#He doesn't even know the story of cinderella so he is just sitting here like ?? ignoring all the plot points of it and instead bringing ruin

[rocker-socks]

Writing a Batfam story that involves tales (unironically think Bratz Kidz Fairy Tales) and while i have Tim and Damian down (Rapunzel and Cinderella respectively, with changes made for Cinderella to be more appropriate for Damian) i am struggling so hard coming up with the others so if anyone has ideas i would be So Appreciative

[linane-art]

GF's AUpocalypse 2024 - Cinderella AU

Bonus fullsize Fili

MY OTHER EDITS

There's also a bit of a story to go with this one, some 5.2k of it. I've been sitting on it since April 2017.

However, before you read it, you should know that it's not great, in fact, I consider it to be sub-standard writing for me, and will not be publishing it on my AO3 or anywhere else. It's also unfinished and will not be getting finished - you should also know that.

Fundamentally, I wrote as much as I did and had a major disagrement with the concept of 'love at first sight'. You see, to my mind, it doesn't work for FiKi as a pairing (or possibly it just doesn't work, full stop). What my heart wants is about 80k-100k of a slow burn, covering the span of about 6 decades where they get to know each other, heaps of mutual pining, construct proper personalities for both Fili and Kili, unpack the blatant inequality of power between them etc. etc. I want to flesh out and develop plot-lines for Dis, Thorin and the Ri-brothers, and figure out how the magic works in this universe.

But the original Cinderella fairytale doesn't allow me the space for all of that. It's all: ball > marriage > happily ever after. Which to me, frankly, is utter nonsense. *Shrug*

But it fitted perfectly with the photoset I came up with and I'm glad to see it aired out and of my Writing Folder, so here goes nothing:

---------------------

Prince Fili’s Third Coming of Age Ceremony took place at a tender age of 65.

It was early perhaps, but then these were perilous times: the Prince was not only battle-ready, he’d had some practical experience of it, having taken part in a number of skirmishes with orcs around the kingdom’s borders. He was a fierce warrior, a cunning diplomat and a hot-headed idiot in turns, which in the common folk was met with a mix of disgruntled admiration and exasperation. But he was liked well-enough and easily acknowledged as King Thorin’s heir both within the kingdom’s borders and outside of them. He’d inherited the position; but he made it truly his own with charm, charisma and hard work.

Had he fully understood what the Ceremony entailed, Fili himself would have perhaps resisted, but he was young and confident and used to getting his own way. Besides, the Third Coming of Age meant far greater freedom and independence from the Crown and, like any young dwarf, Fili pounced at the opportunity of having a longer leash.

The celebrations were planned to befit the grandeur of the House of Durin: there was to be a great ball of course, guests from the four corners of the world, tables laid full to the brim with good food and drink, music and entertainment, and even a firework display at midnight.

Once again, Fili graciously agreed, happy enough to share his own joy with others and delighted to have some merriment within the walls of a usually restrained palace.

The trouble started when Thorin let slip that he’d be looking for a bride for Fili during the ball. It was important that Fili was married as soon as possible and would be better yet if he had a bairn on the way not long after. Succession was paramount to kingdom’s stability and Thorin was nothing if not determined to have not only an heir, but also a spare.

There was a meticulously planned and researched list of eligible princesses, all lined up to be whisked away onto the ballroom floor, in appropriate order of course, sized up as potential brides, and romanced just enough to become an enthusiastic fiancée or an un-problematic rejection. The ball was now less than a month away and all invitations had been sent, with folk pouring into the mountain day and night, all excited to boot at this excellent opportunity to get utterly plastered at someone else’s expense.

In short: it was too late now to back out.

Luckily, Prince Fili, who at that point had 65 years’ worth of experience in dealing with his King and uncle, kept his cool.

“Yes uncle,” he agreed with a grin just wide enough to suggest to an ardent observant that mischief was brewing in that clever head of his.

Luckily, King Thorin, was not the most ardent of observants.

Fili bowed with just a touch too much charisma and left the Council chambers to the respectfully low murmur of voices.

And then he did what any young dwarf would have done in his place: he hatched a plan.

---

Kili gave a triumphant little grunt, as he finally managed to remove a particularly stubborn patch of soot from the inside of the fireplace. He’d been scrubbing at it for the past 20 minutes and had to admit that it felt good to be finally getting somewhere.

“You’ve missed a spot,” Dori supplied behind him helpfully, pointing to the opposite corner with a poker.

Kili sighed and crawled in that direction. When it came to cleanliness, Dori was a tyrant.

He started scrubbing anew.

It wouldn’t be fair to say that Dori was being mean per se. He himself had been polishing all the wooden furniture just feet behind Kili, which might have been a cleaner job, but no less labour intensive. It was simply that Dori had really high standards when it came to cleanliness of a respectable dwarven homestead. Higher even than Kili’s own mother and that was saying something.

Still, could be worse, Kili supposed: Ori had been relegated to cleaning the outhouse.

He sighed and attacked the stonework again. At least Nori was nowhere to be found, which meant that Kili couldn’t get into trouble. For now.

---

It took Prince Fili a while to weasel the right info out of the right people. It was important though that he got this right, and Fili took his time. He only had one shot at this.

It was only a week before the party when he finally managed to get away from the Palace for long enough to make the trip.

He pulled his hood tighter around his annoyingly-recognisable golden head, before stepping confidently into the light.

“Are you the one they call the Fairy Godmother?” he addressed the dwarrowdam by a cart, who was overseeing it being loaded with some heavy-looking casks by three burly characters.

She turned away from the wagon slowly, giving him a measured once-over. The scrutiny chafed somewhat, when directed at the royal heir without an ounce of respectful deference, but Fili stood his ground and offered what he hoped was a friendly smile.

“That depends on who’s asking,” she said and tilted her head curiously. Behind her, three sets of hands produced an array of heavy and sharp objects indicating that there was a correct answer to this question.

Fili held out his empty hands, hoping that the pommels of his daggers weren’t showing. “A simple, unarmed traveller, who has use of your… services and will pay for them handsomely.”

He produced a heavy purse of coins and offered it on his outstretched palm.

She arched an eyebrow at him, as if to say ‘that’s what you’re going with?! Really?!’, but took the coin and gestured for the other three to stand down and get back to loading the barrels.

Fili attempted his best friendly smile once more.

“And what is it that you want from the Fairy Godmother? Fame? Fortune? Both?” her voice was dripping with sarcasm.  

Fili took a deep breath. “I wish to marry the one person in all my life that I will truly love,” he demanded. “And soon. Like… in the next week or so.”

The woman snorted. “Honestly, lad, in your position that’s hardly a sensible wish. Fame and fortune would have been easier.”

“Sensible or not, is it possible? Men in taverns all the way from the Mountain to the very ends of our lands swear by your name, so I understand you have the power equal almost to that of the wizards. Unless this simple wish is beyond you?”

Flattery, sprinkled liberally with a hefty dose of goading. He’d honed that particular technique on the Elven delegations.

“Son, I sell spirits,” the dwarrowdam deadpanned. “Spirits happen to be exactly what men in the taverns wish for more than anything. Sometimes they call me the Fairy Godmother for it. That is all.”

It was an unfamiliar feeling, as if he had lost his footing all of a sudden, but Fili recovered quickly. “Fine spirits too, as I see. Is that blue absinthe seal that my eyes see on those barrels already loaded?”

“What’s it to you?” the sorceress’ eyes narrowed and, as if by some unspoken command, the sharp implements behind her manifested themselves once again.

“Nothing,” Fili took a step back in a minor tactical retreat. “Only if I am to have my heart shattered, I should very much like to purchase one of those. You know, to soothe the pain.”

“They are not for sale. Already paid for and going to the Ceremony,” she gave him a Look that was more of a threat than the blunt tools she indirectly controlled.

Contrary to the popular belief Fili did have a self-preservation instinct. He just wasn’t very good at consulting it.

“Oh, I see! Only, I happen to know that the royal requisitioners are out of the invoice forms for these,” he said. “Something to do with the printing presses and a mucky contingent of ink, I believe. So that would make this little operation of yours technically… um, black market.”

The sorceress glared and Fili had to admit that the glare was rather impressive.

Still not completely sure he had the upper hand, he gave her his best dimpled smile, the one that made people drop things sometimes.

Finally the Fairy Godmother sighed, rolled her eyes, unceremoniously grabbed Fili by the elbow and pulled him away from the others. “There may be a way, but it doesn’t work well on young, hot-headed fools,” she hissed ominously once they were out of the earshot.

Fili nodded seriously, reassured that he was at least eligible. “Excellent.”

“The Spell of True Love. It will work regardless of whether you agree with your heart’s choice or not. People often overlook that last point.”

Fili nodded again.

“There is a price to pay.”

“I was expecting that.”

“For every moment you spend with your love when you first meet them, you will spend years and decades apart before you can finally be together.”

“… Years or decades?”

“A long time!  It’s not exact science!”

“Right, right. And how long do you consider to be a moment?”

“Seriously?!”

“This is quite important,” Fili protested.

The sorcerers spun on her heel and made to walk away.

“No, wait! I accept!” he decided on the spot.

The dwarrowdam stopped.

Turned.

Looked him up and down.

Fili, once more, withstood the scrutiny.

“Alright then,” she said finally and the Prince breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, truly. Now what do you need for your spell?  Some of my blood? A lock of hair? A black chicken to sacrifice at midnight?”

She stared at him again. It was getting unnerving. “Your heart is young yet, but kind and likeable enough for someone who might find that cockiness of yours charming somehow,” the sorceress said finally, making him feel strangely flattered. “But you’re also an idiot,” she finished.

“Er…” Fili was not used to this kind of treatment. “Thanks. Mostly. Now, about the contract –“.

“No contract,” she threw over her shoulder, now almost back to her wagon.

“No contract?!” Dwarves felt strangely unnerved when they didn’t have a piece of parchment in their hand which clearly defined each party’s roles and responsibilities. “But then how will I know?!”

“You just will.”

“But when?!”

“Soon.”

“How soon?! It would have to be at the ball at the latest, otherwise I fear even your magic won’t be able to make my uncle change his mind.”

Fairy Godmother calmly climbed to the seat of her cart full of contraband booze. “You’re going to have to trust me,” she told him by the way of goodbye and clicked on her ponies to walk on.

---

Dis got back home later than she expected.

By then the house was mostly asleep, including Kili, who had somehow slotted himself, legs and all, into an armchair in front of the fire. He’d clearly been waiting for her.

She paused to watch her son for a moment. He had a smudge of soot on his cheek and dark stains, probably of the same nature over the knees of his trousers. He looked exhausted and his knuckles were scuffed.

She sat heavily on the sofa opposite from him and stared into the fire for a moment.

This was not a life she had envisaged for her son. When she and Myori fell in love, both of them widows – she, once, Myori staggering three times – it looked as if life had finally slotted itself onto the right tracks.

They both had families of their own of course, but with all four boys between them grown and close to leaving home, it seemed like they could make it work. Dis finally took over her father’s brewery full time and Myori dived head-first into her fledgling alterations business.

It felt like they were living once again and there was laughter in the house even if every now and then teenage boys sparked into some new drama.

Little did she know that they only had three short years together ahead of them. Illness took her love and there was nothing Dis could do about it. It was then that she promised herself never to dabble in love magic again.

Love – she couldn’t remember any more why people craved to be loved so much. 

And now she was the only mother the four of them had left.

There was no backing out though, not when they all depended on her, not to mention all the families the brewery employed.

She wasn’t spending nearly enough time with Kili, and if she was honest with herself, that was the one thing that was eating at her the most.

He must have felt like an orphan at times, but he smiled for her all the same and did his best to be useful around the house. She knew he worked hard, perhaps harder than he should have, if Dori was involved. Dori, who was a perfectionist and had his own home for a time, but returned now to help her look after his two younger brothers.

Kili deserved better; they all did.

Dis sighed and licked her thumb so she could try and wipe the soot off Kili’s cheek.

“Wha -?” he blinked at her owlishly and stirred in his seat.

“Hey, there, Grasshopper. You should be in bed,” she smiled at him.

“Cooked you dinner. S’ on the stove,” he mumbled and returned the smile when she kissed the top of his head.

“Thank you. Now scamper off to bed.”

“No. I’ll sit with you.”

“Kili.”

Her son sighed dramatically in that peculiar way all teenage dwarves seemed to have, but obediently padded towards the stairs.

“Night, mum.”

“Good night, Kili.”

Dis didn’t move immediately. Instead she sat back for a moment longer and pondered the dubious problems of a princely life.

And then she blinked, as a terrifying thought gained momentum in her mind like a fully loaded cart with no breaks on.

---

Prince Fili made it back to his chambers just as the steps sounded on the corridor outside his door. Thankfully, this was hardly his first time sneaking out, so Fili kept a cool head: he kicked off his boots, ran his fingers through his hair and in one smooth move rolled under the covers.

“Fili?” his uncle peered into the room before approaching his bed.

Fili performed his best snore and tried to slow down his breathing.

Bed next to him dipped a little as his uncle and king sat on the edge of the mattress and moved to stroke Fili’s soft, golden hair away from his face.

“You must be exhausted from all the preparations,” his uncle’s low voice sounded in the spacious chambers. “Don’t you worry, sister-son. We will find you a worthy bride, I have taken all the right steps. In your position there will be times when she’ll be your only source of solace, so we’ll be sure to get it right,” he whispered, then tugged Fili’s fur-lined covers up to tuck his shoulder in.

Fili supposed that it must have been difficult, not having a child of your own, or a consort to share your life with. Thorin had had plenty of offers back in his time, but he’d always put the affairs of the kingdom first, until eventually the offers stopped coming. Fili was going to do it all in reverse: consort first, affairs of the kingdom second. Not because he was selfish, but because he thought that a good consort made for a brilliant king.

Blue eyes opened just as the door closed once again. “I have taken steps too, uncle,” Fili informed his chambers, before setting about pulling the rest of his clothes off and making himself comfortable.

---

Dis cast her runes.

She squinted, peering at the answer they formed.

“No,” she huffed, gathered them once more and cast them again.

Yes, the runes insisted.

Dis rolled her eyes and lit another candle. “Give me another option,” she demanded and cast again.

This time all of the runes bounced straight off the table, landing in a complete gibberish on the floor.

“Absolutely not,” Dis insisted with emphasis, focussing all her energy and causing the six candles around her to burn blue for a while. “Tell me.”

The runes, perhaps fed up with the stubbornness of dwarves, bypassed the subtle hints and suggestions and simply lined themselves into neat, straight lines of a name:

KILI

---

A lazy Saturday morning, some 6 days later found Kili fighting with his tunic.

“This is way too fancy, mum!” he whined, when his hair caught in the elaborate lacing around the neck.

“Nonsense, you have to look your best. It’s the Royal Palace, Mahal’s sake!” she snapped and helped him find the edge of the collar only to reveal the desperate state of his hair.

“Fancy clothes or not, I’ll be standing out like a sore thumb,” Kili huffed, but finally managed to fit all his various limbs into the right holes. “I don’t belong there! They probably won’t even let me in.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! The posters clearly invited everyone who wished to attend ‘with good will in their hearts and best wishes for the Prince’.”

The rest of the household was still asleep when Dis slipped into her son’s room with a little parcel in her hands – which was just as well, since they only had the one set.

The clothes had been made by Myori, as one of her most lucrative orders ever, and then returned for some petty reason or another. The tunic was a beautiful navy blue shade, embroidered in real silver thread, free-flowing from the waist down. The trousers were made out of fine, dark fabric and had a flattering cut.

Thank Mahal, although Myori would have wanted to alter it here and there, for the most part the clothes suited Kili great.

“But why do I have to go?!” Kili whined for the umpteenth time and attempted to sort out his hair, which only made everything worse.

Dis huffed and took a brush to it yet again. “It’s fate,” she told him once more, matter-of-factly, like the previous five times. “Besides, there will be free food and drink for all. All the high society, the great and powerful of our kingdom. Who knows, you might even find the love of your life there!”

“Amad…” he gently caught her wrist and half-turned to look her in the eye.

“You’re going, and that’s final,” she told him sternly, ushering him out into the corridor. “Come on, your carriage awaits!”

“My carriage?!”

“You’re taking the cart.”

“I can’t take the cart to a Royal Coming of Age Ceremony!! I’d rather walk!”

“Which I would approve of normally, if we had about 2 days to spare. But since we don’t, you’re taking the cart,” she practically shoved him up onto it. “Now then. Mind your language and manners, always remember who you are and – oh. You must return the cart by sunrise. My other orders do not stop just for a fancy dress party.”

“By – sunrise?! But that’s -”

“You’ll need to leave at midnight at the latest.”

“Mother!”

“Don’t you ‘mother’ me, young man!” She gave him a look, which seemed just a tiny bit too harsh to be believable. “Now off with you.”

After that she slapped the pony’s rear and suddenly Kili went from naught to twenty in no time at all.

It wasn’t until he made it to the next town over that Kili realised that with all the ushering, grooming and cajoling, he was still wearing his comfortable, worn house slippers.

---

Prince Fili was certain that his legs were going to fall off any minute now.

He’d danced twenty dances straight. A lesser dwarf would have thrown in the towel by now, grabbed the nearest fair-bearded, highly-accomplished, delightfully charming, brilliantly-intelligent, exquisitely-well-connected beauty and called it a day.

But not Fili.

Fili could, and would out-stubborn Thorin, who was widely regarded as the most stubborn dwarf in the land. It was a point of personal pride, honed over long decades of his childhood. So instead he stomped towards the ale station and poured himself an entire tankard of whatever happened to be on the tap.

He’d chugged down about half of it in one go, which deprived him of a view of one excellently-dressed, yet utterly befuddled dark-haired youth stumbling in through the main entrance.

Fili licked his moustache and threw a desperate glance at a hall heaving with excellent opportunities.

Then blinked.

His heart beat faster and if Fili believed in such nonsense, he’d swear that the room fell silent in that moment, the candles twinkled around them a little warmer, the air smelled sweeter and –

The lad, with an unerring instinct of his young and thirsty dwarven blood, zeroed in on the drinks station and strutted purposefully towards it, with every intention of drinking the house down.

He was coming towards Fili. For Fili. To save him from a love-less life.

The lad reached for an empty tankard, and Fili, like a seasoned battle commander that he was, made his move.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

The dark-haired dwarf jumped and turned to look behind himself. Then to the sides. “What, me?!”

“Yes, you.” Fili cringed and then slapped himself mentally. “Forgive me, I’m being rude. I would have addressed you by your name, but I’m afraid I’ve missed it upon your arrival.”

“It’s Kili, actually,” the lad replied, head cocked to one side curiously. “And you are –“

“Prince Fili of the House Durin –“

Kili dropped his tankard.

“Excellent, now you have free hands!” Fili decided for both of them, practically threw his own tankard at the nearest servant and swept Kili right onto the dance floor.

---

“Oh, hell no!” Dis groaned, watching as a delicate silk ribbon, which up until a moment ago peacefully occupied one of the drawers of her dresser, now tied itself into a perfect, triple bow.

She yanked at one end, but it held. Beside her a candle flame turned blue.

Dis narrowed her eyes and breathed deeply. She supposed if she got her son this far, she’d have to get him the rest of the way too.

---

“You… look uncomfortable,” amused, but not unkind blue eyes watched him as they sailed across the sea of swirling couples.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on dancing with a Prince.”

Fili arched an eyebrow at him and Kili wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. “Would you have danced with any other dwarf?”

“Depends on the dwarf.”

That got him an incredulous smile and Kili stared at the dimples which peeked from behind a neat, honey-coloured beard.

He wasn’t prepared for the easy charm, strength and intelligence he saw. Something else underneath it all, quiet, but hopeful. He wasn’t prepared for the normality of it all. It didn’t feel like he met a Prince; it didn’t feel like he met any other dwarf either.

It felt like he met someone special, someone who might have been a friend if they had enough time together.

Kili swallowed, torn about what he should do next. He didn’t want to joke and flirt and try too hard to keep their conversation casual, when it simply wasn’t. Equally, he couldn’t very well plunge into any meaningful conversation, when they only likely had a few moments together.

“You look like you have questions,” Fili guided him gently, the same way he guided the movements of his body. “You should ask, even if only a couple. Otherwise you’ll forever wish you had.”

---

Thorin did a double-take.

Fili’s partner was beautiful and dressed in a way that spoke of pedigree, wealth and class. She was grace and poise itself, as they glided across the dance floor like they belonged together. They were also deep in conversation, real conversation, which was more than could have been said for any of Fili’s previous partners.

His nephew had been nothing if not courteous to all of the various assorted princesses and duchesses and ladies of appropriate breeding, and he’d danced with all of them in the pre-prescribed order, until Thorin was beginning to feel kind of guilty about the whole affair.

He knew Fili and he knew when he was being polite, but not invested. If he was honest, Thorin was expecting much more of a rebellion, so when Fili continued on his best behaviour, Thorin started to wait for the other shoe to drop.  

But now… now the whole thing was beginning to look like it had been worth it.

He watched as one song came to an end with Fili swirling his partner in a wide arc, which landed her in his arms, with her rich, dark brown hair sweeping around his neck like a shawl.

Their eyes locked for a moment, their chests heaving as they held on.

And then Fili disregarded his next ticket and guided the mysterious lady into another dance.

Thorin allowed himself a single smug grin and then ordered another shot of the excellent blue absinthe they were serving.

---

“I saw a fire moon once. It rose over the pass near Dunland. Huge! Red and gold it was, it filled the sky.”

Fili was drowning in expressive brown eyes. Right in that moment he wanted to see the fire moon too, with Kili. He could have listened to him for days, describing the smallest and biggest of adventures.

Then the clock chimed midnight and the magical tales stopped abruptly.

“Oh shoot, I have to go!”

“What, now?!” Fili whirled them to gentle stop around the edge of the dance floor.

“Yes, right now! Mum will kill me if I don’t return with the – ah, carriage – on time!”

“The – what?!” Fili blinked. That sentence didn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry!” Kili threw him a pleading look and took off back towards the entrance, promptly disappearing in the throng of other guests.

“Kili!” Fili tried to follow, but was hampered by all those who spotted that he was finally free to engage once more. By the time he’d made his excuses and got outside, all he could see was Kili at the very bottom of the staircase –

- Tripping over his own feet and very nearly face-planting into the gravel of the front drive.

Kili waved his arms about and, through sheer witchcraft it seemed, managed to find his balance once again. Something flew off his person and he stopped to search for it briefly, but whatever it was, from his position Fili saw that it wedged itself high in a nearby hedge and got stuck there.  

He tried to run down to help, but he was too far away.

Kili threw a few choice words in the general direction of the staircase, which would have impressed the Mountain’s mining community, turned on his heel and stomped away, somewhat unevenly.

Around Fili, who was only half way down the grand stairs at that point, a thousand brilliant fireworks exploded, making him duck automatically and try to take cover.

And somehow in that moment Fili just knew.

But Kili was gone. For several dreadful heartbeats Fili felt horribly alone, left with an array of princesses, all of them completely disqualified by the lack of the right laughing brown eyes.

And then he remembered that he had had a plan. A brilliant plan, which so far had been executed flawlessly.

Fili moved. He had a shoe to find.

---

Thorin rolled out of the grand banqueting hall as soon as he realised that he couldn’t see Fili and his lady dancing anywhere.

This proved to be a bit of a challenge, since the floor decided to resist him, what with the copious amounts of blue absinthe he had ingested during the course of the evening.

Thorin snarled. He was the King, damn it; he had people for just such things! He called for Dwalin and together with his best friend and a loyal companion of many other such battles, they defeated the evil forces of gravity just enough to make it outside after his nephew.

---

Fili sat on the stairs and stared.

The shoe was – there was really no other way to put it – a worn, falling-apart, slipper. It was stretched, discoloured and if he was honest with himself, it didn’t smell too good either.

He held it cautiously at arm’s length and debated his options.

In all fairness, Fili wasn’t paying enough attention to Kili’s feet to be able to identify if it was the same sort of footwear as he had been wearing right from the start. He was certain however, that the brunet left sans one of his shoes and the slipper happened to be the only shoe available.

Perhaps it held some sort of sentimental value, like a treasured family heirloom, to be worn only on special occasions, Fili tried to reason with himself, when his uncle and the Head of is Personal Guard both barrelled down the stairs towards him in a slightly life-threatening manner.

“Well, where’d she go?!” Fili’s King and uncle demanded.

“She?!” Granted, Kli’s beard hadn’t grown in properly yet, leaving him with an adorable stubble, which made Fili want to run his fingers all over it, but that was an uncalled for remark.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me now, it doesn’t suit you. Your lady! Dark blue dress with silver bits. Dark hair – we are taking that one, I hope you agree. Now, what was her name? We shall send for her within the week.”

Fili hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone being sent for on his account. Perhaps Kili didn’t want life in the palace at all. Perhaps he preferred his fire moons and the freedom that came with them.

“I don’t know. I didn’t catch it when she first arrived, and it seemed silly to ask for it later, when we danced” he lied smoothly, without batting an eyelid.

Thorin gaped.

Fili stood his ground, metaphorically. If he was going to marry the person he loved, he was going to do it because they loved him back and not on the orders of a King, damn it. Somehow. This was going to happen. He just needed to… aid his spell a little.

Thorin sat down heavily next to him on the stairs. “Do not fret, nephew. We will find her. At least we have this –“

He took the slipper from Fili’s hands and stared, mesmerised, at an exquisite, petite crystal pump which seemed to fracture the moonlight like a diamond.

Fili stared too, at a shoe which changed between one glance and another, and silently kicked himself for not having insisted on a proper contract when he’d had the chance. With a Sorceress no less!

He had no idea what the terms and conditions of this romance were.

---

Dis’ son arrived with the first rays of sunshine and missing one shoe. He looked exhausted.

“Well, how was it? Did you get to meet the Prince?” she issued a quick-fire round of questions.

Kili threw her a Look and in the warm, golden rays hitting his face at a low angle, he looked like nothing less than a King himself.

“Like I left a piece of me behind,” her son told her and slipped heavily off the wagon, throwing her the reins.

---

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Ok so here's the fairy tale meta thing based off a lie that I was talking about.

In Dead Apple, there's a flashback scene at Bar Lupin where Dazai explains the concept of apple suicide to Oda, while a track called "Dear Prince" plays in the background. There's a brief mix-up where Oda confuses the story of Snow White for Cinderella - but when I first came up with this, I misremembered what he said (I mixed up... his mix-up...) and thought the line was about Sleeping Beauty.

And I'm so unreasonably annoyed by this because that would've made so much more contextual sense. Why? Because they both involve an awakening. Moreover, there's a few interesting details in the environment of the older tales (I will not be using the Disney versions as the Dead Apple motifs actually connect better with the originals and also because I have never actually seen them... embarrassingly enough) that translate quite nicely to aspects of Dazai's life and bonds.

Specifically, there are some loose parallels to be found with Odasaku and the story of Sleeping Beauty, and Chuuya and the story of Snow White. (Note that this is not intended to be shipping fuel or anything; interpret it however you like, I'm just drawing connections.)

And yeah, I know this is an entire half-baked meta formed around a line that doesn't even exist but please just give it a chance or at least humour me please please please please please

Alright let's get the Cinderella thing out of the way first since I want to at least address it.

Cinderella has its origins in the old Greek story of Rhodopis, which sets up the main aspects of the story we know now: a servant girl from a poor background ascends to royalty through marrying a prince, who searches for her after finding her missing shoe. This doesn't really bear any resemblance to the rest of the movie or any other ongoing themes... unless you want to suggest that maybe Dazai's jumping from one side to the other was something akin to a "shoe-test"; that he was looking for a perfect fit. I think that's quite a stretch though and it's likely this really was just a throwaway line meant to show us Oda's occasional uh... airheadedness. If anyone has any further thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them.

It's a shame, really, because the slip up could've been given more significance and also because as an analyst of sorts it is my sworn duty to pull meaning out of absolutely nothing so I guess I took another step further here and made up my own line to analyze in stupidly excessive detail.

The entire point of this was meant to show how both the stories of Sleeping Beauty and Snow White have a theme of awakening, and so do Dazai's bonds with both Odasaku and Chuuya - they both have a function of "waking him up" in a sense. However, the means of doing so manifest very differently.

So, let's talk about Sleeping Beauty.

Sleeping Beauty has its origins in an old Italian story called Sun, Moon and Talia, which has many of the elements we know today but was uh. A lot darker. And way more non-consensual. The version the more modern story takes its roots from is Perrault's version. Here are the important bits to this analysis: the princess pricks her finger on a spindle out of curiosity, the good fairy puts everyone in the castle to sleep along with her for 100 years so that she will not be alone when she wakes, the prince does not wake her with a kiss but instead she wakes just by his presence and they sit and talk for a long, long time.

So, on to my delusional parallels. Part one: the princess pricks her finger out of curiosity. See, for Dead Apple, we have to rethink this a bit because Dazai brings up the concept of apple suicide, not murder. Of course, this is a parallel to himself and his disregard for his own life, so here we can take it that he did not "prick his finger" out of mere curiosity, but also, likely out of a desire to "sleep".

It's hard for me not to draw a connection between the curiosity aspect of the finger prick and Dazai's curiosity to join the mafia, especially with the next part - where everyone falls asleep as well for the time the princess is asleep. Essentially, no one will age or die. For as long as the princess remains unconscious, the world will not change. And if the princess perhaps, wanted this, then we can infer what is likely a fear of being left. Maybe even a fear of living. Dazai joined the mafia because he was curious if it would have what he sought. Instead, he spent his days trapped in an "oxidizing dream" as he detached further and further both from his humanity and from others. The mafia is already a place where people don't talk to each other openly and we know Dazai was even more unknowable than that - if he doesn't care about himself or others, the dream goes on. He stays asleep, and if he doesn't care, then he doesn't lose anyone - no one truly "dies".

As for the last part, there isn't much to say. Dazai warms up to Odasaku because the man just talks to him. And likes talking to him. And doesn't tell him to stop when he's being really freaking weird. But notably, Odasaku doesn't do much at first to help Dazai "awaken". It's only when he's about to die in his fight against Gide that he realizes he regrets not saying something sooner. Odasaku only has one chance to wake Dazai before he dies and he does it by shattering that dream that he will find what he's looking for. Paradoxically, that hope Dazai held onto was what trapped him in that singular mindset. Oda dies shortly after and the illusion is broken. Dazai wakes up, his world kickstarts where it had previously been stagnant and Dazai greets the sun and tries to live.

See why I'm slightly annoyed this wasn't the line now?

But hey, while we're at it, let's also talk about Snow White because the Dead Apple movie was actually a lot more firm with its connections than I think people realize.

Firstly, I would love people to know that in the original Grimms' fairy tale, Snow White doesn't clean the dwarves' house but in fact burgles it, eating their food, drinking their wine and falling asleep in one of their beds after testing each one, and generally leaving the house in complete disarray. Yeah. Not related to my point at all, but this sounds an awful lot like something Dazai would do (but more out of mischief than naivete of course).

Here's the important part though: Did you know that the Queen attempted to have Snow White killed not just once, but three times? The first two times, the dwarves were the ones to save her and quite quickly - they made a deal after she broke into their house that she would fix it up for them and maintain it in exchange for her staying with them in safety. It's an agreement of sorts, but as they became fond of her, they try and save her life in earnest. The poisoned apple is actually the third attempt to kill her, where the Queen bites into the white, non-poisoned part of the apple and Snow White, thinking it safe, eats the red half and falls asleep.

Hey. Remember the colour of the pill Dazai took in Dead Apple?

Yeah, someone on that team knows the original fairy tale.

Interestingly (and this is where I got really excited), there are three different attempts to kill Snow White (or, if Dazai is to be believed, three different attempts at her own self-destruction) - and there are three different instances where Chuuya "wakes" Dazai, twice while they're partnered (when they have an "agreement", terms in a sense as partners), and once in Dead Apple.

The first is in Fifteen, the infamous scene where Dazai shoots the body and Chuuya snaps him out of it by wrenching the gun out of his hands. I'm honestly a bit too tired to go super into that scene right now but I'm doing a little bit on it later - all that needs to be acknowledged here is that Dazai was out of it and Chuuya forced him back to earth. The second occurs during the Dragon's Head Conflict when Dazai is completely insensitive to the death of a mafia executive and Chuuya decks him for it. The now-infamous line "no one would believe that" is often misinterpreted I think. Chuuya says this in response to Dazai's "I'm human, too, you know." He's not saying "you're not human", he's saying "you are human but no one would believe that with the kind of shit you're saying and doing". It's the same kind of sentiment in the first scene where Chuuya intervenes, I believe. And it is a form of waking, in that Chuuya snaps Dazai out of his more inhumane moments - he basically calls him out and forces him to reevaluate; the epitome of a rude awakening.

Now for the Dead Apple scene proper.

Firstly, let's establish something. They are no longer partners in the mafia. They are even on separate sides. The framing of this changes Chuuya's actions from working with Dazai with occasional call-outs to bring him back to earth, to saving him in what is quite literally a rescue.

In the original myth, again, there is no waking kiss. Instead, in this third time, everyone assumes Snow White is really dead, that she will not be coming back. The prince, who happens across her, insists she at least receive a proper burial. But when carrying her coffin, one of them trips and they stumble, which jostles the princess enough that the piece of apple stuck in her throat is dislodged and she coughs it up, reviving. Uh...

Yeah.

Anyways this got kind of messy at the end and idk if it even made sense this is really just unhinged rambling so...

Tldr, Odasaku and Chuuya both help "wake" Dazai even if their methods and personalities are very different, which is part of the reason why both bonds are very important. Neither are particularly gentle with him, but waking, especially if all you want to do is sleep, is not a gentle thing.

[bokettochild]

Ok so I sent the thing about the great gatsby so let me type it instead sorry about that. The one you didn't understand

I went to see the great gatsby on Broadway I'm a big theater nerd so I kinda was just trying to rant but voice typing doesn't like me.

So I feel like if malon and time brought the chain to see the great gatsby time would kinda be like an air port dad but...city like? Like "do you have your tickets? Is that alcohol free? What if that fell down? Legend why do yoy like this jeremy jordan? We're is the parking malon! Why are people cursing to much" like that

Mean while malon is amazed at what the city looks like she is in awe like "why is the buildings so tall? I think that person waved at me" she is like a kid but she also is keeping an eye on hyrule and wild to make sure they're not running off. Four is just holding malons hand.

Legend is the whole reason their there because he has been dying to see jeremy jordan and eva noblezada on Broadway so both of them in one play? Kill two birds with one stone. Legend is giddy the whole time but like it's not obvious Maybe only to hyrule.

Wind hyrule and wild are like "Oh what's that? Can I touch it? Look shiny! What does that say" their running away giving time a panic attack. Twilight has a literal leash on the three of them.

Twilight and sky are just talking about school and their lovers. Well warriors will add a comment here or there.

Once their in the theater.

Legend is just like star struck when he see jeremy and eva on the stage. Like malon has to physically shut his jaw.

Malon is enjoying the show she likes how it is in the 1920s but she had been close to hitting time four time already because he had no clue what Is happening he is not following anything. Like time mind is just wrecked theirs lights on but no one is home.

Warriors wants to know how they all do their make up that's the only thing he cares about he doesn't care about the drama even though you would think he does all you hear from him is "I gotta ask how they did their make up"

Sky passed out the first five minutes of the show.

Twilight is trying his best not to choke wild because wild hasn't shut up from the beginning of the play he is making refrances and all that.

In the play their is a a sex sence that happens and malon would be like "wars! Cover winds ears and eyes!" In panic

legend Is trying not to laugh at malons panic but he is also covering hyrules eyes but is very in vested.

Four is unfazed by aby of the show.

Then for Mt second rambled I was trying to talk about what Broadway shows I think would fit each linked Universe character.

Like for time either Westside story or the notebook book.

I feel like for warriors newsies or mama mai but like if he was a newises boy he would act out katherine.

I feel like legend would either fit six dear evan hanson or the great gatsby just because it fits him so well or bonnie and clyde.

Wind is the greatest showman or high-school musical.

Wild and twilight I feel like are a bit of descendents but also a bit of Westside story.

Four is hamilton just with all the different personality's.

Hyrule i feel like Cinderella.

Sky I feel like he would a mix of newsies or the waitress because he would just relate with it with sun.

Hope this makes sense.

Much better! Thank you so much! I saw Broadway and really wanted to read it, so I'm real thankful for the second go!

Legend being a theatre nerd that drags the whole family down to see his favorite actor (Jeremy Jordan, heck yeah!) is something I love, and while I've never seen that musical, I'll bet he's loving the whole thing!

The oldest three just chilling and chatting while corralling the rest is gold to me LOL

Hevane help the whole theatre if Time and Wild are sitting next to each other, or worse, with Twi between them. they're both so lost and chatty, and Twi just wants to watch the musical! I'll bet food is the only way to shut them up, and he's plying them both with it so he can hear at least some of what's happening.

The whole family starts slapping each other in the face when things get R Rated. How they missed that while buying tickets, they're not sure, but apparently amidst all his fussing, Time forgot to actually look up anything about the play, just the theatre, the town, the roads, and everything else LOL.

I honestly have no clue which musicals best suit the boys, and have only seen a few, but I love the thoughts you had, at least as far as the ones I actually recognize!

[tea-132]

[CINDERELLA BOY BEACH BOY ARC SPOILERS !!!!!]

(Pls turn away if you havent read the recent beachboy arc (ep 31))

A little self indulgent fic/prediction i think will happen in the next episode

Now i dont usually write fics like this and preffer to illustrate more but if i illustrate this whole thing its gona take a whole while so :,))

Anyways its sort of my first time posting a short fic like this, i didnt really have a structure or anything so pls go easy on me :,)

(though constructive critiscm is welcomed)

----------------------------------------------------

They were getting along just fine before so why did things have to end up this way?

Maybe Buddy was right- maybe he was too innocent and trusting

But he really did want to give Buddy a chance. But he definitely blew it.

That jerk.

He really thinks he can act all smug after doing that saying "he taught him a lesson". Heh maybe that kick will teach *him* a lesson.

This story will end soon anyway when Deacon gets here. Hah wonder if he can even leave Buddy on the island alone. Thats what he gets for betraying his trust-

Yet- that face Buddy had- maybe he actually regrets it?

What if he's being forced by the ex libris to do this?

Oh well doesn't matter

Its not his problem-

He has his own problems to worry about-

----------------------------------------------------

Wonder when Deacon will come? And wonder how he's holding up? Probably better than Chase is doing at the moment..

Chase laid his face on his palm as the tropical island breeze and gentle sway of the waves soothed his heart a bit. His eyes felt dry after all the crying, not only is he going to come to Deacon with a scarred face, but also a puffed up one.

That'll be embarassing. This is all Buddy's fault..

Speaking of Buddy for some reason Chase swore he saw something move just now. Oh no not him again.

With his voice a bit shaky he answered with a crack in his voice "What the heck do you want now? ...jerk."

Buddy just stood there still with the spear in his hand. His bangs slightly concealed his eyes but it wasnt too hard to figure out the grim expression on his face.

Then he got closer to Chase raising his spear.

"H-hey!! Dont you think you damaged my skin enough?! Back off Buddy!" (Do you want another kick to your face or wha 💀)

With no time to run all he could do is shield himself with his arms and close his eyes.

*Thunk*

"Huh?" He felt around and didnt feel like he got stabbed anywhere... then..?

"Here."

He saw green but then his vision focused. Buddy was quite literally shoving a coconut in his face.

"... you can have it.. if you want." He said in a quiet subtle tone. Looking away, as if a child was trying to give some sort of "apology gift".

Chase looked at Buddy with wide eyes, bewildered at the goth's actions once again.

As much as he wanted to deny the coconut from this jerk. He just cant pass up the oppurtunity for a free, finally opened coconut he's been trying to get all this time.

"....thanks" Chase takes the coconut from his hands.

And Buddy hesitantly sits next to him.

"Dont think a coconut can fix the scar on my face you know?" He said in an angry tone

"You know when you get out of the books the scar wont be there anymore right?"

"Yeah but it still hurts you jerk!"

Then there was silence between the two again. Chase angrily but obviously enjoying his coconut.

Then Buddy says something about his lore and it goes on from there jdbdjdbdj

Ok thats all the predictions i have for now 😭 i dont think im gona finish this unless i get more ideas or smth 😭

But tysm for reading till the end! Jsbdj hope you guys enjoyed this lil thing i did

Dunno if im gona do more of these but who knows- ill most likely do more drawings though-

[stormoftara]

Okay here is my recommendations for this season of anime! Not in any order really, just what I'm gonna be watching

1. My Happy Marriage. I was talking about this one before, but now that we are a few episodes in, I can heartily recommend it. A Cinderella-esque story set in Japan on the brink of westernization. The main character is a very timid girl due to her upbringing, but I can see her changing as she escapes her family and gets to know her fiance. A fun romance story with an interesting twist in the second episode!

2. Zom 100. This one is really fun. A young man gets hired at a black company, a place where he hardly gets to sleep and works nonstop. He can't even muster the energy to quit, but he's on the verge of giving up. But then the zombies come! He shouts with joy! He doesn't have to go to work today! A show about him finally getting to enjoy life (and try not to get killed)

3. Reborn as a Vending Machine. An isekai. No wait! Come back! It's about a vending machine Otaku who is not killed by truck-kun. No, it's vending machine-kun who gets him. He is then reborn in a fantasy world where he's... a vending machine. He has to navigate a whole new world where he can't even communicate with anyone else. Thankfully a girl with the blessing of strength comes along to help carry him to adventure. A comedy that looks to be a lot of fun.

4. Saint Cecilia and Pastor Lawren. Another romance? Yes! Pastor Lawren is special in many ways, but mostly he's really oblivious. He finds a new Saint and takes her into his church. Who is really taking care of who here, though? And will Lawren ever realize that Cecilia is crushing on him? Probably not :)

5. The Gene of AI. A sci-fi anime. Humanoids, a type of robot that is nearly indistinguishable from humans, except for their pupils, have become so advanced that they have been granted human rights. A certain human doctor of the humanoids who was (maybe?) adopted by a humanoid, takes on difficult cases dealing with the humanoids. What does it mean to copy someone's personality and is that copy just as real as the original? Can a humanoid surpass the limits that were hardwired into them? These questions and more are explored in this anime!

6. The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses. Hey. Do you like watching a burning trash fire? Well do I have a show for you! Animated in ways that might make you vomit, this show is about the most ditzy girl who is practically blind, somehow, inexplicably, forgetting her glasses. Nearly daily. It's okay! She has the boy who sits next to her to help her out. This show is pretty cliche, but the way it's animated. Wow. GoHands, the company behind this show, is uh. They have a very unique way to animate things. I can't look away from this.

I've heard that Undead Murder Farce is also good but I haven't had time to watch it. I'll try to find time to check it out!

[the-firebird69]

Inside CINDERELLA'S CASTLE SUITE * Full Tour * Disney Magic Kingdom * In...

And yeah this is me William Dafoe he said it's coming up and they were using palms but just know what they were using these bombs for he thinks he was using the war and the revolutionary war is cover to open up caverns and tunnels and things they made earlier and start to build defenses back in the revolutionary period and other things too catacombs places for huge bugs and things like that his sister the sacrificial areas for demons and all sorts of stuff was is probably in that mountain and I'm looking at it like Tim Doyle it's absolutely breathtakingly beautiful and horrific

William Dafoe

I can't believe that you got in front of us but I see why this is our stuff and one slippers missing and one is with Dave and I can't stand it and he said this is our stuff and we see it the slipper is a reflector diamond and he made them on purpose and wants to pick them up and may have when he went to westboro there's evidence but only by compaction and really there have to be a distraction but that may have been the revolutionary war but he doesn't think so cuz he wasn't huge so we have to check into it he thinks they're still there and he's getting people to fight over stuff like had me and the schedule cadmium and the schedule is haphazard and usually off we're going to go ahead and look

Sarah

I don't know why I'm asking questions now people see why these things have been plaguing me and I was carried by a giant and he's saying he's a giant and can get big quick but doesn't know how to get small and I've never seen him grow even like an inch and I've seen him go up and down an inch and it will figure it out it's coffee and I'm tired of you Sarah and you're gross stuff

Trump

Olympus

Remember that stuff is very hot but she is what a day and it's going on and now you've done this and they're running out of here and people saying where you going and said we have to go somewhere now and some of them went up there it's this huge army of people and they'll probably get to the bottom of it finally

Hera it's a ghwb in 200 MI and other people too so they know it's real I'm not sure what they're driving at they don't maybe they don't think he's that big or the secrets are with Max and they don't think that they're talking about the Harley-Davidson

They're saying that now we should have let them build them and I had to build them and they're trying to figure out what to do and they all want to agree and they're going ahead and talking to Mac and Ben and they're saying let them build the damn things we can't figure out what they're doing that's not enough of them and so they're sitting down and saying that and they're going to go over it

Thor Freya

We do have a handle on what we think they're going to do and they think they're going to hand it out to their people to try and build some and test it and see what happens and they don't like it it's what they say in the future we think we have reports that say it and you're probably right he says I'm glad they're doing something and we are too

Zig this is an amazing story it's getting bigger and bigger no pun intended and her son is looked at as if he's strange because he's not getting bigger but you guys poison the crap out of him so we're going to wait and see what happens but really this is starting to get more fun and more interesting and we are competing in these competitions for the design of the motorcycle and the boat and the concrete panel house concrete block house so we have all sorts of competitions coming up and everybody's getting involved and we want our people of our public to sign on we have a lot of engineers and we can discuss what technology we can use after the competitions be done well begun Zag

[moonswolfie]

A flower blooms

Ushijima x fem!reader

I got into My happy marriage recently and holy, that show was made for me, cinderella-like stories always were my favourite and I couldn't get enough of them in manhwas. So having an entire anime about it?? In the meiji restoration period??? SIGN ME UP

If you couldn't tell this is an au that takes place in the universe of my happy marriage

"Your father is calling for you. Please come with me." A servant approached you as you were cleaning the kitchen. "Father...? Why?" You were worried. Have you done something wrong?

"I'm not sure. He told me it's urgent and that you must go to the parlor immediately." the servant explained quickly, turning around and walking away. You rarely get called to the parlor for "urgent matters". What could possibly be happening?

You hurried to the parlor, afraid to upset him if you took too long, and soon you were standing in front of the sliding door. You knew that your family was waiting for you beyond the door, and you nervously adjusted a bit of your hair, taking a deep breath.

"Sir, it's me." you called out, waiting for a response.

"Come in." at that, you immediately went on your knees, gently opening the door and bowing once you came into sight of your family. "Pardon me." you added.

Your family was sitting in the room in complete silence, your younger sister smirking at you in an oddly sinister way. You tried thinking back on today. The atmosphere felt heavy, like you've made a mistake. You were sure you prepared the tea correctly this morning. Was it the food? Did you not scrub the floor well enough?

"What's wrong now? Hurry up and come in already." your sister's loud, confident voice interrupted you. You gently bowed your head, murmuring out an apology. You got too lost in thought, it seems. You moved into the room on your knees, closing the sliding door behind you.

"We have come to a decision." your father said, adressing you. You feared the worst. If they throw you out now, you'll have nowhere to go. You remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"We recieved a marriage offer from the Ushijima family. We did not want your sister to get married into that family, so we have decided to have you become his wife instead."

Did you hear that right? The Ushijima family...? This can't be happening.

Your sister seemed to notice the horror in your expression, and huffed a laugh behind her hand. "What's the matter, sis? Got cold feet?"

You've only ever heard rumours about the Ushijima family, but they weren't good ones. The family was very infamous for it's strict rules and harsh punishments. Sure, some other strict families might enjoy that, but you really don't...

"Your husband will be Ushijima Wakatoshi." your father said in a monotone voice, looking oddly expressionless. Your stepmother and sister only laughed behind their hands at your expression.

Wait... your father could always reject a marriage offer, though...

You should have known that they're just trying to get rid of you as fast as possible. You suddenly felt like crying, but didn't want to give your family the satisfaction. You tried your best to hold back the tears, which surely didn't go unnoticed by your sister.

"You're leaving tommorow. Pack your things~" your stepmother waved you off with a bright smile. You slowly got up, disbelief still showing on your face as you slowly walked out the room, bowing quietly as you closed the door.

The rest of your final day with the family felt like a fever dream. You served them as usual, but you felt... strange. Your family doesn't treat you very well, and yet somehow you don't want to leave this wretched house. You don't even know how long you've been staring at the tree stump of your late mother's sakura tree at this point.

The sun was beginning to set, so you decided to go to your room to pack the few belongings your stepmother didn't burn or destroy.

You were wrapping your belongings when a servant entered your room. "Here, wear this tommorow." she said, bowing her head and handing you one of your sister's old kimonos. Calling it old would be a bit of a stretch, actually. It's only a few months old, but your sister gets a new one every month and stops wearing the "old ones". She also handed you a wad of onigiri for you to eat on the journey.

You took the kimono and the food, thanking the servant as she closed the sliding door. For some reason, you had hoped that the servant would offer you some words of advice, comfort you, anything, but it makes sense. She has duties to attend to and can't just stop to comfort you.

You put the bundle of belongings away, settling in your futon.

That night, you couldn't really sleep well. You thought about your home, your mother, your father, anyone else of importance. This is a new beginning for you, sure, but what does it matter when you'll get beaten for your mistakes in the Ushijima household too....

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you bid farewell to your mother's sakura tree stump, walking out of the household without notifying your family directly. They don't care about you anyways.

You sat quietly on the tram, gently tracing the flower patterns on your sister's kimono. Or, well, your kimono now, you suppose. You can't really bring yourself to eat the onigiri that the servants packed for you, opting to stare outside at the scenery instead.

You can't help but wonder how different your future husband's punishments will be to your own family's. Since you never went out of the house, being so busy with housework, you never got to make friends or find out what kind of person Ushijima Wakatoshi is. You can only hope he might take pity on you sometimes. Especially since you have no magical abilities, which would have been your saving grace otherwise.

Maybe you should have fought against your father back then. You aren't meant for marriage. You aren't meant for anything good....

Well, a marriage can be bad too, you suppose. You got so lost in thought that you almost forgot to get off at your stop, quickly moving at the last second, belongings in your hands.

You walked out of the station, looking to the map you were given by the servant to try and find Ushijima Wakatoshi's estate. Along the forest path, a household with the family name Ushijima engraved into its entrance showed up. This is it for you.

The house looks quite small and plain compared to how you imagined it being. Despite the Ushijima family's reputation, they are successful and consequently rich. Atleast that's what you heard from the servants while you passed by them in the hallways.

"Hello?" you said in a louder tone at the door. You heard someone's footsteps, and then a female voice yell "I'll be right there, please wait a moment!"

Soon, an older woman who you presume to be a servant opened the door. "Oh, who are you, young lady?" she asked with a smile on her face. You were surprised to find a smiling face right off the bat.

You bowed as greeting, explaining you're here for the marriage. At this, the servant's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I see! I'm Yurie, a servant of the Ushijima family. Please, come in." she stepped to the side, closing the door as you stepped inside.

"Thank you.." you let Yurie lead you down the hallway. "Young Master is in the study at the moment, I'll lead the way, if you'll allow me." Yurie seemed really excited to have you here and the place evoked a strangely peaceful feeling in you. It's probably deceptive, though.

The two of you stopped in front of a sliding door, Yurie opening it for you.

And there he was, sat behind a table with a brush in his hand, looking out at the trees in the backyard. He looked back once he heard you walking in, and you got to see his face for the first time as you kneeled down on the ground.

When thinking of someone from the Ushijima family, you definitely envisioned a face like his. He wore a stern expression, waiting for you to speak. You have to admit though, he looks quite handsome.

"It is a pleasure to meet you. I am [name]. I hope you treat me well." You lowered your head in a deep bow. Who are you kidding? If the rumours are true, you're getting a brush to the head, not treated well. Though, you would much prefer that over being locked in the storage closet again.

"Raise your head." your eyes widened at the deepness of his voice, raising your head slightly. "I'm sorry." That's all you can offer him, apologizing like you always have. You can only hope the sincerity reaches him, too.

The following silence made you extremely nervous, and you didn't dare to look him in the face. "Why are you apologizing?"

The question caught you off-guard, your eyes finally meeting his. There was not a sliver of anger or dissapointment in them, only confusion. "Ah, ummm...." You really have nothing to say to him right now.

The two of you just sat there, staring at eachother in silence while Yurie giggled behind her hand beside you. "...I hope you will enjoy staying with me." he added on to end the silence, returning to his work. Yurie got up as you bowed once more, getting up yourself and leaving the room.

"Young Master isn't too good with people, but he's a good boy. Rest assured, he will treat you well." Yurie explained happily. Oh no, she must've noticed your fear back when you first entered his household. This will negatively impact her perception of you...

But so far, everything seems much better than you expected, so maybe your worried were a little unfounded.

"Here is your room, make yourself at home." Yurie opened the door to your new room, and you gawked at its size. It was much more spacious than your old room. You placed the little bundle of belongings by your new futon, turning back to Yurie. You didn't miss how she glanced at your belongings with worry.

"Ummm, may I please know where the kitchen is?" you asked.

"Oh, you don't need to bother yourself with cooking for today, it's my job, after all!" Yurie guessed your intentions immediately. "Just get to know your sorroundings and relax for today. I'm sure being in a new environment is a bit worrying for you." before closing the sliding door, she added "Feel free to explore around for a bit."

And so there you were. Kneeling in your room in one of the Ushijima family's estates. Though you did feel nervous about not having to work. Your body was just itching to pick up a broom or cloth and get to work. But you doubt that Yurie would lead you to the cleaning closet and put you to work, considering she didn't even let you cook today.

Not working isn't a bad thing, per se, but you want to be useful to your future husband. And you know no other way than cleaning and serving him. It's all you have.

You decide to take a walk around the estate, stopping at the trees to look at them one by one. Your sister would always make remarks about your habit to stop and look at trees, and you suppose it is strange, but trees remind you of mother. And there is no happier memory than her.

The estate is simple, but to the point, with a little pond filled with koi fish in the backyard which you marveled at for longer than you'd like to admit. Throughout the day, you didn't see Wakatoshi even once. He must be a busy man.

As the hours passed, you ate dinner alone, just as you did back home. Yurie gave you a look when you said you've always done it this way, but you decided not to mind it too much. Yurie's cooking was great and you throughly enjoyed eating a freshly cooked meal, which was rare for you since you either ate leftovers from your family after they were done or a quick meal prepared to you by the servants.

Soon, it was time for you to go to bed, so you walked back to your room, trying your best to keep your footsteps silent as to not accidentally wake anyone up, even if you and Wakatoshi were the only ones in the house. It's a habit you had to pick up in order to not get caught looking for food in the storage at night after your family took away food as punishment.

As you changed, sitting down on your futon, you heard a voice.

"Hello. May I come in?"

You could never mistake the deepness of that voice. It was Wakatoshi. Oh no... You must have done something. Now you might get yelled at, or even worse. Was it because you spent all day doing nothing? You knew you should've insisted with Yurie.

"Y...You may." at this, the sliding door opened, and Wakatoshi entered your room.

"You didn't eat with me." he said, face blank and voice monotone. You felt a shiver run through you, quickly bowing down and apologizing. When nothing happened to you, you slowly raised your head to find Wakatoshi sitting across you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"...Why did you do that?" he asked after a short silence. You weren't sure if he was refering to your sudden apology or not eating with him. "What do you mean, sir?" you asked carefully, bracing up in case you get hit.

"Why didn't you eat with me?" he rephrased the question. You're not sure what to tell him here, since you doubt any answer you give him will be satisfactory. "It is a habit of mine, sir. I used to eat alone at home, too." you bowed your head low.

"...I understand." his response surprised you. When you glanced up at him, a strange understanding flashed behind his olive eyes. You felt almost unnerved at how familiar, at-home that look was. Like he just knew. You averted your gaze. It must've been your imagination.

"How do you like it here so far?" he changed the topic.

"It is very satisfactory to be here." you were very pleasantly surprised with how things are turning out. You expected the first day to go very differently, but here you were, getting checked up on by your future husband out of nothing more than pure concern and curiosity. It made you feel strange.

"That is a relief." he said, abruptly getting up and wishing you a good night as he closed the door behind him.

Your initial image of Ushijima Wakatoshi has been dispelled, and you can tell Yurie wasn't lying when she said he isn't a bad person. But now you can't help but wonder, where are all the strict, harsh rumours coming from?

...Actually, now that you think about it, Wakatoshi was writing with his left hand.

Btw if you ever see a similar fic but with a different character shhhh no you didn't

Im jk i'm jk I just love this concept so much that I want to write it for multiple characters so if you ever happen to see this but with a different character this is why

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

fuck yeah love these writing ask games! tagged by the awesome @seavoice!! thanks so much for tagging me :D

post the names of the last five files in my wip folders —regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

full disclosure i've hit a writer's block so bad the likes of which any writer would hate to see and haven't written at all or started anything in like,,,, 2 months. maybe more. oTL i'm dying over here. so i'm gonna cheat and post some ideas that i'd like to write, in the order they're in my personal discord channel for writing ideas. the first one is smth that is a wip tho.

also a lot of these also don't have official titles lol

1 long story short : yes it's named after the thing you think it's named after iykyk. a pet project of mine. oc-centered story, takes place in the pjoverse. third installment of this series, takes place in toa, and it's abt an oc child of apollo who fell in love with luke in the og pjo series and is now just going thru it and facing the consequences of that decision. still going, even tho i update even slower than i did for my last two stories in this series ;; oc is op. read at your own risk lmao.

2 faceblind!yuuri cinderella au : yuri on ice. yuuri being faceblind is canon to me as far as i'm concerned bc he doesn't recognize yuri p. twice and doesn't recognize minami initially, even tho he beat yuuri at nationals that past yr lol. not to mention minami has mc anime hair. the rest of what it's abt is in the title lol

3 what remains of jason grace : a what remains of edith finch au for jason grace from hoo/toa. what remains of edith finch is a beautiful game about edith finch revisiting her old family home after her mother's death. the last finch left alive. came up with this idea when thinking abt one of my favorite white boys jason grace. wanted to write smth similar to the game, smth that's as melancholy and heart-rending. i imagine it smth like jason wrote a journal after hearing the prophecy from herophile in tbm, and this was what was in the journal.

4 nie huaisang v jin guangyao : cql/the untamed/mdzs. would be a character study. would be extremely difficult. it's very hard to explain if you don't know the source material/have not watched the show/donghua or have not read the books/manhua, but these two characters parallel each other in multiple different ways in the narrative, and one of them is unknowingly battling the other in a game of wits, with the other characters in the story as their puppets and suffering the most consequences from the actions of these two, who mostly work behind the scenes until the reveal in the finale. and i think it would be a cool character study to write abt that battle bc it's not focused on enough in the source material imo

5 diary of luke castellan/halcyon green : it's actually fitting seavoice is the one to tag me! bc ever since i read their post abt hal/luke's diary and incorporating it into toa i've wanted to write a story that explores this more, but in a playwright format. bc i think it would have a lot of impact as a stage play, focusing on those quite moments between apollo and meg's travels, when he gets a chance to sit down and read thru the diary. at the very least, i envisioned it in that environment when i first read their post.

tagging the few peeps i know who write on the reg (and are moots). feel free to do this (or not): @spooderham @lucifers-favorite-child @talking0fmichelangel0 @bisexualoftheblade

thanks again for the tag!!

[nitewrighter]

I love the cinderella short so much, I hope one day it will be a finished story but no worries if that doesn't happened. I love reading your writing! 💖

Well now's as good a time as any to continue it, right? We spent a lot of time with Cindy last chapter, but now that we’ve more or less caught up to the ball, we can jump back to Princey boy’s perspective!

So.

Let’s do this.

---

The foot fetish joke.

You guys won't fucking shut up with the goddamn foot fetish joke.

My boy was out here fighting for his life (figuratively speaking) and you guys are all "hoo hoo he had a foot fetish. I'm so creative and no one has ever suggested this before." Fuck off.

Princey boy is staying up late, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling. He looks like absolute shit in the mornings--I mean the five o' clock shadow is kind of hot but his eyes are hella bloodshot and his skin routine has been thrown COMPLETELY off so he looks rough. The man is HAUNTED because he just met someone and he thinks they're amazing and they seem like one of the kindest, funniest, most genuine people he's ever met, and they laugh at his jokes but my guy cannot remember a single damn identifying thing about them and he is so goddamn worried about their wellbeing. They looked so scared before they took off at midnight and he doesn't know where they are! He doesn’t know if they’re okay! He doesn’t know if they're eating! He’s like, pretty sure they’re not eating because they were putting away a frankly concerning amount of spinach puffs! He doesn't know if they even have a bed! He doesn’t remember if they had bruises (he’d remember if they had bruises, right? What the fuck is wrong with his head?!) He's barely eating, himself! He is SUFFERING and you fucking vultures are sitting pretty over here like “lol he wanted an excuse to touch feet.” Again, fuck off! My boy is going through it! 

YES, all he had was the shoe, but he didn’t start with the shoe because that’s impractical.

Like any proper investigation, you start by asking the entire castle staff what they saw that night at the ball and ya boi has been THOROUGH. Here is what he has learned:

“Yeah I mean I definitely saw shit that night--I mean officially, I’m a footman but for bashes like this? My job ends up being mostly making sure drunker guests quietly get back to their carriages. Oh--a girl? Showed up late to the party? Yeah I remember there was someone I had to give directions to... she looked great. Uh... no, I don’t remember her hair color... or eye color... or her dress... Oh! But she fixed this button on my coat that one guest nearly yanked off! Even sewed a little flower into the holes, isn’t that cute? Who just... carries a sewing kit on them, right? Er--sorry, I know it’s not uniform regulation--Oh it’s okay? Awesome. Wait--you’re taking my coat? But I like this coat--Right. yes. Of course, your highness.”

“A girl wandering the corridors? Um... there was this one incident where one of the lordlings left this massive slosh of wine on the parlor carpet and--look, I’ve only been here a couple months since I got promoted from dishes, and me and three of my girls were trying to scrub it out while all the damn lordlings went on smoking their pipes and chuckling--Oh--not that you’re like that, Your Highness, but anyway I was kind of freaking out because I knew if I called in the head housekeeper it would turn into this whole thing, but then this girl... just kind of... wandered in. I don’t think she really understood the whole concept of ‘Brandy in the parlor is a gentleman’s thing’ but she just leaned over us and went, ‘Oh! Lemon juice!’ And before I could say anything she just hurried out. 5 minutes later she comes back with a lemon and a goblet of water. I ask her where she got the lemon and she said ‘the gardens--is that allowed?’ I didn’t know how to respond to that but get this: The lemon and water worked. But she was gone before I had time to thank her. It’s strange... I don’t remember her features very well... I remember thinking she was very pretty but more so she seemed... kind. A little nervous, but kind.” 

“Oh the catering table? Yeah I was there all night--well you know actually I was running back to the kitchens to make sure shit wasn’t on fire, but yeah, I was more or less there all night. A girl? Oh the perky one! I mean, yeah, I’m used to talking about the food, ‘cuz, y’know allergies and whatnot, but she was... really interested in how to make them. She asked how I kept the breadcrumbs crisp on the stuffed mushrooms--no one appreciates my passion for breadcrumb crispness! The key is using three different bread loafs with a distinct variety of freshness and staleness and- What did she look like? Um... tall? I think? Oh but everyone was wearing heels that night, huh... hm...”

“You’re telling me I had 8 of the pageboys running interference on the rest of the guests so you two could sneak off to the gardens and you didn’t kiss her? Bro! What the hell! I mean--um... Sorry. Your highness. What? What did she look like? Dude, are you insane? She looked awesome. You know how her hair was like... um... uh... Wait. What the shit?”

And Guard Captain Brad has now somehow convinced himself that Mystery Girl is a criminal mastermind even though nothing is missing from the Palace. 

“It’s obvious. She dosed the entire party with some kind of neural agent. That’s why she was hanging out at the buffet table all night and that’s why no one can remember her.”

“Brad, why would she do that if everyone was already distracted with the literal fucking party. Why would she dose everyone when she was eating literally everything!?”

“I don’t know... but she was eating all that stuff to cover her tracks... hell she may have even built up an immunity to poisons. She’s crafty...”

“Brad.”

And through all of the interviews with the staff, Princey boy is stuck with one painful, painful fact staring him right in the face: HE was the one spending the most time with her! He spent more time with her than anyone! He should know more than anyone! AND HE CAN’T FUCKING REMEMBER HER FACE. My boy is being gaslit by the fae and he doesn’t even know it.

But he’s not stupid. He is staring at this shoe, this shoe that is the hope and bane of his existence, and he says, “You know what? There aren’t a lot of glass shoes out there. And this shoe was definitely custom-made. All I need to do is find the person who made the shoe, ask them who they made the shoe for, and I find mystery girl and I get her out of whatever fucked up situation she’s stuck in, and then *cough* *mumble* maybe we get married or something I don’t know I don’t want to pressure her.” *mumble* *cough* So that’s what he does. He is very practical and reasonable and methodical and haha I’m just kidding he calls in literally every glassblower and crystal craftsman in the realm to look at...the shoe.

Which he has had put on its own cushy little velvet pillow on its own fancy little pedestal in the palace reception hall for this occasion. I dunno, it seemed more professional than just yanking the shoe out and saying, “Did you make this shoe?” 

So in come all of the glassblowers and crystal craftsmen from all over the kingdom, and they don’t really know the details, they’re busy guys, they got their own stuff going on, and the Prince gestures at the shoe on the pedestal like, “I must know which of you has crafted this fabulous shoe!”

And like... okay yeah, this is where the foot fetish stuff starts leaking into the story but I swear to god he was mostly doing it as a cover for the whole, “the girl wearing this shoe might be the love of my life but my dad is going to get really fucking weird if something like that gets out so you know what let’s just let everyone assume I’m into... craftsmanship.” And like, the internet is not a thing yet, Quentin Tarantino is not a thing yet, we don’t really have the cultural consciousness to know about Foot Guys™, so it’s generally accepted that, “Okay, this is about craftsmanship. Maybe he wants to commission a glass sculpture or a chandelier or something. Or maybe he wants the windows re-glazed.”

But Glass shoes, as you might imagine, are really not a thing most glass craftsmen would make. I mean, at first there’s a handful of guys who are like “Oh this is about a commission, I’ll just say I made the shoe and then I can land that sweet sweet royal commission.” So they step forward like, “I made the shoe.”

“No, I made the shoe.”

“No, I made the shoe, your highness, don’t let these charlatans fool you.”

And knee-jerk the prince hits all of them with, “Great! Who did you make it for?”

And then there’s this beat of “...oh shit, this isn’t about a commission.” And a significant amount of the glassworkers leave while the dudes who stepped forward are stuck bullshitting like.

“um... a fair maiden?”

“A mysterious fair maiden.”

“Showed up in a an indigo cloak, with only her ruby lips visible beneath the shadow of her hood!”

“...ruby lips doesn’t sound like her...” the prince mumbles.

“Um... blushing lips? And the cloak wasn’t indigo, it was periwinkle.”

“Fucking dumbasses, obviously, she sent her own valet with her measurements.”

The prince just kind of folds his arms like, “You can leave and you won’t get in trouble for claiming to make a shoe you didn’t make.”

And the lying craftsmen are at least smart enough to see their out and they are SHOOP. Outta there. So between them leaving and all the guys who ditched as soon as they realized this wasn’t about a commission, only a handful of glass craftsmen remain. 

“...I don’t suppose any of you made the shoe?” the Prince says, and oh boy you can just feel the despair sinking into his whole frame, but the glass craftsmen just... steadily step forward.

“To be honest, your highness,” says one, stepping ahead of the group with a slight bow, “I didn’t make the shoe. But a glass shoe is such an unusual commission that I just want to see how whoever crafted it did so. I’ll admit it’s a selfish reason, but at least looking at it could improve my craft.”

“I might be able to tell you where it comes from!” another pipes up, “I apprenticed abroad in the east!”

“I apprenticed in the north!” another glassworker calls out.

“I didn’t study abroad, but I’ve always been a little bit of a chemist, myself,” says another, “The way that slipper catches the light... I might be able to tell you about its composition.”

And there’s kind of a murmuring agreement from the glassworkers behind this guy and the Prince is like, “Oh, these guys are the hardcore artisans. It’s not about them, it’s not about me, it’s about the art.” So he kind of scoots to the side and is like, “Well if there’s anything you can tell me about this shoe, anything at all, I would deeply appreciate it.”

And all the glassworkers just briskly step forward and are staring at this shoe. Gesturing at it like, “May I?” and the prince is like, “By all means” and they’re picking up the shoe and poring over it.

And then they’re talking,

And then they’re talking a little more intensely about lead levels, and chemical compounds for this level of opalescence, and then they’re holding the shoe up in sunlight trying to identify what went into it to make the light shine through it so... prismatically.  And then they’re debating about blowing vs. molds  vs. carving.

And then they’re arguing.

And then they’re REALLY arguing and the prince is cutting in like, “Okay you guys are all getting really heated so I’m just gonna put this shoe back on its little pillow--” and all the glassworkers are so caught up in their argument that they barely notice but then ONE glassworker just breaks off from the group, pointing a shaking finger at the shoe that the prince is carefully placing on the pillow and there is fucking fear in his eyes.

“No man made that shoe. No human made that shoe. No creature of god made that shoe,” he has a thick accent and his voice is shaking as much as his hand.

“Come on, man,” says another glassworker, “Surely you don’t really think--”

But the thick-accented glassworker is furiously crossing himself and doing the gesture of the horns at the shoe while anxiously backing out of the room.

“I will have no dealings with that shoe. I am honored by your invitation, your Highness, but I must leave,” and he does.

So everyone in the reception hall is kind of standing around awkwardly.

“The shoe isn’t... that weird, is it?” the Prince says to the other glassworkers, and they kind of mutter amongst themselves for 90 seconds before quietly looking back at him.

They don’t have an answer.

So all princey boy has to find mystery girl is a shoe.

And the shoe is fucking weird.

[separatist-apologist]

A Christmas Prince

Summary: When reporter Feyre Archeron is sent to the small European Principality of Aldovia to cover the upcoming coronation of Prince Rhysand, she's mistaken for a royal portraitist. Deciding to lean into the lie in order to get a better story, Feyre is caught up in the drama and politics of Rhysand's life with no way out that doesn't betray them both.

This is based loosely off the Netflix movie A Christmas Prince and was my first full length Feysand fic so be kind.

This was also my Secret Santa gift for @arrowmusings and I hope they enjoy it.

You can find it on AO3: Here

Rated T for some language

Part 1/4

There was something special about Christmas in New York. Feyre chose to see it through rose tinted glasses, determined New York wouldn’t break her. She chose to see fresh, white snow instead of the gray sludge that lined the streets, chose to believe people smiled as she walked, chose to believe the air smelled like pine and snow capped mountain peaks instead of trash and exhaust. Some days were easier than others and as Feyre trudged through the slick mess, her boots sliding over the pavement, she found she was struggling to believe reality was as lovely as her imagination.

She made it to her office just in time for no one but Lucien Vanserra to smile in her direction. In a city filled with millions of people, how was he her only friend? Not counting, of course, her older sister Elain but Elain was busy with her trendy cupcakes that had taken over Brooklyn and besides, sisters didn’t really count as friends.

“I got you coffee,” Lucien told her with a smile, sliding out of his office to hand her a still warm cardboard cup of what smelled suspiciously like a chestnut praline latte. She’d gotten him in her breakup with her long-time boyfriend Tamlin and Feyre was grateful for it. Despite two solid decades of friendship, the first time Feyre texted Lucien for help, sporting a black eye and split lip, Lucien had shown up with movers and, when Tamlin tried to beg for her back, his fists.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. He knew her too well.

“So my dad is bugging me to come home this year,” he continued, a grimace stretched over his tanned, handsome face. Feyre scowled.

“Did you tell him no?” She replied. Lucien’s dad had money, money money, and Lucien had been expected to fall in line and become some corporate drone. Instead Lucien worked as a copy editor, mainly to say he had a job. Feyre was well aware Lucien had an obscene inheritance that, despite his father’s anger, he had access to.

“Not exactly,” Lucien replied with a sigh, stopping in front of her desk in the little cubicle Feyre inhabited. He shook her little snow globe with a wistful expression, watching the snow settle over Cinderella’s castle. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to be on Christmas.”

“Want plans?” Feyre offered immediately. Her and Lucien had been a two person show for Halloween and Thanksgiving. Why not Christmas, too? “You might have to spend it with Elain. She’s not flying out to California to see Nesta this year.”

Lucien’s expression lightened a little even as he said, “I don’t want to intrude on your family time with your sister.”

She snorted. “It’s hardly intruding. Elain lives to cook, besides. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have one more mouth to feed.” “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not,” Lucien complained, tucking a stray piece of copper hair behind his ear. Only Lucien could get away with shoulder length hair, tied neatly in a ponytail, in an office that required men to wear buttoned up shirts and ties. “Speaking of siblings, you know my older brother Eris knows this guy who owns a gallery—”

“No,” she said quickly, refusing to get her hopes up. “No, Lucien, no favors.”

“Feyre, c’mon. What’s the point of this fancy last name if I never get to throw it around?” He teased, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“You hate when people think you’re a Vanserra,” Feyre reminded him patiently, turning to her computer monitor. “Besides, my art isn’t good enough—” “Your art is good enough for museums,” Lucien interrupted impatiently. “And I’m not just saying that because we’re friends,” he added, catching how her mouth opened to contradict him. “Trust me. I’ve seen some of the ugly shit people spend thousands of dollars on. Your work deserves to be seen.”

She couldn’t admit that since Tamlin, Feyre hadn’t painted at all. He’d ridiculed everything she’d ever put on canvas, had made her feel small and worthless. He’d torn it all apart, had sneered at her brushstrokes, had called it her hobby and Feyre couldn’t get his words out of her head even six months later. From the way Lucien looked at her, fiddling with the cuffs on his dark purple shirt, she suspected he knew why she didn’t want to paint.

“I don’t have time,” she said instead, gesturing towards her email inbox. Lucien only rolled russet-colored eyes, one of which had three angry red scars streaked through it, marring what was otherwise a truly perfect face. He’d been in a car accident as a boy, he’d said. He ought to have died and instead was just scarred and though Feyre had found it jarring the first time she ever saw it, Lucien swore it had never gotten in the way when it came to women.

She wouldn’t know anything about that, other than Lucien always seemed to find a beautiful woman when he needed one.

“Sure you don’t,” he said with a long suffering sigh. “Too busy re-writing articles and watching Netflix shows you’ve already seen?”

“Don’t you have a job?” She asked, annoyed. Lucien grinned and all was forgiven in that moment because, despite his irritating presence, he was still her best friend.

“Reading books and telling authors their plots don’t make sense is hardly a job, Fey. It’s my passion.”

“You know, they say those who can’t—”

“Teach,” he interrupted. “But I accept the insult all the same. Don’t let the journalists dick you around too much, hm?”

And with that, Lucien was gone. He sauntered back to his nice office with the glass window overlooking the city while Feyre watched, rolling her eyes at the way heads turned as he went. She knew he was aware of it, and while Lucien would never sleep with anyone in their office, she was certain he didn’t need to wear pants half as tight, either.

Feyre was a junior editor, a job she didn’t particularly love but had sort of fallen into by accident. There was upward mobility and she’d always been a good enough writer that she decided to aim for being an editor one day, which was the plot of every coming-of-age tale she’d ever watched growing up in Oklahoma.

It was well past noon when Feyre finally finished reading a too-long story about fashion week, frustrated that the journalist had just made up facts that would get their magazine in hot water if it ever ran. Feyre knew she’d need to completely re-write it, both to trim down the wordiness and to ensure that they actually discussed the actual designers who were featured in the show. She knew exactly who to ask for help, dialing quickly on her phone.

“What’s up?” Came Elain’s voice over whirring in the background. Feyre knew her sister well enough to know it was just the sound of a stand mixer and that Elain was likely covered in a fine layer of flour.

“Hey, did you watch fashion week?” She asked.

“Fashion week is my Super Bowl…or whatever it is where they pick players,” Elain said impatiently. “I bought a dress from—”

“That’s great. Do you think you could help me with an article I’m writing?”

The whirring in the background stopped. “Do you want to stop by for lunch or is that too far?”

Considering Feyre was in Manhattan and Elain in Brooklyn, it was definitely too far for a quick lunch. “Dinner?”

“Come to my place, then. I’m closing up at two today.”

“Oh wait, Elain! Can I bring my friend Lucien? We usually get dinner together.”

There was a pause. “Tamlin’s friend?”

Feyre bit back her sigh. “My friend,” she said firmly.

“Fine. But I’m not cleaning.”

“I didn’t ask you to and trust me when I say he won’t care. Thanks for this, Elain.”

Elain offered a mock long-suffering sigh. “I have a dress for you, too, you know—”

“I’m hanging up now byeeeee,” Feyre said quickly, disconnecting the call before Elain could try and set her up with one of the million beautiful men that seemed to follow her sister around. Elain was all the things a person moving to New York ought to be—she had a degree in fashion, had been president of her sorority, had a close-knit group of girlfriends and, though it shouldn’t have mattered, Feyre knew from experience that if Elain stepped off a curb and raised her hand for a cab, six lined up immediately. She’d always been beautiful, even when they were dirt poor in Oklahoma, and no one ever doubted she’d make something of herself. Of course, most of their town had hoped she’d make herself into a housewife for one of their lazy sons, but that was still better than the world’s expectations for her. No one had ever thought Feyre would amount to anything and when she went home to see her father, the people who stopped her acted surprised she’d done anything at all with her life.

Feyre was practically out the door when the editor stopped her. “Archeron. You got a second?” Feyre looked over her shoulder at Lucien, leaned against his office door to talk to some aspiring writing working in one of the cubicles. She was flushed while Lucien was clearly offering serious career advice. He never learned, she thought with amusement. They didn’t give a fuck about his career, only his pretty face and that powerful last name.

“What’s up?” Feyre asked, walking into the glass office to take a seat.

“What do you know about Aldovia?” Her editor, a chic woman named Amren with a dark bob and a beautiful set of ruby earrings, asked as she flipped through a stack of papers.

“Nothing?” Ferye replied, trying to recall where in the world Aldovia was at all. Europe, maybe?

Amren glanced up at her. “Aldovia’s King died last year, and the mourning period is about to expire. Their prince, Rhysand, is MIA and they need a butt on the throne by Christmas Day.”

Feyre just stared. Amren sighed. “If he’s MIA, who do you think will fill that role?”

Feyre just shrugged. She knew absolutely nothing about world politics. Amren sighed. “I need boots on the ground to cover this debacle. Our readers love anything to do with the playboy prince.”

“Why me?” Feyre asked, shooting herself in the foot.

“You’re young, you’re hungry, you’re smart…and none of my regular journalists can go. You’d be gone over Christmas.”

“Oh…I don’t know…” Feyre began but Amren waived her hand.

“I can give this to any other junior editor,” Amren snapped, eyes blazing. “Do you want to spend the rest of your career in that cubicle re-writing shit articles? Or do you want to write something of your own?”

Neither, she thought quietly, surprised Amren knew she was rewriting articles.

“Okay,” Feyre agreed, in part to keep Amren from offering it to anyone else.

“Great. I know you won’t let me down.”

But Feyre wasn’t so sure when she scurried out of the office half an hour later, her phone buzzing in her pocket with an email alert for plane tickets. Lucien was waiting, jacket slung over his shoulder and her coat draped over his arm.

“Fired?” He joked, handing her the dark, puffy coat that she aggressively wore despite his accusations it made her look like a marshmallow.

“What do you know about the Prince of Aldovia?” She asked him, sliding into the elevator beside him.

Lucien peered down at her with surprise. “That he’s got a reputation as a womanizer and a dick,” Lucien offered. “And he’s likely going to abdicate and fuck up a dynasty that’s almost as old as the British monarchy.”

“And that’s bad?” Feyre asked.

“Well, it’s not great,” Lucien replied dryly. “They don’t have another system just ready to go.”

“You know Lucien, you don’t have to be a dick about everything,” she mumbled. Lucien grinned, bumping his shoulder into hers.

“Aw c’mon. Why all the interest in Aldovia?”

“Amren wants me to go and cover the coronation…or abdication, I guess.”

Lucien’s whole face lit up as he held open the glass doors that led to the street. It was already dark despite only being five thirty. Lucien stepped off the curb to flag down a cab while Feyre jammed her hands in her coat pockets.

“Let me give you a crash course over dinner.”

Feyre groaned. “Speaking of that. I might have agreed to eat at my sisters tonight.”

He shrugged. “No worries. Tomorrow then—”

“Come with me,” she asked, turning to face him. “I kind of already told her you were coming.”

He flicked her in the cheek.

“Besides, I’ll bet Elain knows everything about a prince. This seems right up her alley.”

Lucien held open the door to a bright yellow cab. “Fine. But you remember what happened the last time I dined with one of your sisters.”

Feyre scowled before rattling off her sister’s address. “Nesta and Elain are polar opposites.” That much was true, anyway. Elain wouldn’t tell Lucien to go fuck himself like Nesta had when they collectively realized she had been on again, off again dating Lucien’s eldest brother. Elain would be polite even if she hated Lucien’s guts.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, wrapping a scarf around his neck. For the duration of the slow drive, Lucien offered Feyre the most in-depth history she could have ever wanted and Feyre took notes on her phone. Aldovia was a monarchy with a surprisingly bloody history right up until World War II, when they’d gone the way of the Scandinavian countries and become more collectivist. They were small and didn’t have a standing military which, as an American, always surprised her.

By the time Feyre reached Elain’s two-story brownstone, her head ached from all the information Lucien was trying to stuff inside. “Honestly, I might have a book—”

“Of course you do,” she muttered, ringing Elain’s doorbell. “I don’t need a book. You know magazine readers don’t care about history like you do.”

“Well the magazine readers are—” Lucien abruptly stopped the moment the front door opened. Elain was gorgeous as usual, her waist length hair curling softly around her softly made-up face. She wore black and grey checked pants and a white blouse tucked neatly inside, the top two buttons undone to offer the barest hint of skin.

She glanced at Lucien for a moment, unaware that he was openly staring, before inviting them in. “I made ham.”

“Of course you did,” Feyre replied, shrugging out of her coat. Elain’s apartment was gorgeous, each piece of furniture expertly chosen to be both functional and beautiful. Elain had that kind of talent and always had. Despite how much cream furniture she owned, everything felt warm and inviting.

“That’s your painting,” Lucien said with surprise, gesturing towards an ocean landscape Feyre had done for Elain years earlier when she’d been too poor to afford a birthday gift.

“It’s my favorite,” Elain said with a sigh, her heels clicking on the hardwood.

“I have Fey’s Autumn Woods in my living room,” Lucien told her sister, undoing his scarf to hang on the coat rack beside the door. Elain paused to look over her shoulder, a faint smile on her lips. “A man of taste, I see.”

“Stop it,” Feyre muttered, embarrassed but in this, Elain and Lucien were united even if they didn’t know it. Elain had been begging Feyre to let her set up an online store for her artwork since Feyre had lived with Elain as a junior in college.

Elain clicked her tongue and vanished down the hall to the kitchen. Lucien turned to Feyre, eyebrows raised.

Is she single? He mouthed moments before Feyre hit him in the stomach with the back of her hand.

“She’s out of your league,” Feyre whispered. Lucien merely grinned, trailing behind her.

“So, I wrote out all the designers who attended New York fashion week,” Elain said, tying a pale pink apron around her waist. Lucien was poking through Elain’s bookshelf in the living room, nosy as usual.

“This is great,” Feyre said with a sigh, sitting at the rounded wooden table in Elain’s expansive kitchen. She didn’t want to think what this place must have cost Elain, in part because Elain deserved good things. Her former fiancé, Graysen, had recently cheated on her before dumping her in a public, brutal fashion and Feyre knew how it felt to love a man that never loved you back…at least in the way she’d loved him. Elain made heartbreak look easy—if her sister had laid awake at night sobbing and eating her feelings, she certainly never showed it. Feyre, on the other hand, had only left her apartment when Lucien began dragging her out which was why they ate dinner together every night. Feyre knew he’d stopped dating for the time being to make sure she was okay and though maybe it was selfish, she genuinely appreciated that he was looking after her.

“Tell her about Aldovia!” Lucien called. Elain’s brows raised.

“Aldovia?”

Lucien strode in and Feyre bit back the scowl when she noticed his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was trying to be sexy. She’d murder him. Elain glanced at him, cheeks flushed and Feyre all but groaned.

“Feyre’s been given an assignment to see if Prince Rhysand is going to ascend to the throne.” Elain’s eyes lit up. “Fey, that’s amazing! Your first assignment! Oh my God, okay, let me go grab that dress I bought—”

“Elain!” Feyre protested but Elain stepped around Lucien to jog down the hall, unaware of how he leaned to watch her go.

“Do you mind?” Feyre hissed. Lucien only shrugged, clearly unashamed. A moment later Elain returned with a pale blue, sparkly gown she spread over the dining room table.

“I have others,” Elain breathed. “But this one has never been worn.”

“Where were you planning on wearing this?” Feyre couldn’t help but ask, fingering one of the jewels lightly.

Elain shrugged. “Maybe someone I hate is about to get married and I wanted to upstage her.”

Lucien snorted with laughter and Elain flushed with pleasure. “Feyre, you can’t go to a castle and not take at least one nice dress.”

“You should probably take like…five,” Lucien added, doing quick math in his head.

“Five?” Feyre gasped.

“Yes, definitely,” Elain replied, walking back to her bedroom. Feyre gathered up the beautiful blue dress, hugging it to her chest as she followed after Elain, sandwiched by Lucien’s large body. Elain’s bedroom was a space she definitely thought Lucien had no business in, judging by how he looked around with interest. Not that Elain noticed, vanishing into a closet as big as Feyre’s bathroom.

“Get it together,” Feyre hissed when Lucien walked to the large, cream colored bed and ran a hand over the blanket.

“I’m going to marry her,” he whispered in response. “We’re going to be family.” “I’ll kill you,” Feyre shot back moments before Elain walked back out, dumping a stack of gowns atop her bed. Even Lucien looked surprised by what he saw and if Elain was embarrassed, she didn’t let it show.

“Black, I think,” Elain murmured, pulling out another floor length dress that looked as though it had a slit cut to her navel.

Lucien reached for a golden one, pulling it from the stack to admire the fabric.

“Have you worn all these?” Feyre asked, flopping on Elain’s bed.

“Mostly,” Elain replied, studying her pile the way a scientist might examine something beneath a microscope. “Not that one. Do you want to take it?”

Judging by the way Lucien was staring at the dress, she decided she’d let Elain keep it and ruin his life by wearing it one day. There was no way in hell Lucien would ever get within touching distance of her sister. Elain had a very specific, very brunette type.

“No, I’m too pale for gold.” “True,” Elain agreed without malice. “Red, then.”

“You act like I’m going to marry him,” Feyre mumbled, letting her sister add clothes to her pile. “This is just an assignment.”

“What if you need to attend fancy dinners?” Elain shot back. “Or balls—”

“This is not a fairy tale,” Feyre insisted. “I have slacks.” Elain huffed, turning to her dresser to pull out nice dress clothes but Feyre stopped her. “Elain it’s fine. This guy dates supermodels, right? I don’t need to worry about impressing him. I’m not you.”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Feyre mumbled, catching the look Elain and Lucien exchanged.

“At least take these three,” Elain finally said, shoving each dress into her sister’s hand.

Dinner was fun and Feyre didn’t hate the idea of Lucien and Elain. Lucien was a shameless flirt, not that Elain noticed. Perhaps she was so used to men acting that way she barely registered it, though Feyre noticed that Elain watched him more closely when he got serious. Between Elain’s knowledge of fashion and Lucien’s knowledge of history, she thought there was no one better prepared to go to Aldovia. Feyre had hundreds of words written in her notes, had the dresses Elain had shoved on her folded neatly in a suitcase, and a book Lucien insisted she take tucked beneath her arm when she strolled into the airport.

It didn’t occur to her until after she checked in that she’d never thought to just google the guy. Pulling out her phone, Feyre saw she had another missed text from a new number that she would have bet her life belonged to Tamlin. The fact that he couldn’t leave her alone when he should have been grateful the worst, he got was his face bloodied by Lucien was just astounding to her. She blocked it without bothering to look at the message, but her hands shook a little as she typed in Rhysands name.

That was a mistake, she decided. He was easily the best-looking man she’d ever seen in her life. How unfair, she reflected. If he had to be royalty, the least he deserved was a weird looking face. Rhysand was beautiful in a way that made Feyre’s heart race. Blue-black hair fell into eyes so blue they were practically violet, off-set by sun-kissed skin. The first picture she’d pulled up was a blurry pap shot of him without a shirt on, adding insult to injury. His body was sheer perfection, the kind artists used to carve from marble. Of course, in the photo he was standing beside a blonde woman in a teeny bikini and that reminded Feyre that his good looks had likely made him an asshole.

With that in mind, Feyre felt much better stepping onto a plane to fly halfway around the world. She’d never meet him, would likely only see him from a distance assuming he showed up at all, and all of Lucien and Elain’s prep work would be for nothing. She was still safe.

With that in mind, Feyre slept for most of the flight, waking for a rough landing on the tarmac. It was her first time alone somewhere and with each new step, Feyre felt a sense of excitement. She’d been chosen, maybe because no one else could go, but chosen nonetheless. She fired two quick texts to Lucien and Elain separately, letting them both know she’d made it and urging Lucien to come join her perhaps a tad selfishly.

Afterall, it would have been nice to have a friend. She felt that when three men cut her in the taxi line, stealing the car she’d waited for without little more than a grin. “Hey!” She’d yelled, frustrated when the largest of the three turned to look at her, winked, and then slid in after the other two. No apologies, no explanations. It took fifteen minutes for another cab to roll up and by the time Feyre was checked into her hotel and on the shuttle to the palace, she was more than a little stressed.

The palace itself was built into a snowcapped mountain surrounded by tall evergreen pines. It was something from a Christmas movie, something only Disney himself could have dreamt up. She had her nose practically pressed to the glass window, drinking in the surroundings. Feyre had never seen anything half as lovely in her life—unblemished snow covered the ground just beside the winding mountain road they travelled, sparkling beneath a cold winter sun. She wondered what it would be like to live somewhere so beautiful.

How are things going? Lucien asked Feyre when she sat in a gray cushioned, hardbacked chair. Press badge around her neck, Feyre shook out her hands, pleased to be in the middle of the crowd. She didn’t have any specific questions, didn’t really care what the spoiled prince would do.

Not great, she sent Lucien back when a busy press coordinator came out to announce there would be no press briefing, rescheduled or otherwise. They were told to pack it up, that Rhysand was definitely accepting the throne, and practically kicked out of the palace.

She couldn’t go home empty handed. She wasn’t going to be stuck in a dead-end job for the rest of her life. She didn’t have to love writing in order to want to do well.

You’ll bail me out of jail, right? She texted Lucien, sideling away from the group to circle back towards the palace. She felt his immediate response, likely demanding she not do whatever it was she was thinking but Feyre was already half jogging up a flight of stone steps to a side door. Decorated with green garland and a massive wreath, it was both festive and somehow overdone. She didn’t know what, exactly, she was looking for—only that she’d know when she saw it. Feyre was surprised that the palace felt more like a museum or an upscale office. Red carpet and muted wallpaper with nondescript art hanging on the walls all leant itself to a space that was neutral at best, unoffensive at worst. She crept through the hall, coming to a large foyer decorated charmingly with suits of armor wearing curling red ribbons around their neck. She pulled out her phone, ignoring Lucien’s all-caps text demanding she rethink her life choices, and snapped a photo.

“What are you doing?” A masculine voice behind her demanded. Feyre turned suddenly, surprised to find herself looking at one of the men who stole her taxi the morning before. Tall, broad, and muscular, he looked like he wrestled bears for fun.

“Uh…” She stammered, trying to think of any good reason to be taking pictures of suits of armor. “I was…”

“Oh. American,” he said with a roll of his hazel eyes. “You’re the portraitist, aren’t you?”

The what? “Yes,” she lied automatically. Anything to keep herself from trouble. The broad man’s expression relaxed into an easy-going, handsome smile. He was young, tan, and decidedly rugged despite his well-fitted pants and his buttoned up shirt. Shoulder length brown hair was half tied from his face with a neat bun, leaving the rest to wave around a jaw carved from rock.

“Thank God,” he said with a smile. “We were starting to think you’d ghosted us.”

“Nope, no ghosting,” Feyre assured him even as her mind screamed at her to tell the truth and get out. “Just a long flight.”

The man glanced sideways at her, gesturing for her to following him through the foyer towards a grand marble staircase.

“Must have been some flight,” he murmured, his tone betraying that she’d been missing much longer than she thought. Feyre offered a half-smile, hands trembling at her sides. “Anyway you’re in luck. Rhys just got in and he’s not in a shitty mood. Do…whatever it is you need to…do you need paint or something?”

Fuck. “Uh…yeah but not today. It’s a process,” she said truthfully. “I’m gonna just…take some pictures and get a feel for you know…the room…and stuff.”

“And stuff,” the man beside her repeated. “Okay. You’re the expert, I guess. Just…no talking to the press, okay? They’re circling like eager rats.”

“Right,” Feyre replied, not bothering to mention that she was one of those rats.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’m Cassian, by the way. I was the one talking to your boss on the phone I guess…I thought you were going to be a man.”

“Sorry to disappoint?” Feyre asked, praying to every God ever known that the actual portraitist didn’t show up and blow her cover. Cassian shook his head, leading Feyre down a series of connected halls.

“Did you bring things with you?” “Yeah…they’re at my hotel,” she replied as though it were obvious. Cassian’s steps faltered.

“Hotel? You’re supposed to be staying here. What hotel? I’ll send Az to get your things.”

“That’s not necessary…I can get my own stuff,” Feyre replied, unsure who Az was or if she wanted him rifling through her stuff and accidentally letting them all know who she really was.

Cassian hesitated outside of two large, gold leaf double doors. “We really need this to go well. Az’ll drive you back into town for your things. Don’t tell anyone you’re working on a portrait, okay?”

“I won’t,” Feyre replied, hoping she looked sincere and not guilty. Cassian assessed Feyre one last time, biting his lower lip and then nodded.

“Painter is here!” He called, yanking open the door. Feyre was stunned momentarily by the beauty of the throne room Cassian had lead her into. It was open and airy, with white marble columns that matched the black swirled floors. Unlike the muted halls leading up to the room, the throne room seemed cut from decadence. Her eyes traveled to a gorgeous crystal chandelier overhead twinkling in the bright winter sunlight.

Sitting atop a dais, lounging in a golden throne, the most beautiful man Feyre had ever seen sat up, brushing a piece of lint from his black shirt.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” he told her, rising to his full height. The photos she’d seen of him on the internet didn’t do him justice—he didn’t look real, he was so handsome. He smiled, revealing two perfect rows of white teeth, his eyes so blue they were violet which contrasted nicely with his inky black hair.

She didn’t know what to say so Feyre let her eyes wander the room again, hoping she looked studious and not overwhelmed by how good looking he was.

“No paint?”

“Not today,” she managed to get out. “I’m going to take some pictures and then put together a sketch.” She didn’t have to lie, at least, about her ability to draw. She’d need to go to the local art supply store and get things to work with but Feyre thought she could put together a good portrait of him given enough time. He was certainly easy on the eyes.

He nodded, his gaze blazing and on her. Had anyone ever looked so intently at her in her life? It made her nervous, like he could see through her lies.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, gesturing around the space. His space. He’d be King, she realized…and she was supposed to be writing a story about him, not drawing his face. Maybe she could do both, she reasoned. After all, was it her fault if none of them background checked who came in and out of their lives? He was practically inviting disaster. She’d do a thoughtful, polite write-up, she decided. As an apology for her deception.

“Where would you like to be?”

“Far away,” Rhys admitted with a sigh. “But a long line of portraits have us on the throne and I suppose it would be bad form to defy tradition.”

Feyre gestured for him to sit, and Rhys did, back straight, hands resting on the arm. She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and immediately began studying the way shadow and light fell on him. There was truly no better study for the human form than Rhysand.

There was something invasive and wrong about the photos she took and yet Feyre took them anyway. She was going to draw him, she promised. Rhysand didn’t move, seemed used to being photographed in this way though to Feyre it all felt very intimate.

“That’s…that’s all I need,” she murmured once she had a few from several different angles. “I can sketch something this evening and you could take a look tomorrow?” He shrugged, rising from his throne. “I don’t care, to be honest…” He looked at her expectantly.

“Feyre. My name is Feyre.”

“Unusual name,” he replied. “Anyway, I don’t care how it looks.”

“Why commission one at all, then?” Feyre snapped without thinking. Rhys raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised.

“Why, indeed? Let me show you to your room.”

“Is that something princes do?” Feyre asked snappishly, strangely annoyed he didn’t care how his portrait turned out. Rhys shrugged.

“This one does, though I could call Cassian back if you’d prefer?”

“He was nice,” Feyre murmured, more to herself. That made Rhysand laugh.

“He’ll be relieved to hear it. Come on, Feyre darling. I have other things I need to do today.”

Feyre nodded, swallowing hard. Following after him had the strangest feeling attached, as though she were walking to more than just a bedroom.

It was as though she walked towards fate.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 3

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello's masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 3497 (oops 🙈)

Additional note: what you’re going to read is not realistic.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

With his stomach in knots and a frown on his face, Ivar watches closely his godfather, who enters the living-room, wheeling a large trolley case behind him.

"Hello, Ivar." Floki looks around, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "Lagertha isn't here?", before flopping down on the corner sofa.

"No," Ivar shakes his head, wheeling up next to him, "She's out on a date with this English guy... Hammond, Halmund or whatever his name is."

Scratching his ear, Floki tilts his head, "but she knows you're going, right?" He pulls the trolley case closer and then snorts, mumbling under his breath, "don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes!"

"What do you think? Of course, she knows. She said, and I quote," Ivar raises his hands to make air quotes, his voice tinged with obvious annoyance, "'Of course you can go, sweetie, you know I don't want to be the one holding you back. Call me if anything goes wrong. And don't forget to take your meds.'"

"She cares, Ivar." Floki's tone is soft as he places a hand on his godson's shoulder.

Ivar lowers his gaze. "You should have taken me in." His words are barely audible and suddenly he feels like he's eleven again and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"You do know that back then I wasn't in a good place." Floki's sad sigh almost gets Ivar in tears as memories of his parents and Helga flood his mind. The pain in his heart becomes nearly unbearable but he fights it off with all his might. He never wants to feel broken and lost again.

Ivar lifts his head up and Floki can see the stubbornness in his eyes. "I could live with you now."

"No, you could not, and you know it!" Floki smiles and taps Ivar on the cheek. "Ivar, I live between two flights, today in Norway, yesterday in Iceland and after-tomorrow in Canada. What kind of life would this be for you, huh? And besides, living with Lagertha is not that bad."

But living with Sigurd is! Ivar wants to shout. He keeps quiet, though, shrugging before eventually mumbling. "Guess not..."

"So," Floki starts, eager to change the subject, "where are your brothers, by the way?"

"Where do you think they are, huh, you knock-kneed fool? They're already there." Ivar glances at his watch, furrowing his brow. "Harald's party started twenty minutes ago."

"We better hurry up, then!" Crouching down, Floki slowly opens the suitcase under Ivar's scrutinizing gaze.

"Quick!" Ivar commands, barely able to contain his impatience, his nervous fingers tapping his push rims. "What do you have for me, old man, huh?" He even contemplates climbing out of his chair to open it himself, but the fear of breaking a bone at the worst possible time is stronger than his eagerness.

"You're going to calm down, young Padawan." Floki quips, slowly moving his hand in front of Ivar with eyes full of mischief. Ivar immediately slaps his godfather's hand away, mumbling under his breath, "I'd rather be a Sith Lord." That earns him a loud, hysterical laugh from his godfather.

Ivar grunts, ready to protest, but all thoughts leave his mind as soon as he's able to see what is in the trolley case. The scowl on his face obvious, he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment as he utters, "you made me braces?"

He hates braces with a passion. Along with underarm crutches, he had some, as a child. They were bulky, stiff, painful and walking with them was tedious, agonizingly slow, and exhausting. Ragnar had been adamant that he wanted his youngest to walk, no matter the struggles, no matter the nearly unbearable pain. Ivar had settled his ass in a wheelchair the day of his father's funeral, getting rid of his braces shortly after, a decision he had never regretted. So no, such torture devices were not at all what he was hoping for.

"Have a little faith in me," Floki rolls his eyes. "These," he looks lovingly at the strange contraptions in his hands, "are not braces, Ivar. Have you and your crippled ass ever heard of exoskeleton?"

Ivar's eyes widen. "It's that thing used in rehab that allows paraplegics to walk, right?" As Floki nods, Ivar gives him a puzzled glance. "But, erm, you do know I don't have a spinal cord injury, don't you? Or are you suffering from memory loss? Maybe it's your age?"

Dismissing the remark with an exasperated wave of his hand, Floki hisses, "I'm well aware that you don't, godson dearest," before narrowing his eyes, his voice now serious, "you may have full sensation in both legs, yet they can't exactly support your weight and your lack of motor function can't be denied. Not really different from some paraplegic dudes, what do you think?"

Feeling a heavy lump in his throat, Ivar frowns, not pleased with the idea of him being like a paraplegic. Almost without thinking, he contracts his quads as best he can, as if he wants to make sure he's still able to do it.

Floki doesn't miss the barely-there movements in his thighs, though, and his voice softens. "Look Ivar, you're not a paraplegic, okay? But I used the exoskeleton technology. And since you're not paralyzed, I was able to make a smaller device that you can wear underneath your clothes, and you're going to walk. I mean, really walk, not just like those guys in rehab, between parallels bars and with a PT right behind them."

Ivar, his eyes bright, stares at his godfather, slack-jawed with amazement. "I'm..." He begins to sputter, voice filled with emotion, "I'm really going to walk?" Feeling like his heart is pounding out of his chest, he fails to contain his excitement, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his lap. He'd tap his feet if only he could.

"You are." Floki nods before taking out of the trolley case a pair of dress shoes. "I put dozens of sensors in the insole of these shoes, which will enable the exoskeleton to correct your stance practically every second. Therefore, you won't need crutches, although I would say it's safer for you to use this." Reaching down, he grabs a black derby-style cane, simple and sleek in design. "You know," he shrugs, "just for extra support. Better safe than sorry, hmh?"

Ivar, who doesn't even flinch when he sees the walking stick, just reaches out, his hand grazing the carbon fiber exoskeleton. "Is it really for me?" His eyes filled with wonder, his voice trembling, his lips stretch across his face as his godfather nods. "And you made this in what?... four, five days?"

Letting out his signature giggle, Floki waggles his fingers in front of his face. "Even I couldn't make this in such a short time. No, the truth is, I've been working on it for a while. Let's say your phone call just sped things up. Though I must say, this marvel of technology is not flawless... It has a really low battery life, like four hours of autonomy at best. If I had more time, I certainly could have done better, but for now, it is what it is and you'll have to make do with what you've got." Pursing his lips, he glances at his watch, "So, just so you know, if you put this on now, you'll have to come back around midnight if you don't want to have to crawl around. And if you hear a beep, you'd better hurry, okay?"

As Ivar just nods, his beaming smile never fading, Floki adds, tilting his head, "and now, go get ready, young Padawan, you have a party to attend!"

***

Sitting on a bench at the seaside, Ivar watches the party from afar, a feeling of uneasiness tightening his chest. It was a mistake. Attending to this party was a mistake. Despite the exoskeleton, despite the fact that he walks almost normally, it was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't be here. Anxiety surges like the swell of a wave, and he struggles to breathe. Sigurd was right: he doesn't belong here, doesn't belong to this life.

A part of him wants to leave. It would be better to run away, to go hide in his room. But he won't. He can't. Because just a moment ago he saw you. Because he's not ready to give up on you now that he is here, eventually close to you.

He recognized you the moment his eyes fell on you. Looking radiant in a polka dot dress, you're as pretty as he remembers. Pretty? Who's he kidding? The girl you were six years ago was pretty. You're a woman now, and one of the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Glowing, smiling at everyone, you didn't even see him. In his head, of course, he makes plans to approach you, even if deep down, he knows all too well he'll never muster enough courage to talk to you. You probably wouldn't want him to anyway. After all, he may be standing tall today, yet he's still a freak, a fucking cripple. He's still cursed with his bony, twisted, useless legs. He's still a burden.

Yet, there's this little voice inside of him, barely audible, whispering that you're not like this, that you never were in the first place; and that's partly why the ten-year-old boy he was when he first met you felt drawn to you almost instantly.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing and decides to take a little trip down memory lane, bringing him back to that sunny, summer day of his first – and only – encounter with you. His memory so vivid it's like it happened only yesterday.

He can't hear the chirping of birds as his brothers are loudly playing and bickering in the pool. His beloved mother is nowhere to be seen and he's willing to bet she's taking a nap, but not without first making sure he has everything he could possibly need. Lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, a glass of lemonade within reach and a thick book on his lap, he hardly notices his father coming into the backyard, Harald Hårfager following close behind.

Since Ivar knows Harald is here to talk business with his father, he pays no attention to the two men, who take their seats at the patio dining table.

He nearly falls off the sunbed when a tiny voice startles him. "Hello!"

Stunned, he turns his head towards the voice and comes face to face with a smiling girl he doesn't know. You. He'd say you're about his age.

"I'm Y/N," you tell him, waving your hand shyly. "I'm at my uncle's for the weekend," you keep going, pointing your finger at Harald, "and I was wondering... May I join you?" You finally ask, dragging a second sunbed closer to his.

His first instinct is to look around, because you can't possibly be talking to him. Why would you? Surely you can't have failed to spot his leg braces, nor his hideous orthopedic shoes. You can't have missed that he's a cripple.

Frowning as he sees that no one is around, he snorts, his nostrils flaring. He can tell you're wearing a swimsuit under your pink dress. What do you want, then? Are you here to mock and ridicule him or what?

"You better get in the pool with my brothers." He knows he sounds rude, not answering nor greeting you, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be made fun of and doesn't intend to give you the chance to do it.

Seemingly undeterred, you speak with a soft voice. "No, I'd rather not." Your smile is so genuine he can't help but think you mean no harm. "Actually," you shrug, sitting next to him, "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind. What are you reading?"

Gobsmacked, he just looks at you – and gods, how pretty you are! – for a long time, unable to utter a single word. Are you truly interested in what he's reading? Interested in him? He swallows hard, his heart racing. A small smile dancing on your lips, your kind eyes never leave his as you wait, full of hope, for him to finally talk to you.

And that's what he ends up doing, almost in spite of himself. For the next two hours, he shows you his astronomy book, a gift from his godfather for his tenth birthday, and tells you about the stars, the constellations and the nights he spends watching the sky, when his mother allows him to. And for two hours you listen to him, asking a question here or there and always smiling. He's pretty sure you're not faking being interested in what he's saying.

All too soon, your uncle tells you it's time to go and you stand up with a scowl, letting out a sigh of regret. The next moment, you flash Ivar a grin. "I had a really great time with you, thanks! I'm going back to my mom's tomorrow but I hope we can spend time together again sometime, maybe next summer. I'd love to stargaze with you, you know?" With that, you lean forward and as your lips touch his cheek, Ivar's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Ivar inhales deeply. That kiss... That's when he fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. If he concentrates enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips against his skin, still smell your sweet, flowery scent.

That day, he had watched you leave with a smile on your face, already dreaming of the day he would see you again. You had said "next summer" and even though it was a long time away, he was willing to wait. In the meantime, he would have plenty of memories to recall - your joyful voice, your sparkling eyes, your lovely smile... Sure, he could wait.

And he had waited, hopeful and happier than he had been in a long time.

Not long after, however, his life had been turned upside down, his father being murdered and his mother dying in a car crash. Lost, angry, broken, and infinitely sad, he had gone through the following months as if anesthetized - barely living, hardly functioning, sometimes feeling as if the memory of you was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Yet, and he doesn't know why – or perhaps simply because Ragnar being dead, Harald had no reason to visit anymore – he had never seen you again.

"Hello!"

His whole body freezes and he stops breathing. This voice... Your voice... He'd know it anywhere. Yet, it can't be, right? Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? Is one of his brothers tricking him? Why would you talk to the cripple?

"My name is Y/N." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I was wondering... May I join you?"

Summoning the courage he's not sure he has, Ivar looks tentatively toward you.

Gods! You're even more beautiful up close. Fuck. Now that you're here, right next to him, he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Panic seizes his hammering heart as a lump rises in his throat. He attempts to swallow around it to speak, to say something, anything, but the words won't come out and he finally just nods, his hand gesturing to the bench for you to sit on.

"Thanks," you give him a broad smile before taking your seat.

Ivar cannot believe his eyes. What are you doing? Did you recognize him? Why are you here, with him?

"Woul–", he sputters, struggling to find his voice, "Wouldn't you rather be there?" Pointing his index finger at the crowd gathered in front of the makeshift stage just a few meters away. He frowns, tilting his head, "the party is in full swing."

"No, I'd rather not." You shrug and as you turn your head toward him, he breathes in your sweet scent, suddenly feeling dizzy. "The guys are already drunk and really have one thing on their minds. And those who are not are boring." You lower your gaze, as if embarrassed, and it's so adorable Ivar feels like his heart is melting. "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind."

Oh, he doesn't. He doesn't mind at all. The truth is, there's a fucking firework inside of him, and he barely contains the screams of happiness that threaten to escape his lips. "That's okay, you can stay," he says instead, his fidgeting fingers dancing on his lap.

Over the next hour or so, the conversation flows easily as you speak about Karasjok, the small town where you live, telling him about your mother's people, the Sami, their culture and customs.

Ivar shares with you bits and pieces of his life too, speaking about his passion for the Viking culture and about his belief in the ancient gods. The night, his night, is full of your laughs, full of your smiles, full of you. He wants it to never end.

He's still trying to figure out if you know who he is, if you remember meeting him once when you rise to your feet, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "Walk with me, will you?"

He's about to break the truth about his inability to walk when he remembers that actually, thanks to Floki, he can. His eyes never leave yours as he grabs his cane with a little bit of self-consciousness, wincing as he stands up, but he can't see disgust, contempt, or disappointment on your face and your smile doesn't falter as you delicately slip your hand under his free arm, curling your fingers back over it. Shaken by your sudden proximity, Ivar feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

"It's such a lovely night and I'm so happy spending it with you."

Your words leave him speechless as you lead him close to the water. A bunch of guys can be seen in the distance and Ivar is pretty sure his brothers are among them. He can feel their heavy stares on him and doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying. "Who's this dude? Do we know him?" Standing tall, with his braided hair and a blue suit, he knows he doesn't look like himself. Yet, as he locks eyes with Hvitserk for a second, he'd sworn he sees a hint of recognition crossing his brother's face. And as the latter gives him a thumbs up, he knows his mind is not playing tricks with him.

"Oh, I love this song!" You clap your hands twice before shrugging shyly. "Let's dance, please!"

Ivar's heart breaks. Scared out of his wits, he swallows hard, his breathing uneven. "I... I can't." It's a painful admission, and he wishes the ground would just swallow him up.

He realizes you pay no mind to his defeated tone, though, as you grab his cane, leaning it against a nearby tree. "We'll go slow, I promise."

Almost in spite of himself, he places his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Gently – cautiously – swaying to the music, Ivar leans in close and, inhaling deeply your delightful scent, he feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Your head resting on his chest, he's sure you can hear his frantic, pounding heartbeat. But he can't bring himself to care, not when you're finally exactly where he wants you to be. In his arms.

That's why he doesn't hear the first beep, or if he does, he doesn't pay any attention, entranced by your beauty, your kindness and the mesmerizing color of your eyes.

But when you stop dancing, your eyebrows raised, "What's that beeping noise? It doesn't stop," he hears it too, cold sweats washing over him as panic courses through his body.

"I... I must... I must go," he stammers, and honestly he's about to throw up. He can't think, can't speak. All he knows is that he doesn't want you seeing him crawling around. He won't allow it. He can't.

Fuck.

That's why he leaves. He just strolls off. He doesn't see the appalled look you're giving him, doesn’t' realize he's leaving his black cane behind, doesn't hear the despair in your tone as you shout, "wait, please! I don't even know your name!"

He has only taken a few steps when crocodile tears run down his cheeks, blurring his sight. It hurts so much he could scream, and he can barely breathe as the realization starts to sink in. Who was he trying to fool? Sigurd had been right all along. No matter the exoskeleton, no matter the genius of his godfather, he's still a freak. A monster. An abnormality.

He doesn't belong. He's not worthy.

Fuck.

His heart shatters in a thousand pieces.

Fuck.

Y/N.

Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

[foxybananaaaz]

(The male she was worried about before meeting, the Vanserra male, from the Vaserra line, known for despising lesser fae) So if bitki becomes friends with the BOE and we learned in acosf that eris visits, how does bitki react to eris then?

Thank you for your Ask Anon!!! (You can find the quote, as well as more about Bitki, HERE)

I actually had thought this all through as well, but didn't think I would be asked this. I wanted to have a character who is, well, developed well before officially introducing her into the story. I didn't think this bit would get posted, but since you asked...

Bitki Meeting Eris

Because she was born and raised in the Spring Court, just along the border of the Autumn Court, she's heard whispers of Jesminda, she doesn't know if it's true, thus she believes them to be whispers.

She's not going to ask Lucien if the rumours are true,

It would be cruel to bring up those memories if they are(WE KNOW THEY ARE)

It would terrify her more of the Vanserra name if they ate

What if they aren't. He has a mate, who is clearly High Fae.

But everyone in the Autumn Court knows its true.

But when she first visits the Band of Exiles house, and hears another voice, she throws her illusions up immediately, and thank God, because ice fills her veins as she sees red hair. Another Vanserra.

Let me just comment on something quick about her character design alright?

See the little glowing sphere in her chest?

It is where all the extra magic from the powerful high fae ancestor she has inherited from sits. It's where her magic to create illusions comes from. It runs almost like a battery. And when it runs out, grows dim, so do the illusions. It would take a day for it to recharge. Glow bright again.

Okay, back to meeting Eris.

So she knows Eris won't see through her illusions. No one has ever seen through them. She can pass as High Fae. She is safe.

Until he doesn't leave and the sphere indicates she's running low on battery.

And so she just leaves without even a goodbye.

And Eris is fucking confused, especially when Lucien, Vassa, and Jurien don't seem to be upset at all.

And any time he visits it's almost like a constant of that ball that Cinderella has to leave at midnight.

Because he stays so long, and Bitki can't risk this dangerous Vanserra finding out she is Lesser Fae, when her power grows weak.

So she always just leaves when she feels it getting low(like when your phone says '15% percent battery remaining' she needs the time to get back to her spot in the forest.

This goes on, until the winter comes.

And Eris ends up leaving Luciens house, and goes for a walk in the forest one night before winnowing back to Autumn.

Only to see a young female(please, Bitki is 103, not young, she's an adult by Fae standards), absolutely shivering in her sleep(remember she grew up in Spring), on the snowy ground.

She has a single cloak beneath her, and two atop her.

Wings, looking so delicate they might freeze and snap in the cold winter air, not covered.

He also wonders how comfortable she must be, given the antlers, leaving little to no choice of changing positions for comfort on the hard ground.

Growing concerned, he goes to sit behind a tree, not wanting to startle the female when she wakes, and with his magic, he warms the area up, in hopes to help her find some comfort.

Not truly heartless, he comes back every night after the cover of night fall, to warm the area for the female who sleeps so uncomfortable, never realizing who she is(she has her face covered as well to keep warm).

Meanwhile, he grows more intrigued by Bitki's constant leaving abruptly whenever he visits his brother through the day, she always leaves without notice, so abruptly, and never without a goodbye.

It confuses him, and highly intrigues him, that he begins to ask his brother why she does this. Only to be shut down.

Lucien knows there is valid reason for Bitki's fear. He can see there is still hesitation around him when she lowers her glamour, so he won't tell Eris, even though Eris is the most understanding of his brothers. If Bitki wants Eris to know, it will be Bitki's decision to tell him.

So yeah. This is how Bitki would act around Eris. She is hesitant, tries to remain calm, to not raise suspicion, but quick to leave when her power grows weak.

Eris has no idea that the female he helps keep warm on winter nights is Bitki, and nor does Bitki know Eris helps keep her warm at night.

Even though Bitki will not be a main character in the front and centre, I do have back stories, characteristics, I am trying to flesh out this character. I want her to actually feel organic to the story, and real, rather than a cardboard cutout OC when introduced.

I uh, didn't think this would all be brought out into the public, but here!

Feel free to ask more questions about Bitki as I work on writing more of The Failed Resistance.

Also peep the purely coincidental Autumn coloured outfit up top when Bitki first met Eris....

[nishimochas]

❁﹝ enha!tegories ﹞

‣ ⒈  enhypen as some of my favorite cottagecore-esque songs.

❁﹝ lee heeseung as like the dawn by the oh hellos. ﹞

“ and like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook. i was sleeping in the garden when i saw you. ”

light crept through the windows over your slumbering figure, heeseung's eyes steady over your face, studying every curve, angle, every dip and crevice. a sigh escapes him, content, as his fingers brush over your features in a soothing manner. the soft simper he wore blooms into a smile as your eyes begin to flutter open. you share his smile with a sleepy one of yours and snuggle closer to his frame.

"good morning, sunshine."

the moniker is met with a chuckle as he leans in to press a gingerly kiss on your crown. your arms circle his frane loosely, savoring the warmth. heeseung's heart swells when his eyes meet yours. he knows he hasn't yet seen a more beautiful sight, and he doubts such a sight to even exist in earth.

to wake up next to you for all the mornings of his life, to have you as his first sight with each break of dawn – nothing would ever compare.

“ you were the brightest shade of sun i had ever seen. ”

.

× 🌼 ×

.

❁﹝ jay park jongseong as home by jacob banks ﹞

“ so baby, baby, won't you let me in? i'm knocking on your door so let me in. i just need someone to love, i just need someone to hold. ”

the afternoon had been quaint, pleasant and proper enough for a leisurely nap. you curled up within the blankets as your system drowns out the tv noise, thoughts drifting away. as if in instinct, your hand reaches for the mess of pillows by your side – where jay usually sits, limbs in a tangle with yours as you both doze off. you couldn't hold back a sigh; it wasn't quite like home without him there.

buzz buzz.

you check your phone for the notification. an immediate smile tugs on the corner of your lips upon reading the message.

[ from: jjongddaengie 😎 ]

i'm almost home, baby. wait for me?

and so you set your phone aside and envelope yourself with the soft fabric, fighting the urge to giggle in anticipation. as the white noise of the movie you half paid attention to lulls you to sleep, you enter oblivion in the knowledge that in not very long, jay will come back home and see you as you are. you know you'll be greeted with two arms around your waist and a kiss on the shoulder; and at that moment, you know you'll always find home right where he is.

“ i need someone to kiss goodnight, and to give my heart a home. ”

.

× 🌼 ×

.

❁﹝ jake shim jaeyoon as coffee by beabadoobee ﹞

“ don't stay awake for too long, don't go to bed; i'll make a cup of coffee for your head, i'll get you up and going out of bed ”

nights like these, when it is calm and the winds are gentle, are best enjoyed with a cup of hot coffee. it's become a habit for you jake to lounge on your front porch, each with a steaming cup with hand as you two chat about everything there is under the sun and beyond. this night was not very different; same seat, same sweaters, same mugs, only this time, there was complete silence between the two of you.

you'd expected it to be tense, for an unsettling echo of quiet to descend between you. but much to your surprise, this... this was comfortable.

"jakey?"

"yes, love?"

you breath almost hitches at his answer – no matter how many times he's been affectionate with you, it'll always feel special. different. like there was no other soul in the entire universe who could ever say it the way jake does.

you take a sip from your coffee cup and glance back at him, wearing a proud grin only he could ever give you.

"let's do this more often."

“ won't you come down and get me? i like it when you hold me tight. ”

.

× 🌼 ×

.

❁﹝ park sunghoon as yellow by coldplay ﹞

“ look at the stars, look how they shine for you and everything you do; yeah, they were all yellow. ”

driving out at such an ungodly hour was, prior to being an impulse, something you and sunghoon have given much thought to. it was only when the two of you were still wide awake after having tried everything that you hopped into the car for your late night escapade. a song you weren't familiar with played in the radio station to fill the silence, but you were far too focused on counting the billboards to notice.

"twenty two... twenty three... ooo look, it's one of those ads about billboard ads–"

you roll down the car window to see further out, still counting under your breath each time you pass one by. he glances to his side and sees you; you two looked so cliche, almost straight out of a music video. he pulled over at an empty park and your displeasure was immediately made known.

"hey, i wasn't done counting..."

sunghoon chuckles from the driver's seat and pulls you in by the wrist, lips pressing softly against your temple in the most delicate of brushes.

"you can go back to counting when i'm done kissing you."

“ your skin and bones turn into something beautiful. do you know i love you so? ”

.

× 🌼 ×

.

❁﹝ kim sunoo as strawberry blonde by mitski ﹞

“ i love everybody because i love you – i dont need the city and i dont need proof. all i need, darling, is a life in your shape; i picture it, soft, and i ache. ”

the sun was especially kind today – it's warmth remained watchful over the grass you and sunoo sat on, but through a veil of clouds so as to not be so glaring. the perfect day for a picnic, as he said so himself. he always goes all out for them; whatever you craved for, he had it all. you looked through his basket with a giggle, noticing a few delicacies he doesn't usually bring.

"why macaroons?", you ask while helping him set up the mat and the containers.

"didn't you say you wanted macaroons last week? i thought i should bring some for you! i tried baking them but they didn't turn out very nice–"

his babbling was halted with a macaroon to the mouth, sending you both into a fit of laughter. you'll never get tired of how considerate he is, how much he pays attention to the things you say and how much sunoo truly cares. you popped a strawberry macaroon into your own mouth and rested your temple against his shoulder. now, you couldn't help but wonder: would it have tasted better if he made it?

“ look at you, strawberry blonde – fields rolling on, i love it when you call my name. ”

.

× 🌼 ×

.

❁﹝ yang jungwon as santa monica dream by angus and julia stone ﹞

“ goodbye to my santa monica dream – fifteen kids in the backyard drinking wine. you tell me stories of the sea, and the ones you left behind. ”

it's nearing three in the afternoon and jungwon's just about finished with helping you pack. he ushers the last suitcase out and into the car where your father waits for you. it wasn't difficult to tell that he was trying to avoid your gaze.

"hey..." you take his hand in yours, making him see you eye to eye. there's something quite crestfallen with how he looked at you; you had to go and pursue your dream away from home, he knew that, and he was happy for you. but you knew him better than that.

"i'll miss you, dork."

he could only give you a little smile, but it was more than enough. you look behind him and see the fridge door, battered with polaroids, receipts and letters. reminders of you, so he'll never forget.

you wave goodbye and so does he, not caring at all to wipe the tear streaking down his cheek. he'd miss you so and you all the same, but no matter where you are, or where you'll go – jungwon knows he'll be dreaming of you each and every night.

“ i'm singing songs about the future, wondering where you are. ”

.

× 🌼 ×

.

❁﹝ ni-ki nishimura riki as kiss me by sixpence none the richer ﹞

“ nightly, beside the green, green grass. swing, swing, swing the spinning step, you wear those shoes and i will wear that dress. ”

"hurry, we'll miss the fireworks!"

ni-ki half dragged you through the open venue, clad only in socks and you in his shoes with you broken heels in one hand. you could barely hold your laughter; you'd assume the punch had no alcohol, but given how giddy you were, it wouldn't have been surprising if it were revealed to be booze.

"cinderella! wanna get out of here?", he shouted beside you, the sentiment almost drowned out by the cacophony of fireworks and cheer. you took him by the wrist and maneuvered you two through the crowd. he'd figured that was a yes. you two found a cozy nook under the garden tree, spending the rest of the prom night watching from afar and laughing at his dirty socks.

"man, i'm seriously convinced that thing had alcohol in it." he laughs and nods along, peering over for a better view of your face.

"is that why you're so pink, then? drunk blush?"

immediately flustered, you hurry to cover your warm cheeks with two hands. another laugh escapes him – you almost expected him to tease you. but instead, ni-ki takes your hands away from your face, nudging your chin up so your eyes will meet his. you couldn't miss the smug grin he wore even if you wanted to.

"hey, kiss me."

“ lift your open hand, strike up the band and make the fireflies dance; silver moon's sparkling, so kiss me. ”

❁ :: i'm honestly kinda disappointed in this HSHSB brain go brr, but i hope u guys like it 🥺💕 (edit: i really should have proofread this wow)

[ldyinblckmsk]

Always the extra, never the lead

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x F! Reader

Genre: Angst

Words: 1.8k

A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back hoho serving another angst (if you squint your eyes lol). I hope I broke your heart or makes you feel pain or sad coz that's what i wanna make you feel while you read my piece oftrash. This plot is plaguing mah mind. Also, the title sucks lolololol I can't think of anything argh!

Enjoy :)

It's funny how people cheer themselves up by thinking that they are the main character of their own story. You think that it's  ridiculous to give themselves a fake hope while the fact that the cycle of their story doesn't change anything. They'll never be the protagonist, no matter how hard they try to be one.

That's why you gave up, right. You settle yourself to be just a bystander, watching the main roles act their piece under the big spotlight. Watching the man you love entranced by the stare of the girl he likes. See, it's not you. Because, after all, as much as you wanted to be the Cinderella or Snow White or any other damnsel in distress, he'll never be the prince that will save you. You're just an extra.

Confess your profounding love to him? You already thought of it and considering the consequences of it, you're just a coward who didn't want to jeopardize the only relationship you had with him. You're fine with being his bestfriend. At least, you still have an excuse to be at his house until midnight just hanging out with him. You can still wear his hoodies  and imagine yourself acting like how the other girls did to their significant other.

That until she came.

He spent less time hanging out with you. He rarely even talks to you and ask if you're still breathing. As if all of a sudden, every memories you spent with him vanished like a bubble when the narrator introduced his leading lady. Of course, you were jealous, infuriating to be honest, she stole your man, the ash blond you were crushing since you laid your eyes on him. And the thing that makes you go insane is the fact that you don't have the right to be angry because he's not yours to claim.

The only thing you can do is sit there and let yourself drown in pain. Pretend that you're fine with the set-up and act normal. You didn't want to mess up the play, don't you?

Fine, my ass. You're not a masochist.

They're still not together, that means she's not his either.  They're still at the phase of knowing each other, so you still have a chance to confess. There's no way that they already fall in love with each other that fast.

Here you are in his room, laying comfortably on the silky sheets of his bed, staring at the ceiling. You just invite yourself to his house.

"Hey, dumbass! Are you even listening to me?" His voice snapped you out of trance. "I'm sorry. I got a lil dizzy for a sec. What were you saying?"

"You alright?" The hint of concern on his voice didn't go unnoticed by you and you just cherish this moment that way you always do. Your breath hitched when you felt his cold hands touch your forehead, his other hand on his comparing your temperature. The small act of friendship makes your blood rush to your cheeks.

"Geez. I'm fine, Katsu." You rolled your eyes at him, swatting his hand away. As much as you want to prolong the skinship, you didn't want to make yourself become a flustered mess. "Now, what were you saying?" You propped your head with both hands under your chin, as you roll on his bed now laying flat on your stomach.

"I said are you coming with me this Friday night. We're just going to eat." You looked at him suspiciously. For a second, your heart triumphs.

"Wow, you already want to see me again."

"Tch. Just say yes or no, idiot." You chuckled at his scowling face. "Just admit that you missed me, grumpy-chan."

"You're a pain in the ass."

And just like that, you didn't have any decent to sleep as you were so excited for Friday to roll. Whatever plan he has, you can't help but to think that it's like he's asking you to go out with him. Ignoring the second line he said, you let yourself dive in fantasy.

It's Thursday and you're still conflicted on what to wear, you asked for help of your friends. Surprisingly, they agreed to help you right away without raising their brows and questioning you about the date with the 'mystery man'. 'Cause they already know who it was, just from how eager you look.

Your love for the blond isn't news to them. Being classmates and friends for almost three years, they already knew how your mind works though they didn't really know how frenzy and complicated the wires in it. They just know the surface of it.

"How about this?" Mina showed you the haltered red dress that ends just above your knee. You decided on it right away which makes your friend shakes their head at your eagerness. After that, you're just casually having fun, giving you advices and tips on your so-called date from their experience.

You saw him leaning on his car, permanent scowl on his face while constantly checking his phone. You eyed him from your position, awe struck at the ravishing aura he oozes. The white dress shirt he's wearing highlights the muscle he workrd so hard to built. He looks so clean and sinful at the same time.

"There you are, grumpy-chan!" You walked towards him slowly, smacking his back as your usual greeting, smile plastered on your face with the hint of blush spreading on your cheeks. You watched him stunned for a while, eyes roaming to your body. "About fucking time. Let's go."

You were surprised when he opened the door for you but you just shake it off. He's gentle, seems like his careful with his actions.

He glanced at you for a moment before he went inside the car. His heart went wild when he saw you. He thought you looked prettier when you dressed up. He always saw you wearing baggy shirts that's why when you showed up with that tight dress he malfunctioned for a bit. You looked bold and sexy like a predator hunting its prey, quite opposite from the girl he's pining. He shakes the thoughts of you away as he began to drive.

Akiya is full of sunshine and rainbows. She's sweet and looks vulnerable like an antique dishware that needs to be taken care of. And he has the great urge to protect the quirkless girl. Funny, how he was so bully to Deku being quirkless and  here he was falling for one.

He was so upset to himself when he found out his stupid affection to the girl. Their constant talking amd bubbly personality made it possible to like her. But everytime he's with her, his mind straying away to your well-being. He knew that you have feelings for him but he didn't dig further because you're not vocal about it. With how much his time was spent with you, he cared deeply for you. He loves you, of course, but it isn't like kind of love you felt for him.

After sorting out those endless thoughts, still, his adoration for Akira weighs more than your friendship.

That's why he's inviting you to dinner with him.

The anxiety is bubbling up inside you. The look on his face screams that there's something going on inside his head that you're not ready to unravel. Call it instinct but something feels odd. The ambience around you doesn't suit your guts. You're beyond happy that you're having a good time with him but there's this unsettling feeling that's eating your inside.

Is this what you think it is?

He's the one who initiates the conversation first, sensing the awkwardness in your table. Feeling blue, you just answered him with nods and short words. Clenching your jaw as you forced yourself to smile naturally. It's not really that difficult for you to do it since you are good at hiding.

The dinner was served and you just sat there, eating in silence. You don't dare move your eyes from your plate. You felt him checking on you for the nth time of the night then followed by a sigh.

You fucking knew it. Your grip on the knife was tight while slicing the tender beef. You're silently praying that you'll have the control of your emotions tonight. The night is still young but the 'date' is nearing to end. 

"Y/n, just don't fucking talk and listen to me." His hand combing his spiky hair in frustration. He didn't know how to break it to you without hurting you. "What's with the serious talk, grumpy-chan? It's not like you, ya know." You laughed.

"I said I'll do the talking, idiot." You rolled your eyes at his remark."You know Akiya, right?"

"Uh, yeah, she's the girl you like, right." You said with an obvious tone in your voice, smiling, almost seemed like you're teasing him. Almost. Because the bitterness you felt left a hint on your voice.

Silence. No one dared to speak. Not because of your last statement. It seems like gods are not in the mood to heed your prayer as you desperately trying to stop the tears that you didn't know were already falling. You inhaled deeply, calming yourself down, slowly accepting your defeat.

You were the one that breaks the eerie silence. "So, you two are already together. Is that what were you going to say to me? Or is there anything el–" 

Oh.

Realization strucks your chords. How can you be so fucking simpleton? A small laugh leaves your mouth while nodding your head crazily, new batch of tears forming in your eyes. He only watched you, confused.

"Oh my god! You fucking knew it. Am I right?"

"Y/n–"

"I'm a clown. You knew I love you yet–" You laughed again. People gaze at your direction, feeling pity at your state. You are mess right now.

"What the fuck are you talking about? Yes, I knew it. I knew your feelings but your my bestfriend for fuck's sake!" He raised his voice, bloodshot eyes lingering at your form.

As if like you flipped your switch, you looked at him with blank eyes, no emotions were found as you speak to him. "Is it entertaining? Is it funny to watch me make a fool of myself? Am I stroking your ego when I looked at you with fucking heart eyes huh, Bakugou? Tell me."

"That's why I'm fucking talking to you right now. I want you to stop it. I need you to stop loving me because I can't reciprocate it...I love Akiya."

"I know! Don't fucking rub it on my face. I know it. I already knew it! Okay? And yet here I am still fucking hoping that there's still a chance." You're desperately trying to sound fine, wishing for your voice not to crack. "I-I'm still fucking praying that I wish it's me. Why the hell it can't be me? Why, Katsuki?"

No, you're not going to break down in front of him. That will be last tears you'll shed. You shut your eyes tightly, regaining your control over your emotions. You didn't spare a glance at him, looking yourself at your mirror while retouching your make-up. You grabbed your phone, texting Mina to pick you up while you're talk to him. "Just so you know, I'm not going to cut ties with you. If that's what you're worried about. I'm still your friend, dropping the 'best'."

You looked up at him, eyes meeting his for the last time. You saw his pained expression, clenching his jaw when he looked away.  You get up, ready to leave. "Another thing, next time when you reject someone don't do it over a fancy dinner. That just gives them a false hope and that's fucking painful." You chuckled.

Bitter smile plastered on your face,  you prepare yourself for the conclusion of the story. Walking to his side, you bend to him while placing a kiss on his cheek, whispering your final dialogue as the side character.

"Goodbye, grumpy-chan."

[itsadamcole]

all i want (for christmas) pt. 2

fem!reader x roderick strong

a month has passed since Christmas Eve. roderick had done everything he could to make up for leaving five months ago, including introducing her to his son. now it’s time for reader to make her decision with roddy

word count: 1.5k+

warnings: fluffy, kinda nsfw

— and here’s part two. i really liked this series and i’m proud of it. i hope y’all liked it too —

masterlist || part 1 || request an imagine here

***

It's been a month since Christmas Eve. It's now January 24th. Exactly a month since that night you stood outside with Roderick and told him you'd give him a chance to fix things between you and him.

He's done what he could. He's introduced you to Troy, who is the cutest thing ever.

The night that Roderick brought Troy back to the house, Troy spent the night in bed with you and Roderick. After Roderick put the presents under the tree, of course. Marina dropped them off at some point and hid them in the extra bedroom.

Troy woke up the next morning, excited to get presents. You smiled as Roderick helped unwrap presents with his son. Roderick smiled as you helped Troy unwrap a few as well.

After Christmas, Troy asked you to play with him and his new toys. You happily accepted and you spent hours playing with his toys. Roderick even joined in.

After two weeks with you and Roderick, Marina picked him up. Her and Roderick figured out a system in the four months you were apart from Roderick.

Roderick would get weekends and Wednesdays with Troy. Marina would drop him off Tuesday night and pick him up Thursday morning. The same thing would happen on the weekends. She'd drop Troy off Friday nights but pick him up Sunday nights.

It's a Monday when you wake up on January 24th. No Troy today. You told yourself that you'd give yourself one month to figure out if Roddy had done enough to fix things with you. Today was one month.

Carefully, not to wake Roderick, you slip out of bed and walk downstairs to make coffee. You pour yourself a cup and sit on the couch with it. You sit curled up as you sip off your coffee.

Roddy has certainly tried his best to make up for walking out instead of staying and talking. He's apologized several times, he's made sure you spent time with Troy, and he's made sure that you've properly met Marina. Marina even backed up Roddy's story about how it's been over since they decided to split two years ago.

You've even made the point to show that you fully trust Roddy in case he still had any doubts in his mind that you didn't trust him.

Things seemed to slowly be falling back into place with you and Roderick, but now there was a three-year-old involved in the relationship and you don't know how to handle a three-year-old. Especially a three-year-old that wasn't yours.

Sighing, you take a sip of your coffee as you hear footsteps coming down the steps. You look back over the back of the couch to see Roddy in his Undisputed Era t-shirt and pajama pants.

This is a sight you love and wish you could see every morning.

The messy hair, the sleepy eyes. Roddy makes the just waking up appearance look good.

"Good morning," Roderick says. "Where's the coffee?"

You smile and say, "The kitchen. It should still be warm. I just made some."

He nods and shuffles to the kitchen. You giggle and get up, walking into the kitchen. You put your cup down on the counter beside Roddy and wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

While you've never officially gotten back together in the past month, you've still hugged him like this and cuddled him. Roddy promised he wouldn't kiss you until you made your decision or until the two of you talked about starting the relationship again.

Roddy sips his coffee and says, "Now it's a good morning." You smile and look up at him.

"Seeing me didn't make your morning good?" you ask, teasing him. "Ouch. That stings."

He laughs and takes another sip before he turns in your arms, putting his coffee on the counter next to yours. "I wasn't fully awake but now that I've had my coffee, I'm fully awake, and now that I've seen you, my morning is perfect."

You giggle again as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. Normally this is when you'd kiss him good morning.

"So," you say. "I've been thinking while I've been drinking my coffee."

Roddy says, "Uh oh. I hope you were thinking about something good."

You smile and say, "I have been. I've been thinking about us and how you've done what you could to make up everything."

He looks down at you and asks, "And?"

You sigh and say, "And I'm terrified to be a part time parents to Troy but I want to try again at the relationship thing."

Roderick smiles and says, "So I've made it up to you."

Nodding, you say, "You have, but is Troy okay with having me as a part time parent?"

"Troy loves you," Roddy says. "When I took him out to get McDonald's the other day, he was saying how much fun he has with you when you play with his toys with him. I asked him what he thought about you being his stepmom and he said that he was happy. He thought you were going to be a mean stepmom like in Disney movies but he thinks you're nice."

You smile as Roderick talks about what Troy was saying. All your fears begin to wash away as Roddy talks.

Once Roderick's done talking, you say, "I'm glad that's what Troy thinks. What do you think about me being a part time parents to your son?"

Roddy says, "You're a natural when it comes to Troy considering I just sprung him onto you. Um, I can see us maybe having our own baby one day and giving Troy a brother or sister. I thought about us becoming a family. I only saw you when I thought about having a family with someone else."

You stare up at Roddy and say, "So let's start a family one day. I'm not saying let's go get me pregnant right now but let's do the relationship thing again."

Roderick asks, "Are you completely sure? Because this time I'm not walking away and you're not leaving because I don't let you."

Giggling, you say, "I'm sure. One hundred percent su-"

Before you can finish the sentences, Roddy's lips crash to yours. You gasp lightly into the kiss but immediately kiss him back.

This feels good. It feels good to kiss Roddy after five months without kissing him when you used to do this everyday. You've missed the feeling of Roderick's lips on yours.

It doesn't take long for the kiss to intensify. Both your tongues are in each other's mouths. After a few minutes of standing in the kitchen, you take Roderick's hands and walk backward toward the living room. Roddy happily follows you. The kiss doesn't break as the two of you stumble to the couch.

The only time the kiss breaks is when you push Roddy gently onto the couch. You crawl onto his lap, straddling his waist. Your lips quickly connect to his again, like a magnet. Your lips move quickly and roughly against Roddy's. Roddy's kisses are full of hunger, and so are yours.

You've wanted this for months. Especially the past month. Now that it's happening, you're hungry for more.

Subconsciously, you start to grind against Roderick. Your clothes core rubbing against his crotch area. Moans escape both your lips and Roddy's as you move your hips. His hands rise a bit so they're resting on the sides of your breasts before moving to your back.

Roderick pulls back from the kiss and says, slightly out of breath, "We better stop before it goes any further. Let's not rush this, Y/N."

You nod, agreeing with him. "I agree with that," you say. "How about an all day movie marathon and cuddles?"

He smiles and says, "I can agree to that."

You go get snacks while Roddy puts on Disney Plus. You put all the snacks on the coffee table in front of the couch before you crawl over Roddy so you're laying been Roderick and the back of the couch. Your leg is thrown over his waist and your head on his chest.

As you watch Cinderella, you lay cuddled up to Roddy. Occasionally you'll leave a soft kiss to his chest and he'll kiss your forehead or the top of your head instead.

Because you can't reach the snacks, Roddy grabs you what you want. Sometimes he pull it back so you have to fight for your snack. You'll give him puppy eyes and he'll give in, giving you the snack.

You smile as you lay with Roddy on the couch. You're happier than you have been in the past few months. You have the man you love back in your life and everything seems to be going well.

"Roddy?" you say, catching his attention.

He looks down at you and asks, "What's up?"

You peck his lips before you say, "I love you."

Roderick smiles and pecks your lips in return before he says, "And I love you, Y/N."