his knowledge of his own mortality and how much it will eventually hurt Legolas to lose him. He cannot help but dwell on all the things a dwarf can't do that an elf can, because he's so preoccupied by the one big one: an elf can stay, while a dwarf eventually has* to leave...has to die. So while it doesn't exactly shake his sense of confidence in himself, it has him paying a lot more attention to what he can't do than what he can. He doesn't forget his strength or skills; he just ends up weighing them less than they deserve when balanced against what elves can do instead.
*he doesn't, as it turns out! but he doesn't know that yet.
(As much as he comes to dread Gimli's death, none of the rest of that has ever occurred to Legolas. If anyone asked Legolas if he ever got "tired" of being "held-back" by the "limitations of a dwarf" you'd get a very confused look in return and an apologetic explanation about how Different Types Of People Have Different Strengths, Silly...or, depending on how rudely you phrased the question, a very quick and probably painful lesson on what more dangerous and less wise can mean. Legolas doesn't really understand mortal limits—see: "are you sure you don't want to just keep running all night? why not?" and of course the infamous "gee why don't y'all just walk ON the snow? what, like it's hard?" incident—but when somebody says "No Legolas, that's Not Physically Possible" he rolls with it, even being able to later point-out to marchwardens who don't know Mortal Limits as well as he (now) does that his friends need more than a single rope to run on, pls!)
Legolas is right, though, because their different strengths really do balance one another well: Gimli is the solid, thoughtful, reliable rock who makes for both an unwavering foundation on which to build and an eloquent shield upon which the waves of the world will break and leave them both unscathed behind his kind and dauntless walls. Legolas is the swift, sharp knifeblade that darts out mercilessly from the shadows to dispatch a threat and then turns around and returns just as fleetly with armfuls of unquenched joy and laughter to brighten even the blackest, deepest night without any caution or hesitation. Legolas reminds Gimli of how much he delights in curiosity and exploration; Gimli reminds Legolas of the joy and comfort of coming home after wandering afar.
Of course they had to go to Aman together. Gimli could never have resisted following Legolas somewhere so interesting, and Legolas would never have managed such a portentous journey without Gimli there to steady him along the path.
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whatgaviiformes · 7 months
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i'm absolutely windswept
I started Thunderteers in May of 2019. I remember very distinctly being out to dinner with Hubs, coordinating the AU concept almost entirely for a long, epic first story. We were at a Chili's and I had my usual indecisive platter of appetizers as my meal. As of today there's only been 3 chapters of what mapped out that day. Some of it made it to paper. I've never been great at those long epics - I love reading them, but my writing brain is most solid with the 1K-6K word length.
So I started building the world with fic. I wrote about Virgil playing the violin, and how he made music. I explored Gordon's accident, and what it could've happened in place of a hydrofoil. I reached for Military!Bros instead of my usual FishTank, and explored the truth behind legends. I forced myself to make and break OCs, spent way too much time researching when songs were created, recipes of the time, if certain animals were classified the same way, and what name a city may have had in 1774.
Other things I decided not to research at all.
Above all that, before I posted a new story or fic, I asked myself if the imagery was there, and was it something I was proud of? Because I knew - the only way I could get others to set sail with me, was to make sure I was taking you on the journey. Not if it was historically accurate, but does this feel like our boys, and are they interacting with the environment in a way that feels like it would still be them? Is it possible to still see Gordon? Still see Scott?
That was my first AU.
Naturally, in asking myself this, I've had different images in my head all this time, and I was lucky enough this month to have the chance to ask the amazing @chenria to bring one of them to life for me. You can find the post below:
Sailor Gordon by Chenria.
Go like it, reblog it, send her support, consider joining her patreon if you can. She knocked it out of the park, and in so doing - inspired me along the way.
If you decide to read Thunderteers, just know - it's not always beautiful.
But this one - it's all love and heart. I've written the snippet for Windswept as a thank you to chenria's amazing work, to everyone who puts up with my reblogging posts for the age of sail (#ships ships ships) or who tag me in things to see, or have Wellerman living rent free in their heads and let me play along. Thanks to those that have read the story, maybe cried along, or sent me words of encouragement.
Thank you for letting me experiment with language and story, and sometimes - when I get really lucky- for the words I've written to matter to you.
*****
Windswept (~500 words)
As far as clouds go, Gordon is among the strangest. The wind tugs at his clothing, hanging loose and informally on his silhouette, and at his hair where he stands aloft amidst the sails. The seabirds close to shore weave their dance between the ropes above, circling him curiously. Even though his form is strange to them, he’s not unwelcome in their home in the air. If anything, he’s just a part of the flying clouds that make up the rigging of their ship.
The gulls’ calls sound like laughter, and he smiles with them. The birds will accompany the ship for a time, darting towards the quick meal at the bow where the front of the ship often disturbs the sea life below. If the voyage is to be a lucky one, they’ll grace the wood of the ship with a gift or two that’ll be left to wash away only with the next rain.
Gordon can feel the sway of the ship stronger from above; though with the Thunderbird still anchored close to shore, the waves are gentle as they lap against her firm hull. The movement is a tease for the voyage ahead, as Gordon has always found himself more comfortable in their journeys out to sea than he’s ever felt in his tentative steps on land. The ship has watched him grow and come of age, from awkward limbs racing up the rigging, to strong shoulders heaving her lines and helming her wheel. She’s given him the freedom to roam, to explore lands and seas unknown, and even with the thrill of adventure, Gordon feels most safe in the comfort of her embrace. If that isn’t a home, he doesn’t know what else is.
He knows her in the early morn - the way the sunrise paints cotton and how the mist tingles at the fuzz on his arms at the start of his shift. He knows the echo of their shanties within her oak beams, and the squeak of her joy when the creatures of the sea ride along with her bow waves upon them really catching the wind and when the tang of citrus remains on his tongue from breaking fast.
He knows her in the rain, the smell of wood and cotton when burdened with wet from above as well as below, the crackle of lightning in its brief and staggered illumination of her flags. He knows her in the cold, when the puff of his breath is visible and the wind cuts into his skin. Among whales, massive and elegant as they groan their song into her hull.
He knows her in the evening – Virgil and John’s cooking and their different nuances for flavor and spice, the vibrato of Virgil’s violin paired with the warm timbre of the Scott’s cello pulsing along her foundations. The way she creaks below Alan’s eager footsteps.  He knows the soft glow around flame-lit lanterns in the darkest of night and the hush of melodies uttered in multiple languages up towards twinkling stars. The way his hammock rocks him to sleep with her movement.
He knows her in both fair winds and motionless skies, in the brightest of sunlit days and the most cloud-covered of nights. Through doldrums, archipelagos, and the far reaches of the seas, and along coastlines, he knows her.  
And his soul trembles just as she does, her unfurled sails shuddering in anticipation of catching the wind.
TBC..?
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neonacity · 1 year
Text
NOCTURNE: RENJUN X READER | CHAPTER 3
PAIRING: YANDERE! RENJUN X READER
NOCTURNE: A DREAMY PIECE OF WORK RELATING TO THE NIGHT OR DARKNESS IN GENERAL.
“And what if… It is the villain you fall for? What then?”
Genre/Warnings: minor character death, yandere/manipulative Renjun, cheating, abusive relationship dynamics/marriage. Smut. Oral (M receiving), questionable consent—Renjun is an incubus here, so he influences people, but nothing is truly forced. Minors, do NOT interact. 
This is the third part of my Dark Fairytale series with Dream’s 00 line and exists in the same universe as Haechan and Jaemin’s stories (links below). Please read the previous chapters to understand what’s happening. 
> CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2
Orphic | Haechan x Reader | Royalty!AU
Nighted | Jaemin x Reader | Vampire!AU
Summary:
Renjun’s nature has always given him assurance over one thing: that regardless of which century or lifetime he lives, he’ll never run out of love and affection from anyone he sets his desires on. As a Gancanagh—a fairy born to seduce and claim mortals—he was designed to be the object of lust and want of everyone, which is why it felt like the universe was finally punishing him when he finally came across the only woman he could ever want, but never have.
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"You have a wonderful rose garden, Ma'm."
Your eyes lingered on the walls of the flowering bushes that towered over you as you wove through the sprawling hedge maze. You have heard of stories about the beauty that is the Huang manor before, but no carefully picked adjectives could have prepared you for the level of majesty that stretched now in front of you. Even the woman walking just a few steps ahead seems to fall perfectly in the beauty of the moment, her steps light and graceful as she led the way deeper into the heart of the garden. The lady gave a soft laugh in response to your wonder as her own gaze also touched the lush blooms she passed.
"The first few buds were a gift from the former King. They are the exact same roses that the castle still has in their garden. He gave it to our family when Yun was born."
Your attention snapped back to focus at the mention of that information. You have been so engrossed in appreciating the beauty around you that for a good moment, you have forgotten the knot of nervousness that has been weighing heavily on your stomach since you stepped foot into the grand manor. When you started your day, it absolutely did not cross your mind that you would be spending it doing impromptu portrait work for the High Lady of this house—the very matriarch of the Huang family herself. Your nerves were absolutely frazzled when you got the invite, but of course your mother was only far too elated upon knowing the piece of news. And while you aren't that clueless about the possible implications of this stretch of an offer—especially after the night of the masquerade ball—your assumptions only served to make you even more on edge about this interaction.
"It will be such a great honor to use this place as the backdrop for your portrait then, Madam…" you said, your voice sounding a little bit more careful again. The lady seemed unconscious of it at the very least as she smiled.
"My youngest son, Renjun, was actually the one who suggested the idea. He has mentioned your wonderful work to me so I thought, why not invite you to do my portrait? I am due to have one sooner or later anyway."
You were thankful that the woman was walking a little ways ahead of you, otherwise, she might have caught the way you paused for a breath as she mentioned the boy's name. It has been a good few weeks since that last dance at the ball happened, but the memories came flooding back to you quickly, almost by force. The pointed grip on your hips… The lilt of his lips as he smiled at you… The way his gaze ghosted over face… Every memory of him holding you that night crowded your mind again like an unwelcome visitor. Renjun has never touched or spoken to you in a way that is offensive or unacceptable to society's standards, but there has always been that shadow in the way he looks at you that has always triggered the primal need in your gut to flinch and flee. It was the reason why you've been elusive towards him for quite some time now, but lately, you felt that something has changed in the past few times you've been in each other's radius. You couldn't really put your finger on it, but it's almost like some switch has been flipped…
And now all walls that had been holding him back are gone.
"That is… very nice of him. Especially since he could have done it himself. My work pales to his craft if I must say… He is the best student in our class," you said softly, careful not to let any of your current emotions leak to your tone. Lady Huang seemed pleased at your comment as she gave a soft hum of approval before finally stopping her leisurely pace. You paused as well, and that's when you realized that the two of you have reached the heart of the maze, a clearing of considerable size with hedges of roses higher than the ones you've passed earlier. A fountain made of white marble was set in the middle of it, spewing water so clear that it sparkled under the sunlight.
"So I've been told. I've also heard a lot of stories about you from my youngest son… Which brings me to the second reason why I invited you here."
If you were apprehensive earlier, then you were absolutely petrified now. You have an idea of where the conversation was going, but your awareness did nothing to calm the erratic beating of your heart. Surreptitiously, you clutched the edges of the painting bag that you brought with you while waiting for the woman to finish. She was looking at you with softness in her eyes, an emotion that seemed so alien to you, having not received it before from your own parents.
"I am going to cut to the chase. Darling, I'm sure you know about my oldest son's preference towards you. Yun is very fond of you, and as his mother, I only want to give him happiness. If I may ask… And excuse me for my bluntness, but are you considering him to receive your hand, sooner or later?"
The heat that has overcome your whole face was swift and unforgiving. You ducked your head a little to your chest in a hopeless attempt to at least try and hide the redness of your cheeks.
"I… Lord Yun has not really… Talked to me about this."
It was not a direct answer, but Lady Huang is known for her persistence as much for her beauty. She took a step closer towards you now and took one of your gloved hands in hers.
"He hasn't because he knows you have a number of suitors. It is a well-known fact among the circle of debutantes. My son, unfortunately, is a very accommodating person, almost to a fault. I know he wouldn't want to step forward unless he knows that you have considered the others. But have you, my girl? I know it is not in my position to ask you this, but please give my heart some comfort. I only want my boy to be happy."
It must be the maternal instinct that she is honestly exuding, but something about the words of the woman tugged at your heartstrings. You know in yourself that you are not in love yet with her son, but the honesty and sheer care in her eyes made you want to yearn for something similar for yourself. You stared at her now, eyes bouncing over her graceful features, until something inside of you clicked. Slowly, you turned your hand so that you were holding hers instead.
"Lord Yun is a wonderful man, Ma'm… It would be such an honor for me… to receive his affections."
It was not a straightforward reply, but it was enough for the assurance that she was looking for. Lady Huang's face lit up, her smile so genuine that you can't help but return the gesture to her as she squeezed your hand gratefully. It was an intimate moment of woman to woman, a mother talking to a daughter. Despite yourself, you felt your heart soaring, as if you've finally found a safe space to land on.
"That eases my heart. Thank you. I promise I will not get in the way of your courtship, but I hope you indulge me for saying this early. My dear…"
"I am excited for you to be a part of the family."
******* "So? When am I going to have a sister-in-law?"
Renjun's voice was light and casual as he moved the knight piece over the chessboard calmly. Across from him, his older brother glanced at him with a slightly surprised look before bringing his eyes back to the game with pointed effort. He could almost taste the flustered emotions of the older male at the tip of his tongue, a bitter one that he swallowed behind his calm facade. A moment passed before Yun answered, the man's voice low and almost unsure.
"I have not decided yet. I am giving her time to consider her situation."
"Do you mean to say, you are giving her other suitors a chance to whisk her away from you?"
The sharpness of the truth in his words made the other man slightly wince. Usually, Renjun would toe around his statements for the sake of keeping up the facade of the perfect brother, but he has been incredibly impatient recently. For his own sake, he cannot keep back his own plans anymore just because of the cowardice of another person.
Yun frowned now as he moved a bishop across the board. It is obvious that he has become distracted, because Renjun easily ate the piece with his rook.
"I simply do not want to force myself on her. She has a lot of suitors and I want to make sure she has thought about it well before I offer her the question."
Renjun leaned his head slightly to the side before slowly leveling his gaze towards his brother. Now, he had never particularly hated the man before—he had done a pretty acceptable job of tolerating him in his opinion—but he also had never been fond of his personality as a whole. Yun is so… very much human. Always restricted by what society says is acceptable or not, afraid to inconvenience someone for the sake of being perceived as nice. They were qualities he had never understood, even as a Fae trapped in a human shell. It was irritating for him, how people can't just seem to claim what they desire.
"Did you not make a connection with her during the last Ball?" He asked innocently, his eyes skillfully hiding away his real emotions. The way the man turned red in the face in front of him almost made him puke.
"I… did."
"I think so too. I have watched the two of you from afar. I can't speak for her, but I think anyone with a working pair of eyes can see that there is some… interest there."
Yun looked at him, a hopeful look on his face.
"You think so?"
Renjun smiled charmingly despite the jealousy twisting his stomach into knots. It takes him everything not to lean over and tear the other man's heart off his chest every time he remembers how she looks at him, but he has to control himself… Because this is all part of his carefully plotted plan. For him to get to her, Yun has to tie her to their family first.
"Yes. Which is why I don't understand why you are hesitating. I applaud you, hyung, for giving her space. But don't you think it might also be sending her the message that you're… not really that serious about your intentions?"
A look of slight worry overtook the older Huang. Renjun internally smiled behind his casual mask, knowing full well that he had caught him in his web. He may be human now, but evne the strongest spell cannot entirely take a Gancanagh's power of seduction over words.
"That's not what I… I did not mean to…"
"I know... But it might be the message she is getting. I'm just saying," he shrugged as he pressed the dial on the chess counter to urge the other to make a move. Yun did, but barely, his hand moving his last remaining knight over the board in the midst of his distraction. Renjun's eyes dropped on the pieces briefly, before smiling secretly to himself.
"I have never considered that. Do you think I should…"
"Ask her? I don't know. Are you confident that you are the best of all the men vying for her hand?"
The silence that followed his question was brief, but loaded. Yun pursed his lips as a frown settled on his features.
"Yes. I am."
"There you go. I think that is the only answer that you need. I can't force you to do anything, brother, but personally…" he slowly lifted his  own knight and rested the piece gently over a block on the board. "I think you will be the perfect pair."
The other boy was so distracted wading through his own thoughts, that he failed to notice how his King piece was taken by his last move. Renjun's lips tipped to the sides as he knocked it over effortlessly with his knight.
"Checkmate, by the way. Don't ever let your eyes off the game, hyung. Take it as advice from a man… to another man."
******* The way the sun reflected off the paper you were working on made you smile. You were sitting in the middle of the garden where you usually have your art classes, trying to finish off a quick practice piece using watercolors. It was a Sunday so you have the place to yourself, surrounded only by the gentle chirping of the birds and the soft rustle of trees swaying in the wind. Days like this are your favorite part of the week, because it is the only time you can escape your manor without your parents pressing about your activities. You were far too engrossed in the peacefulness of the moment that you didn't notice the gentle creaking of the gate separating the garden from the rest of the academy. Humming softly, you reached over to dip your paintbrush on your small palettes of color to continue your picture, oblivious of your surroundings.
"That is a very pretty landscape."
The sound of a soft voice from behind you made you suddenly turn around in surprise. It took you a good few seconds to gather yourself, the newcomer taking the chance to cross the distance to where you were sitting. Rising from your spot under the tree, your hands quickly gathered your skirts around you just in time for the man to finally stop at a polite distance from where you are. You were so stunned, that you forgot to give him your usual bow of greeting as he waited for you to speak. 
“Lord Yun… Why are you…”
A slightly sheepish smile flittered over the man’s face at your question. He briefly looked away, before glancing at the ground in front of him. 
“I visited your manor today, but your mother told me that you usually spend your Sundays painting. She said I might find you here…”
You didn’t give any immediate answer. Of course your mother told him where you are. Silently, your heart rate started picking up as your mind tried to go through the possible reasons behind his sudden visit. A part of you berated you for possibly overthinking, but you cannot deny the pressing feeling in your gut that made you fidget your fingers underneath the pleats of your skirt. Yun probably noticed, because for a moment, he looked actually guilty for showing up unannounced. However, a look of determination took over his features as quickly as the doubt came, and he took a moment as if he was gathering himself before he spoke again. 
“My Lady… I do not want to make this longer than it should. I have told myself that I want to give you time to think over my offer, but recently, I have realized that I might lose you should I remain passive about my feelings,” he paused and took his hat, gripping its brim with his fingers. Unconsciously, your eyes shot straight to his face. You thought you felt your heart stutter upon seeing the genuine emotions that have overtaken his features.
“I have no wish of forcing myself on you, but I just want you to know that I adore you, and that I… I would wish nothing more than for you to accept my offer for marriage, if that is what your heart so wishes, too. I… will understand if you give me no for an answer, because a rejection will also be better than this silent dance I’ve initiated for quite some time.”
You were absolutely speechless. You knew what was coming, but it did nothing to calm down the erratic buzzing inside of your head. All of a sudden, it was like everything was happening all at the same time, similar to how one’s life would flash in front of someone’s eyes in the midst of a momentous occasion. Questions overlapped in your head, too quick and fleeting for you to catch and comprehend.
Do you love him? Will this make you happy? What will come out of this?
Will this save you…? Or will jumping into this be your ruin?
You don’t know how long you stood there. It must have taken seconds, maybe a full minute, but for you the moment felt like it lasted forever. Then, just when you thought your head would split from all the thoughts, everything stopped to dead silence, until your consciousness fixated on one thing.
No, you don’t love him.
But you can learn to do it… In time.
“Are you… Asking me to marry you, Lord Yun?” you asked softly, voice steady albeit quiet. Your question rendered him speechless for a heartbeat before he finally gave a nod.
“Yes, my Lady… I am.”
“Then perhaps you can ask me again… More clearly this time?”
The way his face changed from shock, to realization, then back to nervousness made you give the slightest of smiles. You did wait for him to politely speak again, however, your gaze on him more steady this time.
“Will… you marry me?”
The corners of your lips twitched as your smile widened. In that moment, you decided to embrace the uncertainty of it all and focused instead on how your fate will be changed from the point on. When he finally returned the smile, you knew you’ve made the right decision.
“Yes, my Lord. It will be such an honor to be your wife.”
******* “How cruel… Is the girl still alive?”
Renjun barely looked around from his position on the loveseat at the crooning voice that came from the open window. Below him, slumped on the spot on the floor between his legs was a woman, loose hair splayed messily all over her face. The flickering light from the fireplace barely illuminated the form of the girl that clambered from his windowsill, her expensive gown covered by a dark coat that allowed her to blend in the dark. There were no jewels that decorated her hair at the moment, but the unexplainable glow that clung on her as she walked casually over to the edge of his bed, directly across from where he sat, betrayed her affinity to the ethereal and the supernatural.
“Why are you here? Is the King not fucking you well enough that you had to climb over to my bedroom, My Queen?” he asked, voice steady even as his breath hitched from the way the girl bobbed her head slowly around his length. His visitor merely chuckled, unphased by the act happening in front of her.
“I heard the news. When is the wedding happening?”
Her taunting voice almost made him stop. He only stuttered for a second, but he took the moment to weave his fingers through the hair of the woman knelt in front of him and used the leverage to push her head deeper down his cock. The girl choked, sputtering from the way his length invaded her throat, but did nothing to fight it off. It was obvious from the way she limply slumped closer that she was too far gone to even bother. Instead of giving her mercy, Renjun—now irritated for having to do the work—tightened his hold on her and used his strength to move her head to his desired pace. Humans... They are always so disappointing in this regard. They are always so passionate and fiery at the start, but they break so easily and turn into useless dolls. Despite his discontent, a low groan left his lips now as his balls twitched, heavy and ready to spray his arousal down the column of flesh squeezing around his length.
“Not soon enough for my taste,” he said through gritted teeth as his pace turned even more brutal. A soft whimper came from the woman as her nails tried to find purchase on the soft rug under her. The Queen raised her brows curiously, ignoring the sounds. Renjun caught her expression and shot her a look before tipping his head back against the leather seat. With no warning, he pushed the woman’s head hard against him, her nose pressed against his lower stomach. A sound of pleasure escaped from deep in his throat as he unloaded himself inside her mouth until his juices leaked from her lips. He kept her there for a few more seconds while he rode his high before finally loosening his grip, the girl finally slumping right at his feet, unconscious. Eyes closed and head still tipped back, he waited for the current of pleasure to run its course throughout his body before he lazily tucked himself back inside his pants.
“If you came here to think that I would be upset about my brother’s upcoming wedding, then you’re in for a big disappointment,” he laughed softly to himself before finally moving his head again to train his gaze at the Witch Queen. The other slightly narrowed her eyes at him before realization dawned on them.
“You… told him to ask for her hand.”
He chuckled as he pushed himself out of his seat. Walking gracefully over the slumped form on the floor, he went to pick up the glass of whisky on the table by the fireplace and downed the golden liquid there in one go. He ran his hand through his hair as he watched the flames, untangling the knots that his earlier activities have caused.
“Of course, I did. I already told you, when a Gancanagh sets his eyes on a prize, we stop at nothing to get it. Surely, you must have already known that. It was how I captured your former lover in my web before after all.”
Renjun knew from the needles of cold that made the skin of his back prick that he had touched a nerve. It did not surprise him at all, not with the situation being the exact cause why she cursed him to be stuck in this human form. Instead, he simply smiled in satisfaction as the flames from the hearth threw shadows and light over the gentle features of his face that masked his true nature.
“You are playing a dangerous game, Piper. You will be putting a lot of mortal lives in danger.”
“That’s quite rich coming from a Witch Queen who cursed a whole kingdom to never-ending winter before. Now, my dear, do not act like you are any better than me. It was you after all who pushed me to do this. You are as guilty for what is yet to happen as I am,” he said as he turned slowly to face her. She was still only bathed in moonlight streaming from the open window, but it was enough for him to discern her expression from the shadows. Her face was blank, but the way her eyes burned couldn’t fool him about her real emotions.
“You must have thought I will come running around after her, trying to win her from my brother. That is foolish child’s game. Taxing and pointless. It might have worked on you when your King hunted you down, but a true hunter knows a better way how to capture their prey. You don’t seek them. You lure them right into your very own trap,” he crooned, voice as sweet as a siren’s call. When the light from the moon and the glow from the fire touched his face at the same time, they made his smile look angelic and terrifying at the same time.
“Family, as they say, is hard to escape. The moment she thinks she’s free from me, is the moment she becomes mine.”
*******
A/N: Yeah, so... It has almost been a full six months since I’ve updated this. I don’t know if anyone still remembers this story, but I had the sudden urge lately to jump into this plot again. So, here’s an update I guess. 
Taglist: @negincho, @jhornytrash, @aaasteroidsky, @huangberryyy, @ashkuuuu, @cottonniebunnie, @jaehyunenthusiastsworld, @90sgatsby-jjh, @ryu-naa, @i-aecrysture, @mirathe2002, @yuxnan, @strawbunnyjaem, @pukupukupawpau, @terjeno, @glitching-wren, @camzpetite, @injeolmiee​, @lostlovesoul11​, @ellatizw​, @bettyschwallocksyee​
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behindthewox · 2 days
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Hello, Andrew here. This blog article was sent to me and I can assure you that this is not correct information but a reaction likely of those who were involved. This information likely stems from previous MoM or HM themselves, I guess, seeing that they have been banned properly recently (which I am only stating because you already stated it yourself, otherwise I would not give away who is or is not banned)
When I took over I made it very clear in an NB post that the harrassment of users, witch hunt on site, and generally toxic and disrespectful behaviour needs to stop. Everyone is more than welcome to share opinions, but this was not that, this was simply insanely rude behaviour that was based on wrong information given by the MoM/HM to the other leaders of WoP, who then compiled their letter. Which is also the reason why after all of this these other site leaders were put back into their positions after everything was cleared up.
I have banned a total of 4 people from 800-900 actives at the time for continuing their disrespectful behaviour and outright slandering (one of them later on) despite my very clear warning in the article (I was surprised that it was only so few, but almost everyone was just glad to be able to enjoy the website again). I also made an effort to respond to each single comment transparently and open minded. Many of the people who removed content or joined that group hype have talked to me, told me their opinions, and gave me the opportunity to work on their missing trust together. I am on good terms with almost all of the old staff with maybe 5 exceptions (MoM, HM for being the reason this went down and one old staff on bad terms; the other two people I am neutral towards as I never spoke with them and don't know their thoughts) Every old staff member who reached out to me has their own experiences and opinioms and don't always agree with me, but they are more than valued and often play important roles in our staff as well - whether student or grad. In fact, I really enjoyed every single talk with them and appreciate anyone who reached out despite their fear of rejection, as that takes a lot of courage
The old MoM and HM were banned later on, yes, you can feel free to ask them for the exact reason I put in. The previous behaviour of theirs is unwelcome on site, and they created a horrible environment for people at the time this happened, just because of a "money grabbing" feature that was completely changed back anyway for other reasons. One of them was still logging in on alt for reasons I don't really understand, because they made sure everyone knew their hate towards Dan and the site. So why log in almost regularly even after almost a year? I guess I know why ,but that is just an assumption, so I will not voice it here
Aside from that, if you paid attention to the site development, you would also see that since then (but not because of that), new users got free VIP, people with jobs get discount, linking accounts gets a whole 50% discount, and such
I am mostly replying to clear some things up because I don't enjoy reactions that are based on false facts. I wanted to stay on WoP US as a temporary solution, but the community has been loving and welcoming, which was really unexpected considering the circumstances they went through
This is something that happened almost a whole year ago now, I even unbanned one of the 4 bans that took place when I took over, so technically it is only 3
I hope that this could clear up confusion and misunderstanding. I would like to see this message public because I am mostly writing it for the very few that might end up seeing it. Considering the nature of this post, you already made up your mind about me and that is okay. But I want to give my insight first hand, as I don't enjoy someone trying to slander my name based on more accusations of those people who were banned for false accusations in the first place
Magical regards,
Andrew Sutherland (WoP US)
By the way, I am only asking this anonymously because of privacy concerns regarding this account (never use Tumblr anyway)
Added in a later message: "Andrew here again, please add this xD I saw that you have made clarifications regarding there possibly being more to these accusations, my response was mainly aimed towards the person asking the question, but I do admit that I thought that that message was originally from you, the blog writer, and only saw your response later on (I am not used to tumblr and on phone it doesnt show all on one screen, oops). Just wanted to clarify that as it may explain some wording of mine!"
No hard feelings on my side, thanks for the clarification! If I can share both sides of the story, that is what I want to do and you've allowed me to share yours. It's greatly appreciated and I hope this clears the air a little bit.
NOTE: I can't verify if this person is who they say they are, the anonymous submissions are anonymous to me as well. I have no reason to doubt or suspect that it's someone else writing in their name, but I want to note that with anonymity there is a risk of abuse and impersonation. I don't think that's the case here though.
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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year
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Part 5
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Masterlist
Series masterlist
Part 4 🍂 Part 6
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Pairing: Syverson x ofc
Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"
Chapter warnings: Mostly fluff, some frustrations (we're still remodeling, folks), but we're getting there.
Word count: 1.9k
A/N: @keanureevesisbae congrats on 43k! You are doing so great ❤️ I am proud, girrrrrl ❤️
@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn
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“Matthei- I’ll spell it for you.” As you did, you picked at the already raw skin around your fingernails nervously. It had been almost ten weeks, and the furniture you’d had shipped was supposed to have arrived weeks ago. Instead, as was evident from the absence of, well, furniture, it hadn’t arrived. In its place, you had received the very unwelcome phone call that the shipping container ‘had been misplaced’, and that you should keep in touch with such and such company to see if they could get it back for you. In other words: ‘We lost your shit, please see to it that you somehow find it.’ Now, you were on the phone with a new company every other day, for at least an hour, being jerked around like a fool, and no one was giving you any information. You were seconds away from throwing your phone through the kitchen when Sy knocked. He was here so often now that you’d just given him a key.
“Lara?” He whispered, but you raised your hand at him to shut him up. He mouthed the words ‘what’s going on?’ at you, which landed him another dismissive gesture.
“Fine, I’ll hold,” you said when the lady on the phone asked you to. You put the phone on speaker and slammed it down on the table before making a break for the coffee machine. “Coffee, Sy?”
“Always,” he answered. You could hear the grin in his voice. “Sugar, are you alright?” As you waited for the coffee to brew, you brought Sy up to speed on the whole Furniture Fiasco.  
“Long story short,” you finally said after ranting about the situation for fifteen minutes, “all my stuff ended up in Kazbukmenistan or wherever.” The whole time, you were still on hold. Sy asked for some details, and you gestured at the folder that was open on the table. He took a quick look through it.
“Hand me the phone,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but you weren’t inclined to indulge him.
“Sy, you don’t have to…”
“Hand me the phone,” he repeated, only this time, it really wasn’t a question. As much as you hated it when men tried to boss you around, something in his voice shut your Girlboss-attitude right up. The woman you’d been on the phone with finally returned.
“Miss, I have some bad news,” she said. Sy raised a finger at you to keep you quiet.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, she’s not here right now, what’s the bad news?” It was that voice again. The phone-lady was clearly taken aback by the sudden change on the other side of the line.
“The container that the furniture is in, can’t be found in the system,” she said in her phone-lady voice. You hated the phone-lady voice. All you’d been hearing over the past six weeks was phone-lady voices. And one man who had had the audacity to tell you ‘I’m sorry, little missy.’ You had kindly told him to fuck all the way off.
“Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but that won’t do.” Apparently, that voice had an even more stern variant, and apart from making you want to immediately do everything he told you to, it also turned you on big time. “I understand you’re just doing your job, but somewhere down the line, someone didn’t. Now I’m gonna need to know who that was and what they did or didn’t do that they shouldn’t or should have done, so we can get this mess sorted.” It took him twenty minutes to get someone on the phone who actually seemed to know what was going on, and another ten to get them to promise to give you an answer by the end of the week, or else a reimbursement for the shipping cost, and the cost of your things.
“Thirty minutes,” you said, “it took you thirty minutes to do what I’ve been trying to do for six weeks.” You just couldn’t believe it. Tears burned behind your eyes as you vowed to yourself to scrap the words ‘I don’t need a man’ from your vocabulary forever.
“I’m just a little more comfortable barking orders, that’s all,” he said as he gently laid a hand on your shoulder. The kindness in his voice, his eyes and his gesture broke you. You were exhausted from the move, the remodeling, your classes, dealing with the phone-ladies and their stupid voices, and from sleeping on a horrible air mattress. Tears flowed freely and you cursed yourself for your stupid behavior.
“C’mere, Sugar,” Sy said softly as he pulled you into a hug, “you look dog-tired, you know that?” You knew you felt it, so you weren’t surprised you looked the part, but it still mad you feel embarrassed. A tired look wasn’t a good look, and something inside you wanted to look good for him. Or, you know, not for him, but just when you were around him. Okay, fine, for him. He let you cry for a while, and you had to fight to not lose yourself in the warmth and strength of his embrace. Eventually, you were so fed up with yourself and the way you were acting that you managed to force yourself to stop crying and broke away from his hug. You felt two strong hands on the sides of your face, and thumbs wiping the tears off your cheeks.
“You know what works wonders for all that frustration?” Either that sounded strangely sexual, or you were imagining things. “Tearin’ up some carpet. C’mon.” He actually managed to make you laugh. It wasn’t completely genuine, but it was a start.
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Sy handled the first corner of the first room carefully, because neither of you had any idea what was underneath the carpet.
“Shit,” you heard him say from where you were standing. That didn’t sound good, did it? “Sugar, I’ll still buy this house from ya.”
“What is it?” The way he was talking to you right now sure kindled your curiosity. As it turns out, some ‘degenerate’ – Sy’s exact words - had dared to carpet over some beautiful hardwood floors. You checked the other rooms first, before tearing the rest of the room up, because curiosity had really gotten the better of both of you. It wasn’t necessarily surprising that you found the same floorboards in the other rooms, but it was still exciting. One room had some seriously ugly vinyl underneath the carpet. Strange. You urged Sy to check underneath that, too, even though he wasn’t initially planning on it.
“My bad, baby,” he chuckled, “you were right.” When he said the word ‘baby’, your heart rate somehow slowed down and sped up at the same time. Over the past few weeks, you had barely gotten used to ‘sugar’, and now this? It took a lot more than you cared to admit to calm yourself back down.
Now that you knew what you were dealing with, it was time to deal with some of that aggression. You found out quickly that taking out your aggression on a carpet was easier said than done. The material was stiff, and heavy, and so thick that even your small-people rage wasn’t enough to give you the strength to cut through it. But you had Sy, who was in all aspects much better equipped to handle this stupid carpet. That didn’t mean you didn’t almost kick him out – twice – because he made you mad when he couldn’t stop laughing at the way you struggled.
“Next time, Syverson, I’m telling myself to leave, and you can do this by yourself!” You yelled after the second time while you wiped the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Who the hell did he think he was?
“Sorry, Sugar, wouldn’t want ya to go,” he said with a wide smile on his face. “I could use a drink, though, I’m runnin’ a li’l hot here.” For some reason – to torture you, to show off… you had no idea – he decided to prove his point by cleaning the sweat of his face, except he didn’t have the common decency to use his hands. No, of course not. Sy just had to use the bottom of his t-shirt. And now you were left standing there with nothing else to do but look at Sy’s abs. Okay there were other places to look, and you could have just turned around and made a break for the kitchen, but your brain made those abs a priority, because dear God were they amazing… Strong, defined, a very non-disgusting amount of hairy, sweaty and… God you hated how Jules was always right.
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“Fuck, I’m dead,” you said as you slumped down into a chair at the kitchen table. You had found it at the side of the road and begged Julie to take it to your house. It shouldn’t have been here for as long as it had. You should have been in possession of your furniture by now. Every joint in your body popped when you moved, every muscle protested. Even picking up your phone to order a pizza felt like a trip up mount Everest. Sy handed you a cold coke from your fridge and grabbed himself a beer. You laughed at the ease with which he did it. Sy truly had a habit of making himself at home. Strangely, it made you feel more at home, too. He was really great to have around - especially when he wasn’t offering to help you with something – and you missed him when he was gone. You ordered the pizza and hung up the phone, sinking down into the chair even further, letting your head hang back.
“Ow,” you groaned when something in your body made a very concerning noise.
“You need to get yourself a decent bed, Sugar,” Sy said. His voice was serious; he was really concerned. “Now.”
“What if –“ you started, but you got no chance to finish your sentence.
“If they find your stuff,” Sy said while clearly trying to keep his voice friendly, “you’ll have an extra bed for a guest room. You have plenty of space for plenty of beds. You only have one back.” He was right, and you knew it, but you couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight.
“Sy-“ Again; no chance to finish. He stood up from his chair and walked around the table to stand behind you. Hands landed on your shoulders, strong fingers pinched your muscles, making you wince.
“That don't sound too good, Sugar,” he said, “so you can get a new bed by the end of this week, or I’m buying you one.”
“What, you want me in bed so much you’d buy me one to make it happen?” The words were out before you realized it. Fuck! You were the one who fucked it up by saying he was a friend, right? Sy was over you by now, you were sure of it. Why were you flirting with him? Badly, too, but that was just the only way you knew how. His fingers tightened on your shoulders until it started to hurt a little. “Sugar, you have no goddamn idea,” he said hoarsely before walking to the door to collect your pizza.
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