#also you know these cousins who are almost old enough to be your parents so you never really talked to them until you’ve reached a certain

[diari0deglierrori]

The self control I have to not cry in front of people despite desperately wanting to, I almost impress myself

[another-random-paradise]

Can you do twst child fem reader who always accidentally calls the dorm leaders dad and clings onto them since they miss their dad and isn’t taking the whole separation thing well please??

Suddenly a father

I am so so sorry this took so long!! I do hope you enjoy it <3 I do have a character limit, so I just picked the ones I had an idea for!!

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

Clingy child!reader calls them dad

Characters: Riddle, Vil, Idia

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: none that I can think of

Riddle

-To say Riddle was concerned when a magicless child suddenly appeared is an understatement, and when Crowley decided to let you live in the Ramshakle dorm, on it's own, aside from Grim, the concern doubled.

-So, he pulled some strings, and now you're staying in heartslabyul! 

-Riddle did act similar to a parental figure. He is rather strict, but certainly not as strict as his mother, and while he does try and teach you all the rules, and the consequences of breaking them, he is much more lenient with you. Ace is jealous

-Chances are, you get a tart for every 15 rules you memorize, or if you've been especially good, you'll get a small tart as a reward!

-Seeing like how much he's acting like a dad, that is what your yet to be fully developed brain perceived him as.

-So, you follow him everywhere, like a lost puppy. It confuses him a bit, but he doesn't stop you, as there isn't a rule forbidding you from doing so! Also, he worries about you whenever you leave his line of sight

-When he hears you call him dad for the first time, he's shocked, to say the least! He is still in college, he has yet to get a stable career, find a suitable partner, buy his own house, hE ISN'T READY TO BE A FATHER!! 

-He is frozen in shocked, leaving you to tuck on his sleeve with a questioning look, till Trey gently suggests that the sudden change must be very hard on you, and that Riddle is the closest thing you currently have to a father 

-It's a realization that hit him hard. Once the Realisation settles in, he doesn't correct you when you do- in fact, he now feels like it's his responsibility to take care of you now. Your parents aren't there, the Headmage isn't trustworthy, and he is the housewarden of the Dorm you're staying in! Plus, it's hard to seperate you from him, without upsetting you, so his fate is sealed anyway-

-Not much changes after, just that he is ever so slightly more caring 

Vil

-He was very shocked to see a child at the entrance ceremony, to say the least. 

-Immediately takes you under his wing, no questions asked. He doesn't know why, but something about you tugged on his heart strings

-you get your own room  at pomefiore, and the students of the Dorm take turns babysitting you- but Vil and rook is the first to volunteer if someone can't take care of you on their assigned day!

-Vil would take care of you everyday, but he's a busy man, he has movies to film, photo shoots to do, a dorm to run, ect... but he does try to be there 

-Has posted you on magicamp, but never your face! He'll only post your face once your old enough to decide and consent! Meanwhile his fans are going crazy, trying to figure out if your his little sibling/cousin or if their favourite star is a teen parent!

-You start to run to, and go with him whenever you can, and if he can't take you with him, you patiently wait till he returns, before practically jumping into his arms 

-He is brushing your hair, getting you ready for bed, when you call him dad. 

-he pauses for a moment, taking by shock, before simply continuing on. He knows he is to young to be a father, not to mention to busy. He knows that you most likely have parents waiting for you at home.. yet he can't bring himself to correct you, while you almost fall asleep as he continues brushing your hair. 

-He supposes that, until a way home for you has been found, he can take on a parently role for you

Idia

-He doesn't even realise you're there until the commotion starts, cause, you know, he isn't physically there. When he does, he doesn't know what to do, so he tries to avoid the situation. 

-But you don't let him, being far to fascinated by the floating Ipad, following him around.

-It gets to a point where Crowley decides that you'll stay at Ignihyde under his watch!.. Idia freezes in shock, he doesn't know how to take care of a child!

-At first you're completely under Ortho's control- Half the dorm can't even take care of themselves, and you expect them to take care of a child? Ortho's the only one there keeping you alive.

-Nonetheless, you keep running to Idia, you don't know why either, something about him just feels like home.

-At first the small, clingy you terrified him, but eventually he gets used to you. He lets you stay in his room when you want to and occasionally shares his snacks with you! 

-After you show an interest in Technology, he teaches you the basics, and lets you watch when he builds something! with proper safety regulations, of course! He is gonna end up turning you into an ipad kid

-It is during one of these lessons that you call him dad. He short-circuts, and Ortho has to catch the tool Idia was holding, before it smashes into the machine- 

-Even after Ortho analyses and explains the situation, he is still in a bit of shock with no idea what to do. He very quietly corrects you, but it's barely audible. Meanwhile Ortho is celebrating having a new family member!

-Every time you call him dad, he freezes up for a moment, before quietly correcting you, only to not be heard :) 

Very fun to write, but I’ll be honest, I’m not around children much, so I don’t really know how they act :,) once again, so sorry you had to wait around a month for this request ^^“

Feedback is welcome, just be nice!!

Hope you have a great day/night <3

[greenerteacups]

Fair warning: I don't think this is going to be a question, just a few post-latest chapter thoughts haphazardly stacked together under a trenchcoat.

Thank you for this chapter. It made my day to read something almost fluffy (I don't think anything in LH can be called purely fluff, and that's a good thing because fluff is best when it is padding for the plot, and that's what this chapter was).

LH Book 5 has been the beginning of payoff for the Dramione slow burn, and while that is immensely satisfying, it also means there are less milestones to look forward to. I don't know if this was an intentional decision, but I love how you started seeding in another slow burn that has kept us equally invested: the Black family drama.

I love reading anything that does the dysfunctional family dynamic well, and seeing Draco getting old enough to identify it clearly, have questions, testing his boundaries, fighting back against what he's been told to accept, has all been immensely satisfying as someone who has gone through this myself. Your depiction of the Black family dynamics has been /chef's kiss/. * spoiler for chapter 70 * when Draco witnesses his cousins casually throwing information his way, what I wanted was for one of the adults to see how much he needed that information, that connection, and give it to him. My god ❤️ You have written a lonely boy craving family so well.

Back to the Dramione of it all (and this might be a question), I love how Harry chose to approach the contained chaos waiting to unravel around him and just bluntly told Draco what he did. Question: do you think this is something Canon Harry would have done in this instance? Was there a choice to change anything in your characterisation of Harry (with respect to Canon) that resulted in this wonderful, blunt, more-mature-than-many-adults-who-can't-even-identify-their-needs version of Harry?

If not, what canon Harry actions/traits do you think would point to him acting this way?

Thank you! This is a beautiful and very kind trench coat, and I am luxuriating in it.

I will answer your question while continuing to luxuriate: I don't think canon Harry would ever confront his friends about an emotional problem, mostly because because he never does. Hermione and Ron, the two people he's most comfortable with in the world, are feuding for most of HBP, and while he does have a few "can't you guys just get along?" type-outbursts, he doesn't really sit down and ask "hey, what's going on with you? How can I help?" because canon!Harry is, as you might expect for a 15-year-old boy, better at ignoring his problems than solving them. (I also think there's an ingredient of conflict-avoidance in there from his upbringing with the Dursleys, but I'll be the first to admit that's mostly headcanon.)

My Harry is a bit softer — in part because that's just how I prefer my Harry, my favorite scenes with him are those where he's showing tenderness for things other people have neglected. This is the best of him, and this is the core of him, in my opinion. Canon Harry has this marvelous capacity for empathy, and when he chooses to use it, it's kind of astonishing how capable he is of resisting prejudice and caring for people. He's fiercely loyal in defending Hagrid, always. He makes a point of freeing Dobby, who's just spent a book trying to maim him. He refuses to let Sirius kill Pettigrew, even knowing that Pettigrew betrayed his parents ("My dad wouldn't want you to" — sweet boy, you mean you don't want them to, and you understand on some level that's the only thing you can say that will stop them.) He saves Gabrielle Delacour, because even if she would have been safe in the end, he's not leaving a little girl at the bottom of a fucking lake. He reads the Half-Blood Prince's handwriting — Snape's handwriting — and thinks: "I bet he's someone like me." On the basis of handwriting, he empathizes with this person! Harry is constantly trying to save people, and he doesn't ever really tell us why. And we'll never know why canon!Harry does that, consciously or subconsciously, but I have to imagine that every time Harry looks at someone in pain, he sees a lonely kid stuck under a staircase, and he thinks not fucking today.

[atopvisenyashill]

any thoughts about how could it be the dynamic between viserys-naerys- daeron ii in fire & blood 2?

okay so straight up the dynamic i’m MOST interested in learning about in f&b2 is the viserys-naerys-daeron ii dynamic. first of all, those first two are just UNGODLY DISTURBINGLY YOUNG when they have children. viserys has naerys, his YOUNGEST child when he is sixteen. naerys has daeron when she is fifteen. viserys is a grandfather before he is 32 years old. it is truly babies raising babies out here!! i mean fuck, daeron has baelor under significantly less traumatic circumstances but he’s still only 17 by the time he starts having kids! that’s all just wildly interesting and disturbing to me. like, that alone, how close in age they all are because they all married & started having kids at crazy young ages, explains so much about why this period has always felt particularly deranged to me (“this period” being post dance where we get this incredible string of deranged freaks from aegon iii to aegon iv that ebbs into this vaguely “we’re having a targ renaissance yay” era that erupts into civil war anyways! i LOVE this conceptually i’m so ready to be annoyed when f&b2 comes out and i’ve hyped this all up for some more dumb sex stories from another court fool ajsjs).

but then secondly, okay, when you look at the timeline- daeron is born in 153 and the birth nearly kills naerys 15/16 year old naerys. aegon iii is still king for four more years. that last year, aegon iv spends his time (and the next two years after that) shacked up with megette. then aegon spends a few years shacked up/probably raping casella vaith the hostage, before running off to war. then he spends more time raping naerys, wherein she has a miscarriage, and aegon is sent away so he doesn’t rape her to death. daeron marries myriah, has a child with her. but before that child is two, in quick succession, his father comes back home & immediately starts raping his mother again, his mother nearly dies having twins & now he has a sister younger than his son, and daena unveils her new bastard who everyone thinks is aegon’s, and baelor is so distraught by all this he fasts himself to death. viserys is king, and likely dead before daeron’s second son is born and before daeron turns twenty. suddenly the person responsible for making sure aegon doesn’t rape naerys to death are daeron & aemon, who have NO authority over aegon. this man has the audacity to stay alive for twelve more years.

that shit is insane. daeron’s father is only around when he’s raping his mom. the closest things daeron has to a father figure are his uncle who wants to fuck his mom, his grandfather who is probably busy constantly (and also only in his thirties 😭), and his batshit insane cousin baelor. his childhood is marked by almost constant instability until it stabilizes for the worse when his cousins all get locked in the maidenvault, then gets thrown into upheaval once again as baelor & viserys die and now his dad who is only around when he’s raping his mom is suddenly back in town and has total control.

and naerys. she’s like if aemma lived long enough to parent her kids, but worse bc you could argue there was fondness of a sort between aemma & viserys. aegon and naerys hate each other. she is constantly pregnant and on death’s door from the age of fifteen (three years older than her father!) until the day she dies, in her early 40s. it sounds like worse than hell to me. it is a lifetime where the only source of comfort you have is the son you birthed at fifteen, because maybe your life is a nightmare but if you raise him to be marginally less evil, he won’t destroy the innocent little girl you know is going to be sent to court to be his wife. everyone else is actively holding you hostage and applauding you for taking the abuse so well. your whole life is screaming for help and all you get is tears telling you you’re so dutiful and brave.

and viserys just. watches it all happen. of course he does! his kids are simply ungrateful! he had to get married at twelve and his wife wasn’t born in westeros so they had nothing in common and at least they have a living father, they have no idea how lucky they are. why should daeron and naerys blame him when he gave them everything because he had nothing? it’s a shame it wasn’t naerys that offed this man. i do think she was his favorite kid tho and i bet he’s not subtle about it at all.

[00lari00]

Alex and Alice (the lady and the tramp)

Based on this reblog by @bluetorchsky, I wanted to tell you a bit about them and at least a summary of their story because I really think they're cute and their love is kind of… funny XD And I also wanted to see Violin and Accordion reacting to Alex! They can work together and Alex likes to play the guitar! At least their boys can give Alex some tips and teach him a few things… XD

Name: Alexandre Cunha (Alex)

Age: 34

Nationality: Brazil

Skills: Can play the guitar, can fight capoeira very well and generally defend himself using his bare hands and strength, doesn't use weapons much but sometimes likes to use a baseball bat.

Curiosity?: He is trans

He joined the toppat clan when he was 16 years old, his parents were in debt with the clan so they literally sold their son to try and pay off their debt (Early Sir Wilford and Billy G era). Despite Alex's bad situation, Ralf (AKA Right Hand Man) took care of Alex as his apprentice and taught the little recruit everything he knew about fighting and defense, often almost treating him like a son but with heavy fighting training.

Over time he has become a tougher and more reserved person, and he respects Ralf a lot for teaching him all this, for teaching him how to be a stronger person. And now he's a Toppat bodyguard… and that's where Alice comes in

Name: Alice Svensson

Age: 32

Nationality: Swedish

Skills: Very good at arguments and managing things in the clan next door if her cousin Sven Svensson. They taking care of things like money and plans for the clan. She is very good at persuading and use words to her advantage.

She joined the clan when she was 23 years old (Near the end of Terrence's era), she comes from a rich mafia family. Her and Sven's family is... Complicated, in this family everyone has to be successful or a source of pride for their parents... If you cannot achieve your goal or come second, you are weak and incompetent. This caused a rivalry between Sven and Alice since childhood, Alice sometimes teased Sven for not being enough, although she regrets it a little now... Because they both suffered for the same thing.

As she is an important member of the clan due to being from a mafia family, she hired Alex as her bodyguard and right-hand man.

Alex didn't like having to obey her at first, but he started to get to know her better and understand why she was a person who was sometimes selfish or sophisticated. He liked how delicate she was and wanted to protect her and be loyal to her... She is sophisticated like a lady and he is quiet, serious and loyal

As always he is afraid to take the first step in the relationship and is actually very shy, but she also started to like him. I LOVE HOW DIFFERENT THEY ARE XD KAKSJSKAKJ 💕💕 Could someone teach Alex about love... 👀

Tag: #only1toppat!au

[vriskaserketdaily]

a fankid you say?? tell me more pleaseee.

i've actually talked about her before here and here!

tldr they end up adopting a grub as old ladies and their daughter grows up to be a normie prep against all odds (chronic "raised by grandma" syndrome)

spider dragon is The Baby of the extended family network of my postgame au, because . . . most of the people who were going to have kids did so in their late 20s/early 30s and not in their mid-50s(? who fucking knows how troll lifespans work point is vriska and terezi are gleeful old hags & loving it) which means she has a lot of older cousins and second cousins(? children of cousins) close enough in age for her to consider them cousins. unfortunately being surrounded by old people means she's a nerd from birth. and because she's a troll being raised by Literal Gods/Actual Alternian Trolls instead of a lusus like normal ppl, she's already somewhat isolated from other kids her age.

it turns out the reason no lusus would take her as a grub is that spider is a teal-cerulean cusper; a natural variation in troll genetics that only becomes a problem in cases where they're so smack in the middle of blood colors that no lusus of either caste will bond to them (or, worse, when a lusus of each caste bonds to a cusper---the two lusii will attempt a fight to the death on sight, which is obviously very upsetting for all parties involved). she doesn't have cerulean mind powers, nor does she have whatever psychic gift teals can develop (smellovision?). on alternia, she would have probably died or been culled for being a mutant, but on earth C she pretty much lives a normal life because 1) kanaya didn't know cuspers were a thing until spider dragon came along (& doesn't cull healthy grubs on principle) and 2) earth C does not have much stratification along the hemospectrum, if any.

spider only became aware of her cusper status as an adult. vriska and terezi were both like "huh, that explains a lot," and never brought it up again. spider also only became aware of how unusual vriska and terezi's relationship is as a teenager and young adult---it's almost like the serket-pyrope relationship is beyond quadrants compared to normal troll dating. very odd to find out that not only are your parents gay by human standards, but also by troll standards. as if uncle karkat hasn't been trying to explain that literally every time they get together. someone has to give this young troll a proper education of romance, discretely arranged in four non-overlapping emotional spheres. she probably still has some of the helpful charts he made for her tucked away somewhere.

anyway she is a private school kid because of course vriska's daughter is getting the 8est education money can buy, and of course terezi's daughter is going to an ivy league school with an excellent law program. never mind that she majors in history. it's fine. terezi's not disappointed at all that earth C's best mind just went into alternian studies instead of criminal law. it's. fine.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

For silenced: Is anyone going to try to stop Dolores?

Dolores is halted in her action. It gives her a moment to breathe and for her temper to cool, as her eyes find the source. Mirabel’s hand gripping onto her arm. Her primita is panting (as quietly as she can), clearly out of breath from chased after her on such little legs, but trying to keep calm and internally plead with Dolores.

They’ve done this before.

Staring each other down until the other gives in? That has happened a lot. It comes with being intellectual equals and awfully stubborn, the adults use to say. But more specifically, in relation to the miracle and her gift, Mirabel once caught her on her way to blow out the candle.

It couldn’t have been too long after Camilo’s ceremony, where his role of being an entertainer came to fruition and suddenly noise increased tenfold in Encanto. She had tried to do her best to deal with it. She’d adapt in time. That’s what they said, that’s what they promised her. But each minute, each hour, each day, each week, proved them to be nothing but excuses. This wasn’t something a child could bear.

And it’s not something a child should have to bear either. Most children, those who are fortunate or unfortunate enough to not be born Madrigals, have no gifts. No blessings or need for such responsibilities. Having a miracle was not a normal thing and perhaps, for the first time, Dolores was at an age where she fully understood that. Perhaps that’s why she tried to blow the candle out at the time. She doesn’t quite remember now.

The days before Mirabel’s ceremony seem like dreams. They could be real, they are real, but it doesn’t feel like it.

The adults were busy in the garden at the time, entertained by Camilo’s impressions of them. Isabela was sat in front of Abuela, who carefully braided pink flowers into her hair, and Luisa was helping her father not get his fingers caught in one of the foldable chairs.

Dolores tiptoed her way quietly through Casita, hands clasped in prayer - asking that God, in his kindness, would grant her this one blessing. Let her blow out the magical candle and lose her gift. Let her be free of this burden.

No sooner had she reached for the doorknob of Abuela’s door, had Mirabel suddenly grasped her hand. Smiling, the almost-five-year-old was giggling with excitement about having learnt the “C” scale on the piano and if Dolores would be kind enough to listen, to see if she was any good like her or Tío Agustín.

If Mirabel had appeared only a second later, she would have gotten in and been able to make things right. Hell, she would have saved her cousin all the trouble of her gift ceremony going wrong in a few weeks time. But God had decided not to let her do this. She was bitter. Every chance she had was always ruined, similarly.

And now… she has her chance.

Mirabel, for her part, doesn’t say a word, just stares imploringly.

By this point, the rest of the family have also appeared, gathered amongst the crowd of townspeople. Camilo and Isabela are still floating nearby each other, Luisa a step or so behind them. Abuela looks apologetic to the silent voices asking for her to help them. Tío Bruno looks to be mouthing “sorry” to Señora Pezmuerto and Padre Flores, which might be ironic giving their history. Antonio has been entrusted to the care of Tía Julieta and Tío Agustín, allowing her parents to once again try to reach her.

Mirabel presses her thumb gently against the pulse point in Dolores’ wrist, refocusing her attention on her. Grounding her.

Where’s your mind at, Lola?

I don’t know… Strange. I don’t like it. Everything is so silent.

It is quiet.

…For now.

I don’t think it counts when nothing has the choice to be quiet, incapable of noise.

I never got a choice. They never gave me a choice.

I know. I’m sorry.

It’s not your fault. You didn’t either.

But we have one now. Long overdue but it’s here.

I don’t.

You do. Think about your choices, you won’t gain anything this way. You admitted yourself the forced silence is uncomfortable.

I… I can’t take that risk of trusting them again.

I know it’s hard, but I will help you through it, I promise. Dolores, you can do it.

There’s a rattle through the crowd. Like an itch in the back of her brain, her ear, that needs to be scratched. They need to be silent.

Her little cousin glances around, panicked, when she starts to hear it. She looks like she’s internally praying for them to be quiet too - how wonderful that she can make that happen for the both of them!

…Dolores?

No.

Don’t think about them. I know they are frustrating; but don’t silence them.

No. I can’t.

Dolores, no, please—

I can’t and won’t stop. This is my gift, I will use it however I see fit. I can finally hear, now that they’ve stopped talking. I can finally hear me!

[fandoms-in-law]

How I'll Play

Summary: Steve's grandmother sends him an investment and big collection of gifts for his 21st. Small thing is, She thinks he's her Granddaughter.

Authors Notes: Playing with the idea I had yesterday over Steve liking Sylvanian Families and only playing D&D with them, Thanks to @frostfairysteve for the information on when they came out. (also for the fact I know those 2 D&D races XD)

Continued in Come Play With Us

/\/\

Steve family are all rich and all distant. He remembered once as a child a family reunion being arranged and being scared of all the strangers there. Apparently his father had 3 brothers all older and all with their own families, but also his grandparents had invited second cousins and cousins once removed and for whatever reason everyone had made time for it.

Looking back at the event now, Steve was pretty sure the main reason everyone turned up was that they were hopeful this could be a chance to increase the inheritance they could get from his grandparents. He doubted that would have been effective for anyone and is relatively sure that except for occasional cards on holidays and birthdays still considered most of his relatives as strangers.

It did encourage him not to have too much fun when taking himself to a city for a weekend away, simply because he didn't want to accidentally seduce a relative into a one night stand without knowing it. The joys of things that teach safe sex for the strangest reasons.

He didn't usually think about his family beyond that. They were just people who shared in his gene pool, just like the parents he barely saw any more.

Except his Grandmother seemed to challenge that when his twenty-first birthday came bringing a delivery with a note from her.

'Dear Steven,

I cannot recall why your mother decided on such a name for such a charming girl as you were at the family reunion so many years ago, but for all my grandchildren I've brought investments in a company as well as a large collection of the things they make as they turn 21.

For you, and your fascination with figurines and dolls that I remember, I chose to invest in Sylvanian Families. They're almost as adorable as you were when young.

A very happy birthday to you and remember to manage your investments wisely.

Your Grandmother,

Antoinette Harrington

He had to read the note 3 times before bursting into laughter. He knew his family was distant, but apparently they're distant enough to have changed his gender in their memories, although he does recall for a short time enjoying dolls before his father dictated otherwise and forbid him from them.

It had only been recently, and only around Robin, that he'd began allowing himself to be curious over typically feminine things beyond his hair since that time, but it was flattering to think that somehow he'd acted feminine enough the only time he'd met his grandparents that he was remembered as such.

“Steve? You remember we said we'd go shopping together for birthday looks for tonight, right?” Robin asked, letting herself in since he was laughing enough he hadn't heard her knocks. Steve had tried to insist he could pick her up, but according to her, he shouldn't be driving everyone around on his birthday, so she got Eddie to agree to play chauffeur for the day.

“Read this and tell me I'm not imagining things, Robbie. Please tell me I didn't misread that. Also I need to see just what is in these packages before I go anywhere.” Steve grinned over at her, waving at Eddie as he leant around the door.

Eddie came over too, leaning over Robin's shoulder as she read since Steve hurried into the kitchen for scissors to open the parcels.

There were 4 big parcels but as he got the boxes open only 2 of them had big items in them, what appeared to be dolls houses and furniture. The rest were filled with solid dolls, slightly velveted of every kind of animal he could think of, all in families, or separate babies that matched one of the family groups and dressed in adorable slightly old fashioned looking outfits.

“You're her granddaughter now. I'm sorry Stevie, but for a gift this big and the investment that was also in the envelope behind this is big, you have to be female from now on.” Robin teased, snickering herself and sitting on the floor beside him to see everything he was pulling out.

Steve shrugged a little. “You tell me what dress size I should get and I'll be the belle of the ball for the party Joyce is insisting on throwing.”

“How long ago was this reunion? Any you're happy about that?” Eddie asked, visibly stunned, but not annoyed or any reaction that left Steve concerned.

“Thrilled. Robbie and I have been trying make-up looks and I was already wondering if I should try a skirt tonight. This seems like a sign that I definitely should.” Steve grinned up, answering the second question first. “And I honestly don't know. I think I was maybe five, possibly younger. Definitely wasn't allowed dolls for too long before my father banned them.”

Eddie shook his head, coming to sit beside him too finally, “Cool, I'll kill the boys characters in the next session if anyone says anything about that. If you do get a dress, that is.”

Steve's grin gentled to a smile, before a thought struck him at the allusion to D&D. He'd seen their figurines before, had let them host Hellfire at his home a few times now, enough even Eddie's bandmates were beginning to relax and suddenly thought he wouldn't might playing in a similar way with these cute guys. “Hey, you can get animals walking and talking in D&D, right?”

For a moment Robin and Eddie blinked at him, then Robin started cackling. “I bet even if they don't Eddie is about to figure out how to, Stevie! Hell, I'm joining in too.”

Eddie blinked at her too before slowly nodding, “Normally called other things, like Procyons and Avalis but yes, there are bipedal intelligent animals in D&D.”

“Tell the party to start making characters like that to play and help me and Bobbin to do so if you want me to play a campaign. I'll only play if these are the figurines used for everyone.” Steve decided, “And look, you even have sets for places we can go to make the mapping even more exciting.” He gestured to the buildings, and some shop sets that he'd pulled out of the packages but hadn't opened unlike a few of the families that had caught his eye.

“Fucking Hell, Yes! I can do that! Can I stay here to plan the campaign too, check what I've got to work with?” Eddie's smile grew slowly but was soon almost wider than they'd seen it before.

Steve nodded, “Definitely. And this just means we're all more excited for getting back from the shopping trip I was promised. I'll go get ready to head out.”

As he walked away Robin started to calm down but one look at the pout Eddie had over being told he couldn't jump straight into planning set her off laughing uncontrollably all over again.

[plantinghobbies]

The Same Damn Thing - Part 3

Haven’t read the previous parts? Catch up here!

@solipsisticno1 and I are so grateful to everyone who’s read and supported our little Valentine’s collab that has (to absolutely no one’s surprise) taken almost the entirety of February to get three parts done. But we are halfway there! Hope you enjoy!

Part 3: “…I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s” - Taylor Swift——————————————————————————————————

Val avoids him after that, volunteering for work trips no one else wants. A day here, two days there add up to weeks before she knows it. It’s harder when she’s in the office but not impossible. She’s the first out of the conference room after a meeting, flying out the door with her nose in her phone in case he follows her. And the last one there at night, only leaving her office after she knows he’s gone for the day. She’s subsisting on non-perishable foods for lunch and is shocked she hasn’t developed a UTI from holding it all day but both these bleak realities are better than the thought of being alone with him again. Of the whoosh in her stomach as it drops when she sees him, the heat that pools seemingly everywhere at the thought of what almost happened. What did happen.

Before she knows it, it’s May and her mum is texting her to ask whether she’s coming home on the 24th. Val dreads the day each year. Not the actual anniversary of her sister’s death (though that’s the worst day of the year) but the one where she disappoints her parents again by saying she won’t be there with them to relive the worst day of their lives. It’s not that they’ll be alone - her aunt always comes down and Val’s cousin who lives in town stops by - but she knows it’s not the same. The first year she had tried, but everything in her told her it wasn’t where she needed to be. After they went to bed, Val had thrown her bag in the car, driving until her mind subconsciously brought her back to the last place she’d felt close to Marin - physically and metaphorically. The calm that engulfed her when she stepped onto the damp grass of the courtyard felt like a relief and a selfish indulgence at the same time. 

Ever since then, Val had come back to campus every year on the anniversary, making up work trips and last minute emergencies to avoid telling her mom the truth - that being home with them didn’t bring her anywhere near the comfort that being there did. That the best times of her life were at uni that year.

The 24th dawns with a bright sun and cloudless sky. There’s a slight chill in the air as Val catches the train to her destination, wrapping her hands up in the long sleeves of her jacket. It’s not even 7:30 when she makes it to campus, wanting to avoid the Saturday early birds at the farmers market that wasn’t there when she was in school.

Lying down in the grass under her favorite tree, she tries to remember the bits of advice she picked up in the grief group that she’d gone to for a few months. Use the day to remember old memories, but also to make new ones, your loved one is always with you. (Val’s not sure that she believes that but  she has pictured Marin standing beside her during particularly difficult times over the years and it has helped). 

Flashes of memories play against her eyelids - Halloween when the whole group had dressed up as Mario Kart characters, complete with little cardboard cars that had been left in a pile by the dumpster of their favorite bar after they couldn’t squeeze into the booth with them on. Marin’s face when Val had given her her secret Santa gift - a limited edition of Mary Oliver’s first collection that Val had spent three months saving every penny she had to pay for (worth it).  Matty’s and Marin’s drunken duet of Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, cackling when Matty’s voice cracked around the high notes, his indignant claims that he was sick, not just shit at karaoke. 

The memories transport her back, so vivid that Matty’s voice sounds like it’s right next to her. 

“Val? Val, you ok?” A hand wraps around her shoulder gently and she bolts up to sitting, throwing an elbow out on instinct that catches the offender with a low “umph.” It sounds familiar. 

The “fuck me” he whispers lowly confirming what she already knew. A part of her wants to keep her eyes closed - to continue to live in her memories instead of face the reality in front of her. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“Ummm listen I didn’t mean to….” No such luck. 

Her eyes peel open slowly, blinking against the heavy sun. Sunglasses would have been smart. He’s crouched in front of her, one hand on the ground to balance himself, the other resting on his knee (the bad one. Val remembers the brace he had to wear for weeks after he twisted it trying to learn football tricks to prove he was better at it than James). 

“What are you doing here?” The accusation in her voice isn’t intentional but he reacts to it, steeling his shoulders and leaning back away from her. 

“Same thing you are I reckon.” A smile pulls at his lips before he seems to think better of it and tugs it back in. 

Of course, the one year that she is actively trying to avoid him, they end up here at the same time. She’s not surprised he had the same idea, he always did like ceremony. “Do you, umm, do you want to grab a coffee? Talk? Or not talk?” She is surprised by the invitation, her behavior over the last few months wasn’t exactly hospitable. But then again, neither was his. 

He looks lost, eyes sunken into heavy bags as he gazes up at her through his lashes. She wonders how long they’ve been there. His fingers twitch around a cigarette the isnt’ there. She shouldn’t, she shouldn’t, she - “Uh yea, sure.” Clearly he’s retained his ability to charm her into doing things against her better judgment. 

They walk to an old haunt where he used to sing at open mic nights, the destination unspoken between them. It’s only when they’re sat face to face, steaming mugs between them, that she realizes the mistake she’s made. Her other interactions with him since the incident (as she’s taken to calling it in her head) have been short, work-related, no direct eye contact or conversation needed. 

It seems it’s dawning on him as well. Matty traces the rim of his mug and then clears his throat.

“I uh I -“ He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “Christ man” before continuing “Uh, how’s the rest of your day been?”

Val snorts as she looks up at him but he beats her to a retort “Fuck me, I’m sorry, dumbest question ever. Don’t answer that. I just - I don’t know what to say after - “ 

“Don’t.” It comes out sharper than she intended. But she can’t think of that night, of what Marin would think. Not today at least. Maybe not ever. 

They’re plunged into silence once again. Matty fidgets and crosses his leg, knocking the bag over that Val hadn’t noticed he’d been carrying until now. 

“What’s that?” She knows he hates small talk but chickens out for safe ground. 

“Baby onesie from the bookstore.” Her eyebrow arches, eyes flitting between him and the bag. “No, not what you’re thinking. Not for me. For the kid. I mean, not for my kid, I don’t have one.” He’s always been cute when he rambles. Fuck. “It’s for James’ baby.” 

Her surprise must show on her face. “Oh I didn’t realize he had one?” 

“Yea, just a few days ago. He and his husband - he’s a great guy, you’d like him. As patient as you’d imagine you’d have to be to put up with Jay.” His voice bears no judgement though it’s clear he knows that she hasn’t kept up with anyone beyond perfunctory texts.  It’s not that she’d gone out of her way to cut ties. But after she’d transferred schools, it became so easy to pretend she was someone else - someone who knew what they were doing, someone who didn’t pine after a guy who didn’t want her (at least not in the way she wanted). Someone who hadn’t lost her favorite person (people, really). She liked that version of herself - confident, detached, focused - more than the sad, lonely, and depressed reality that she was trying so hard to hide. And her friends would have seen right through her. So she kept them from seeing. 

It’s the odd silence that draws Val out of her thoughts and back to the table. Right, Matty had been talking about James. “Aaah so he hasn’t slowed down with age?”

The smile he gives her then is small but warm. “Nope, far from it. I think the older he gets, the more frantic he gets about the number. Trying to squeeze as much wild shit in as possible. I mean, it’s crazy but life is short, you kn-

Val watches as he pulls up, looking for all the world like he wanted to shovel the words back down his throat. Eyes flitting everywhere but her face.

“I mean -“ On instinct, her hand is covering his, not able to see him anxious even after all these years. 

“Matty, I think we both know.” 

He cocks his head at her hand, and she pulls it back. Aware that it’s the first time they’ve touched since That Night. 

“Can we talk about something else? Please.” God she’s a prick but after a morning spent solely focused on sad, she needs some relief. Hopes he won’t mind. 

He snaps his jaw shut, clearly taken aback with the desperation in her voice. “Uh, yea, course. I’m sure it’s tough to think about today…” (Truth is, she could talk about Marin all day. Matty and Marin, that was a different story). 

Eye contact seems to be hard for both of them, each flitting around for something to distract from the heavy intimacy that has settled over them. God, why did she say yes to this. Their relationship - she indulges herself with using that term to describe it - is one third rail topic after another. 

And just like so many times before, Matty throws her a lifeline. “Did you hear that I’m still office snooker champion?”

The laugh she barks out startles the sleeping baby at the table next to her, both of its mothers sending her death glares as the hiccuping cries begin. “What the fuck? How’d that happen?”

A cheshire grin settles on Matty’s features as he leans in conspiratorially “Fucking cheaters. They got Dawes - he was judging, remember? Well they got him drunk and then kept fudging the score. Someone caught them and turned them into the party police.” 

Val settles against the back of her chair, crossing her arms. “It was you, wasn’t it?” 

His laugh sends a spark from her ears to her toes. “Now what would give you that impression.”

“Besides the fact that I saw you bring Dawes four rounds of shots?” 

“I think you’re mistaken.” 

“Even if I was, there’s no one else who cares enough about that competition to go through the trouble of reporting that.” Matty’s eyes narrow as she points at him, following the path of her fire-engine red nail. “Except you.”

The grin he was trying to suppress earlier breaks free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’d missed his mischievous look, like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“Oh well my mistake then.”

“Too right.” 

Another memory.“You remember when Daisy tried to impress that guy and ended up needing to replace the whole top of the snooker table at Shea’s?” 

“Oh my god - and we all nearly went broke because of it. Who the fuck knew felt could cost that much?” Matty says, raising his mug to his lips before realizing it was empty. He sets it down gently, looking between his mug and her forehead (he’s struggling to look at her, which would offend her if she wasn’t also mesmerizing his hairline right back). “Umm I’m getting another. You want one?”

The line had grown substantially since they’d come in, giving her plenty of time to observe him as he waited with their mugs. More time than she allowed herself at work, always worried about people’s noses stares and misguided assumptions about their relationship. There’s that word again. Time had been good to him, preserved his boyish good looks but filled them out, added a little ruggedness that was laughable when she thought back on how posh he’d grown up. Matty had struck up a conversation with the woman in front of him (of course he had) and not for the first time, Val wonders what he’s been up to since uni. Who he’s been spending his time with, the information that she can’t get from LinkedIn and the abandoned social media accounts she found one night after a few glasses of wine. He was always charming but watching him try to pull (she assumes, the woman looks like his type) now, she can see the quiet confidence that wasn’t there all those years ago when they sat in this dingy coffee shop, splitting pastries for lunch to save cash so they’d be able to buy more drinks at the pub later. That time seems like a million years ago now.

Val wishes that she could have outgrown her crush on him like she’d outgrown so many other things from that time. She didn’t need to flirt with the barista for free leftovers at the end of the day, could afford the good gin instead of the rail shit that was so bitter that she had to chase it with fries. Adulthood had changed a lot - but not everything. Her eyes still find him in any room they’re in, her laughter still bubbles up at his dark jokes, and her heart still stutters when Matty’s lips twitch into a soft, familiar smile when his gaze catches hers. Like it is right now. Fuck.

It’s not even worth pretending that she wasn’t staring as he makes his way back over, her eyes tracking his moves as he weaves around student’s backpacks and groups of friends huddled around a table meant for just two. 

“Jesus, that took forever.” Tea dribbles over the lip of the mug as he passes it to her. 

“Well, seemed like you enjoyed the company while you waited.” It was supposed to sound teasing but comes out with a hint of possessiveness that she hopes he misses. “You get her number?” Great save, Val. 

Matty cocks his head at her comment, that knowing gaze of his back in full force. “Um noooo. She asked if I’d been here before, couldn’t decide between the sticky bun and the chocolate croissant. I told her to go with the sti-

“Sticky bun” they chime at the same time. 

“Exactly. Told her she should go with that unless she liked the taste of stale poo in a dry diaper. Then the croissant would be the obvious choice.”

“Ewww” Val’s nose turns up at the visual. “I can’t believe she was charmed by that.” 

Matty’s eyebrow perks up. “Oh, she was, was she?”

“Fuck off, like you didn’t know. They could probably see the bedroom eyes she was giving you from bloody space.” 

The shirt he’s wearing rides up as he crosses his hands behind his head, subtle flex in his biceps. “Well, looks like I still got it.” 

Doesn’t she know it. Flashbacks of the incident erupt behind her eyes. His hand up her skirt.  His filthy words. His fingers as he sucked them clean of her. No no no no no.

Attacking his ego feels like safer ground. “Yes, congratulations, you can still pull undergrads.”

Matty opens his mouth to retort but then looks around, clocking the other patrons as if for the first time. “Jesus, was she that young? I can’t tell anymore.”

The same thought had occurred to Val every year she’d come back here.  “I know, right?! I feel like we were younger at that age.” She risks a glance up at him, finds his warm eyes focused on her. “If that makes any sense…” 

“Yea, I get it.” Matty always seemed to get it, to get her. 

Val isn’t sure if it’s the familiar surroundings or the memories that they unlock, but as they talk, the tension that laced each word when they first sat down is easing. Enough that she remembers the man in front of her, the kind of person he was. Is still probably. She’s flooded with feelings, confusing ones that have her heart in her throat, but also comforting ones, friendly ones, nostalgic ones. She missed this. Missed him. She wonders if he feels it too. 

A comfortable lull settles over them. The half-empty sugar packet spills onto the table as she fiddles with it. For the first time since they reentered each other’s lives, it feels easy to talk to him. 

She takes a deep breath, “Listen, I -“ 

Just as he starts to say “About that night -“

Their words collide and they fall silent again. For the first time in she doesn’t know how long (yes she does), the fog of loneliness that followed her around like an imaginary friend had lifted. She felt lighter, the world a little less gray. She wanted to hold onto that feeling and he was going to fuck it all up. What would she even say?! Oh, that night? You mean the one where I almost exposed my years long lo- CRUSH - on you? Came on to you? At our workplace? Mistook your concern for interest, like I always have. That night?! Nope, no memory of it at all. The feminist in her - who sounds an awful lot like Marin - screams that this isn’t a completely accurate characterization, it taking two to tango and all. But Val’s also a champion at self-criticism - Olympic gold-level really - and she’s the one who’d drunkenly started it. She can’t blame him for trying to finish it, even if it was a monumentally stupid idea. 

The tension was back. She needed to get control of the conversation. “You first.” Always a gentleman. A good man. Someone she needed to have in her life again, even if it’s not in exactly the way that she wants. 

“I was going to say, I uh I missed this. Us.” Her chair scrapes as she sits up with the force of gathering her courage for the next part. She’s spent almost ten years rehearsing her next words, in texts she never sent. The words tumble out of her before she can lose her nerve. “I’m sorry I was such a shit friend back then - “She throws up a hand to silence the retort she knows is on the tip of his tongue. “No, just don’t. I was, even if I had a good reason.”

He sits back, palms up in response. “But I’m here now and I’d like a second chance at it. Being friends again…..if you’ll let me, I mean.”

The breath she takes gets stuck somewhere around her ribs, probably because her heart is in her throat. Please Matty. I need this, need to feel like I haven’t fucked everything in my life up. I still haven’t figured out exactly how to be around you but I’m trying. Just give me time. I promise, nothing that you have to go to HR about.

She used to be able to read him so well, curses herself once again for the distance between them that makes understanding his expression now impossible. Matty hasn’t taken his eyes off her, squinting his right eye as if looking for something. 

Val’s just about to word vomit something out onto the table when he clears his throat, putting her out of her misery. “Yea, uhm, I mean, yea. Course we can.“

Relief is palpable, she understands that phrase now, her shoulders sinking down from her hairline with his words. Thank god.“Good. Then I won’t feel bad about telling you that I forgot my wallet and I need you to buy me a sticky bun.” 

His laugh, she thought, that’s what she’d missed most of all. 

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Imagine trying Yves’ darling trying to talk to their parents about him, like they are telling them about how they are seeing someone new and their parents are like “okay cool how old is he?” And darling is just at a lost for words because they genuinely don’t know. “What’s his full name?” “Well-“ “where is he from? What is his background” “um-“

Yes any sane parents would be unnerved by this. Most likely your parents would even encourage you to not continue this relationship with Yves. You know nothing about him but he knows everything about you, seems dangerous, isn't it?

That is why you should bring Yves along with you, even the biggest skeptics will end up being charmed. With Yves honeyed words and pleasant demeanor, he will distract your parents so much that they may even be convinced he's a long time family friend. They see how he treats you, he prepares your plate of food, he refills them when you want seconds. Reminds you to drink water, being an overall caregiver.

Even if you have fathers or mothers who tend to threaten potential spouses with the barrel of their shotgun, he will stare straight into the eyes of death and sip on his drink. Continuing to make pleasant small talk, totally ignoring the life ending weapon pointed between his eyes. Maybe that will earn your parents' respect, maybe that would unnerve them even more. But for certain, they would know not to mess with him.

It definitely helps to know that he comes from money. Just one glance at how he carries himself, what he wears, and what he drives is enough to know he has at least six digits in the bank. And, bizarrely, it also appeared that he came from a less well-off background too. He understands why your family does certain things or doesn't, Yves will gladly partake in doing chores and money-saving endeavors without complaint. He wouldn't flaunt his wealth, but if anyone had the guts to ask him for help financially, he would. Just make sure to talk to them, he doesn't like his kindness being taken advantage of.

He has this menacing vibe that repels children and pets. They wouldn't get hostile, they will either hide behind other adult's legs or avoid him altogether. When you ask your younger cousins or siblings what they thought of him, they will shudder out of fear. They can't put a finger on it, but he feels like he could and would hurt them and get away with it. That isn't far from the truth, but Yves isn't a bully. He is definitely a disciplinarian.

Your relatives will wonder why the children aren't as rowdy as usual, sitting with their mouths zipped and eating neatly at their tables. No childish giggling or screaming can be heard, it's almost eerie. It only happens if Yves is present. The siblings who are always constantly fighting will work together to get away from Yves, the family dog who hovers around the table in hopes of gobbling up dropped food, is cowering at the corner; whimpering when Yves gets remotely close.

Even the little terror of the family who breaks everything yanks on everyone's hair, blows out everyone's birthday candles, and spits on food became the most well-rounded, politest child. Imagine the surprise on your aunt's face when he managed to discipline her child whom she claims to be 'impossible' to tame. Yves doesn't need to whip him with his belt, he doesn't need to shout, he doesn't even need to use his words. It was 'just' a stern glare that seemed to zap some sense into your cousin.

You should definitely check what your cousin ate or drank. Or even inhaled. Or touched.

Yves doesn't mind being seen as the monster that eats children who misbehave. Parents could use him as a threat to get their children to act right. Even your rebellious teenage cousins became clean when threatened to sic Yves on them, he just has that effect on them. However, they must meet him at least once for him to be scary.

For some odd reason, the children would be sympathetic to you. They pity you for having to be with Yves no matter how much you try to convince them that he's a joy to be around, just that he looks grumpy.

Yves has a least hated genre of children, which are those who are glued to their smartphones or digital tablets. They're quiet, passive, and stationed in one place. He couldn't give a damn about their development, as long as they're not bothering him, he is alright with their existence. But as soon as kids begin to act like normal kids, he will start traumatizing everyone in retaliation.

Adults don't have this sixth sense, they're instead enamored by him. They fall into his charms and tell him more things about themselves than they should have. He knows humans are inherently narcissistic, Yves doesn't even need to lie, he just needs to give some vague answers before returning the focus back to them.

It just takes a few tailored compliments, the fluttering of eyelashes, and some beats of silence from his side to know all the juiciest, most scandalous family drama. Things that you weren't even aware of, he could coax it out of anyone. You're offended, you've been part of this family for decades, yet they're telling all the secrets to a mere stranger with a Hermes Birkin bag, but never to you.

You keep having your aunts come up to you, raving on and on about how lucky you are to have snagged Yves. Apparently, he talks as if he was just made to love you. Not very interested in talking about himself, just about how much he adores you to death and what you like. The air seems different too when it comes to the topic of you, it becomes lighter, friendlier, and more connected.

They will gush over how affectionate he is over you. Making you realize that you weren't paying attention or you were taking him for granted. You didn't know that he was fixing your outfit for you, he was combing your hair with his fingers each time he got close, but you didn't notice him. They would only dream of having their husbands grab them their favorite drink without asking. He reminds you to take your medication and/or hydrate yourself, you ask him where your belongings are, he picks up after you, He fills up your medical and legal forms for you and so much more.

Yves is babying you instead of the other way around. And dear god do the women in your family yearn for that treatment.

He wouldn't hesitate to defend you when a relative says something catty, he would say something equally as snide, embarrassing them and teaching them a lesson. If one of them is revealing an embarrassing memory of you that you didn't want to be revealed, he isn't afraid of making the atmosphere tense, he will make a passing remark that will make the entire table laugh but hit the offender like a sack of bricks. How the hell does Yves know that they're sleeping with a coworker? They will beg him in private not to break up their family afterward. Their fate will depend on how merciful he is feeling and how satisfied they are with their punishment.

Judging you on your self-expression? Oh, he is saying the nastiest insults in the nicest, most subtle way, entertaining the crowd while making them run to the bathroom and sob. The same goes for those who are rude to his personhood. Yves can be horrifyingly vicious.

Yves has a lot of enemies he made over the years, whats one more? No ally of his gets to poke fun at the one he loves. He is immune to awkwardness and bad blood.

Yves will leave your parents or guardians feeling like they're old buddies but simultaneously know nothing about him at all.

But under that charismatic, elegant mask, he is an evil, messy bitch who loves gossip and rumors. Definitely a monster in law if you look closer. But that side of him only comes out if the slightest hint of disrespect comes your way or his way.

[asvterias]

𝖢𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖢𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 ~ 𝖡𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖡𝗂𝗑𝗅𝖾𝗋

warnings: none

pairings: bridget x fem!black!reader

genres: mutual pining, prolonged confessions & sophie being a matchmaker

summary: having a secret crush isn’t the best way to go about your feelings but as for [name] it’s definitely a miracle worker.

word count: 1.4k+

author’s note: for this oneshot [name] is mixed. apologies for publishing this so late, the story was already written but i just had to proofread it.

tag list: @c6pids @melodramatic-lesbian @simpforseungkwan

it was friday night, and your parents finally agreed, letting you go out alongside your older cousin. it took a lot of convincing to gain their understanding of this outing. your parents were very cynical about your whereabouts but not enough to be overbearing.

there was a new bowling alley that was just recently opened, and you wanted to just let loose and live a little.

walking inside the entertainment place, a smile sprung onto your face looking at the passing people, both young and old having themselves a good time.

“hey, sophie.” a voice greets which made your blood run cold. that voice was so distinctive and that tone held such a charming ring to it. exasperatedly you close your eyes in anticipation, aware of the upcoming conversation that was already beyond control.

you groan internally as you slowly peel your eyes back open to see bridget waving and smiling at you. “hey [name]. i didn’t know you were coming.”

your cousin just failed to mention one tiny detail…that her best friend… who is also your crush will be there. you should have seen this coming, wherever sophie was, bridget will be present as well.

“well, just heard that this place opened up and i wanted to check it out.” you manage out an awkward chuckle, clicking your tongue.

god, you wish that the earth would eat you whole right now.

bridget nods in understanding a smile still creeping onto her lips. it was so cute, she tried her hardest to not leave things on an awkward note but you made it seemingly impossible, so the best thing to do was to deflect from the situation.

there was no possibility that you disliked bridget bixler but it was the quite opposite, your feelings were out of affection and unrequited passion.

bridget bixler, the girl of your dreams. she’s always ready to protest when something seems unjust to her and is surprisingly decently smart when it revolves around her schoolwork.

it wasn’t that many people, just the five of you. you, bridget, sophie, alexis (your bff), lola (alexis’ gf).

you gained a crush on her for almost two months now and currently sitting next to her wasn’t helping the butterflies in your stomach to cease. after being physically tired from a few rounds of bowling, everyone ordered a pizza and chilled it down with cold cans of soda.

right now, everyone was finishing up their food, and soon getting to depart and head home but you were already dozed off. your mouth slightly agape as your head was against the soft cushion of the seat.

it was embarrassing, to be honest, and you knew for sure that your cousin was going to taunt you, most likely with visual proof. your cousin snickers, taking her phone out and snapping photos of you.

meanwhile, bridget was secretly staring at your dazed state, rolling her eyes when your cousin took a picture of your sleeping form. “stop taking pictures of her, sophie!” momentarily, your cousin playfully rolls her eyes as she stopped and continued to eat her remaining pizza.

slowly but gently, the bixler girl grabs your arms and places your head on her shoulder. she leans back in the seat, and wraps an arm around you, pulling you in closer for reassurance. bridget admired you for a few minutes before diverting her attention back to her phone.

she pretended to not notice when you gripped her shirt in comfort and your tiny hum of satisfaction came from your mouth. this brought a wide smile to the brunette’s lips.

god, you were so adorable.

“what?” bridget looks at her other friend, who knowingly smirks.

“when are you gonna finally confess? it’s been ages now.” sophie teases and wiggles her eyebrows.

bridget’s eyes widen at her friend’s statement and immediately shushes her, thinking that you might accidentally overhear their conversation. “sophie, be quiet!”

“why? you know, i’m right.” she shrugs and goes back to her phone.

bridget frowns, “what if she thinks that i’m way out of her league?”

“ok, first of all, you both like girls and you’re her type so technically, all you need to do is ask her out.” your cousin defends the situation. “just confess to her, what can go wrong?”

“it’s not that simple…” bridget exhales, gazing down at the table, avoiding eye contact with her friend. “what if she is interested in girls but doesn’t feel the same towards me and plainly rejects me, either way, it’s basically a lose-lose.”

“well, you won’t know that until you confess, now will you?” sophie crosses her arms and scoffs. the blonde loved her best friend but her deflecting the situation was starting to annoy her.

unaware to the girls, they didn’t notice that their ‘quiet’ shouting woke you up and you heard almost everything there is to know.

‘bridget has a crush but doesn’t want to confess to the person.’

now being filled with curiosity, you were determined on getting bridget to express her feelings first.

this night just got more interesting.

to put your plan into action, you fake yawn and stretch your limbs, deceiving them into thinking that you were asleep. “what are we talking about?” the two girls exchange secret glances and remained silent.

“ok…” you nodded along, clasping your hands together before looking at bridget and speaking up again. “actually, bridget do you mind if i speak to you for a minute?”

she hesitantly nods and gets up, following after you. she managed to catch you outside, up on one of the many balconies. luckily for both of you, this balcony was empty and no one was around to disturb you.

you sigh, taking in the beautiful scenery at night. “i overheard your conversation with sophie.” you turned around, just in time to see her face drop in fear. this causes a flush in your cheeks, thinking that you got the wrong idea. “cause if you don’t have a crush on me that’s totally cool.” you began to ramble on watching how she smiles at your awkwardness.

too caught up in your own embarrassment, the short-haired brunette stepped closer to you, continually letting you ramble on. she found herself lost in your beautiful e/c.

suddenly, she cups your face and softly presses her lips onto yours, momentarily ending your rambles. at first, you were stunned, and confused at this weird turn of events but reciprocated the kiss anyway. the kiss was magical, her lips were soft, delicate like a full-bloomed flower. her fragrance smelt of cinnamon and rose which made her irresistible to you.

the bixler girl finally pulls away from the kiss, “i just want you to know that this means that i like you as well.” she smiles a dopey grin. that same beautiful smile that made you fawn over her more than intended.

“is this a dream?” you stupidly ask, still hazy from the passionate kiss.

“nope, i assure you it’s not.” bridget chuckles, observing your flustered state. seemingly, she got an idea as she tilts her head and a tiny smirk make her way onto her lips, “i think i know of a way how to wake you up.” she suggests, smoothly wrapping her arms around your waist.

she surely had a way with words. her words enticed you in ways beyond measure, being part of her seduction in entrapping you in her life.

“oh yeah??” you challenged, raising an eyebrow in question. she nods in agreement as your arms rest on her shoulders, her hands on your waist tugging you into her, leaving no personal space.

soon her lips were pressed up against yours again, this time more sweet and sensitive. deepening the kiss as bridget’s arms tighten around your waist drawing you closer in her embrace, clinging onto more of your touch.

safe to say, that you didn’t leave empty-handed and got a girlfriend in the process.

© asvterias, 2023. please do not plagiarize any of my works.

[imakemywings]

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Maedhros, Lalwen, Fingon, Nerdanel

Summary: Maedhros considers the role of sex and romance in his life and receives support from unexpected quarters.

AN: Something for @aspecardaweek! More notes on AO3.

WC: 5,281

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

_______________________________________________________

Maedhros did not yet have Grandfather’s skill for keeping his face neutral. He did have his own parents’ penchant for strong emotions and so the sense of annoyance which permeated his clipped pace down the palace hall was plainly apparent. Even the swish of his robes seemed to speak to an immediate, if mild, irritation.

The heat of Valinor’s soft summer was creeping up over Tirion, which meant most of the palace was out-of-doors, except for Caranthir who was likely tucked away somewhere with a book or a preserved insect, and Maglor, who was either “composing” or languishing artfully on a pile of pillows (these were not always distinct and separate acts), and so perhaps Maedhros was less careful than he might’ve been with the usual palace audience around to provide a bevy of useless commentary. He slid open one of the side doors and slipped out onto the rail-less porch, throwing himself down on the edge with an air of petty temper.

The fresh air almost immediately took the edge off. In the lush palace gardens he could hear the call of birds and the rustle of the fresh green leaves, still tender with new growth. The lychee trees were starting to sway with the weight of fruit and the smell of the flowering plants perfumed the air. Maedhros leaned back against one of the posts supporting the eaves. Curufin and the twins were out with Atar for the day, which meant there was no childish yelling this side of the palace, though if Maedhros listened carefully, he could hear some of his youngest cousins elsewhere on the property.

“You look rather troubled, little one.” The low, smoky voice took him by surprise, partly because he was not often in conversation with his aunt, who bled out of the bushes with a idly curious look. “Who’s put this look on your face?”

“My brother,” Maedhros groused after a pause.

“That still leaves quite a few options,” said Princess Lalwen with a slanting smile, perching on the edge of the porch with one leg tucked beneath her. Her nut-brown skin was already taking on the darker hue of summertime and judging by her dress and the dearth of gems in her hair, he guessed she’d been on an early morning hiking or hunting trip.

“’tis nothing,” Maedhros demurred. No need to go airing family laundry, even if it was the relatively harmless kind. Besides, Aunt Lalwen always looked like she was searching for a secret—to what end, Maedhros couldn’t say.

“If it were nothing, you would not be troubled,” Lalwen said. Maedhros, ever the pragmatist, visibly weighed the pros and cons of sharing—and how much—with Lalwen. Truthfully, he didn’t know her well enough to make much of an estimate. She was often in Tirion, unlike Aunt Findis, but also often in the company of Uncle Fingolfin, which meant not in the company of Atar and Ammë (or their children).

“Kanafinwë is…immature, I think, at times,” said Maedhros at last. “It causes a great deal of trouble for him and for many around him.”

“Little brothers will be that way,” Lalwen said sagely, nodding. Maedhros must have looked skeptical, for then she said: “You doubt it? Arafinwë was a terrible tattle when he was little. Nothing could you tell him if you did not wish to get back to Ammë within the hour. Thank Ilúvatar he grew out of that!” A faint smile crossed her face. “And if you were inclined to ask, it is possible that Arakáno and Findis might have their own stories of me to share.” Maedhros assumed Atar went without saying.

“Kanafinwë is old enough to know better,” said Maedhros with a frown. The antics of a child were one thing—Maglor was a grown adult, if a young one. Lalwen canted her head to the side and her eyes flitted off into the vegetation. She had Fingolfin’s eyes, the same brown that turned gold with just a bit of light, framed in lashes brown where Fingolfin’s were black.

“A little brother is always a little brother with his older sibling,” she said. “At least a little bit.”

“He makes a mess of his own life and then comes to me wailing about his misfortune!” said Maedhros, remembering his annoyance anew. “He never listens to me! Why tell me these things if he refuses to take my advice?”

“What has he done now?” Lalwen asked, and still on the tide of his temper, Maedhros said:

“He does the most foolish things wherever a comely Elf is concerned and he seems to seek the chance to make a mess of things! He can never settle on one thing to want, and as soon as his desire is within his gasp, he loses all interest in it!” A more tempered Maedhros would not have shared, but he was doubly irked because Maglor had recently borrowed several of his favorite hair pins without asking, and had left one of them behind with his tryst, whom he insisted he could not speak to again to get it back. “Already he has a courting companion, yet he has been seeking the company of another!” Now he felt he had to explain the rest.

“For ages did I listen to his laments about trying to win the heart of Culuina, and at last they were courting, and finally they had stopped fighting, and now he tells me he has been seeking the attentions of someone from the actor’s guild! He tells me how this Elf has no interest in him and looks right through him as if he were not even there, and he tells it with a shine in his eyes more than when he ever talks about Culuina anymore! I told him to be happy with Culuina after he spent so long in pursuit of her, but did he listen? Of course not! And rather than end their courtship as might have been honorable, now he chases down some other, like a greedy hunter!”

After this little tirade, Maedhros fell silent, flinty gray eyes narrowed, remembering all over again why he was so cross.

“How can he complain so when he’s done this all to himself? Culuina was happy with him at last, but now he’s ruined it! I don’t understand him at all.”

Lalwen shrugged.

“You know how Kanafinwë is with a pretty face. Arakáno says he’s been that way since he was young,” she said. “How old was he when he told his music teacher he would marry him?” Lalwen smiled indulgently, but Maedhros was not willing to fondly reminisce now (for the record, Maglor had been eight).

“There’s no sense in it!” Maedhros fumed insistently. “He had what he desired! And for what does he tell me these things if he never heeds my advice?”

“Perhaps he seeks only a listening ear,” Lalwen suggested.

“Nay, for he asks my opinion!” Maedhros objected. “But then he pays it no mind!”

“What advice gave you to him?” Lalwen asked.

“That he should be content with what he has!” Maedhros’ jaw clenched. “He sought so ardently after Culuina, how can he set her aside so easily? And for one who cares not for him in the slightest? So what if he has a pretty face? Culuina does as well!”

“You seem rather indignant on her behalf,” Lalwen said with seeming amusement.

“Hardly,” said Maedhros. “I have exchanged not entirely ten words with her. But Kanafinwë is a prince of the Noldor and should behave better.” Lalwen tipped her head from side to side.

“There’s not much sense in it, is there?” she said.

“None!” Maedhros said. “He loses his head entirely about romance; it’s as though he lapses into madness! How is it that so many Elves lack any kind of sense or restraint about these things?”

Lalwen was looking at him then in a way that made Maedhros remember he did not usually speak of family matters to others (even other family). There was something appraising in her look that made him decide he had said too much already and he regretted it at once. Maglor made enough of a fool of the house without him elaborating for others.

“Forgive me though, for taking so much of your time, Aunt,” he said, lowering his head and then rising to his feet, his voice at once level and impassive again. “I should not have troubled you with such trivial matters.”

“No trouble, Nelyafinwë,” she said. “I believed I came from a big family until I saw your parents’ penchant for children.” She chuckled a little. “I cannot imagine having had six brothers! Three was quite enough for me.”

“Most often they trouble me not.” Maedhros murmured out the lie. “I should have less of a temper with him.” Another lie—he believed he had every right to be just as irritated with Maglor as he was. But he should not have shared it outside the house; it did nothing to improve their image.

“What one struggles to understand may often prove an annoyance,” Lalwen posited after a moment. Maedhros gave her a critical look, then bowed his exit and went back inside. Conversations with Lalwen had a way of making him feel he had missed something, and it was not a feeling for which he cared in the slightest.

***

 “Maitimo.”

Maedhros refocused his eyes on Ammë, dredging himself up out of his thoughts.

“I did not move,” he said.

“You are making a face,” said Ammë. “Why this air of sullenness?” Falling out of his pose, Maedhros rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes.

“’tis nothing,” he said. “I’m only tired.”

“Well, if you keep making that face, the sculpture will wear it too,” said Ammë, tapping her pencil pointedly against her sketchpad. “Oh. Sometime has it been since I saw that look.”

“No ‘look’ do I wear,” Maedhros insisted, resentful of the whining note that crept into his voice. Only Ammë could bring it out.

“There is a look,” she said. “So what is it?”

“As I said before, nothing.” Ammë flipped closed her sketchpad.

“I think we shall be done with this for today,” she said. “If you still wish to help, perhaps you can help me cut wood for the kiln.” With a sigh, Maedhros rose in acquiescence and they went out into the yard, where Ammë handed him an axe.

He was still ruminating on his conversation with Lalwen, and the sense that she had seen something in it he had failed to notice, an idea which peeved him to no end. Furthermore, it was bringing to the forefront of his memory the handful of instances in which Maglor, no doubt in an effort at brotherly camaraderie, had attempted to return the favor that Maedhros granted him in listening to his woes by asking Maedhros about his love life, a line of questioning that invariably made Maedhros both queasy and ill-tempered. If he was feeling particularly adventurous, Maglor would probe into Maedhros’ various relationships, seeking some hitherto hidden romantic intention which Maedhros insisted did not exist. Most recently, he had seized on the notion of Maedhros’ friendship with Ingwion as something that might bear fruit, a suggestion which Maedhros had been too embarrassed to even mention to Ingwion, even to have a laugh at Maglor’s efforts.

Ammë set a log down and Maedhros raised the axe. In a sense, there was something calming about the repetition of it.

Whack, whack, whack.

Maedhros hated not to understand things—it was something Grandfather had once said he shared with Atar. And what he didn’t understand now was how he could be the only one with any sense about relationships—how could everyone else be so careless and obsessed? He had even seen Curufin making eyes at other Elflings his age. When Maedhros had been Curufin’s age, the thought of romance hadn’t even entered his head! It had been as alien to him as the notion of childbirth or property taxes. Back then, he had assumed it was something that would simply come with age. Eventually, he told himself he was a late bloomer, and perhaps just needed more time to come into it than others (another idea which unsettled him—he also misliked the thought of being late to anything).

Whack, whack, whack.

Then, when he determined he must be fully matured, he theorized he simply had not met the right person yet. This made perfect sense. Maedhros was discriminating in taste about nearly everything—why should he be less particular about his romantic partners? He needed to give himself time to meet someone who could pass his standards, and then would experience one of those head-over-heels crushes which people waxed poetic about. After all, Grandfather said that Atar had had next to no interest in courtship of any kind until he met Ammë, and then everything had happened rather quickly.

Whack, whack, whack..

He supposed this theory still wasn’t disproven, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut that he might be waiting for something which would never come. Technically, there was unlikely to be harm in this, but Maedhros did not like things unsettled. He wanted answers, cut and dry. He wanted to know where he stood. But how did one prove an absence of a thing? And what did such an absence mean?

Whack, whack, whack.

“Does this seem enough to you?” Just as Maedhros was pausing with the axe, Ammë spoke. He observed the pile of wood so far and flexed his hand against the shaft of the axe.

“Perhaps a few more,” he suggested. Ammë looked at him rather than the wood and nodded.

“Yes, I agree,” she said, and set down another log. When Maedhros had split the last of them, he felt that some of the tension in his shoulders had dissipated. He rolled them to loosen the muscles. In an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, Ammë placed a hand against the back of his head and pulled him down until she could press a fleeting kiss to his copper crown.

“This will do finely, Maitimo.” She slapped his shoulder as she drew back. “Now go on, I do not believe you shall be any more help to me today, and as I recall, you have your own work which needs doing.”

Maedhros groaned. He really had been overthinking all this if he’d forgotten, even for a moment, about that blasted essay.

***

“Yes, this is much better,” said Professor Lastarion while Maedhros intermittently held his breath as part of an effort not to fidget while sitting in front of the professor’s desk. “You have still some gaps in logic here, but this is much better.” His eyes flicked up to Maedhros’ face. “They are small, but closing them will make for the neatest possible paper. This is quite good on its own, but I will insist you see to these before the compendium’s publication.”

Having his work published would more than make up for all the effort that had gone into it, including the many late nights he had spent working by candlelight. It was something he had yearned for since his first works had gone into the student publication during his years as a pupil of the university. He had been pleased with those then, but now, to be published as an adult scholar—!

“Leading a reader through your argument is like…”

Leading a horse, Maedhros finished silently to himself.

“…leading a horse,” Lastarion finished aloud. “The slightest hole might result in a snapped ankle.” This was where the metaphor tended to fall apart for Maedhros. “You want to take your readers in an unbroken chain from point A to B to C to D…” He waved his hand in a flowing gesture. Maedhros nodded tensely, waiting for any more concrete feedback.

“It’s quite well-reasoned as a whole,” Lastarion went on. “In fact,” he said, meeting Maedhros’ eyes directly, “I believe it will be the centerpiece of the volume.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Maedhros breathlessly, feeling his heart stop for a moment.

“It has the possibility to be truly remarkable, which is why I have nitpicked so many things on it,” he said. “With a few fine-tuning touches, it will be the jewel in the crown, so to speak.” He passed the paper over to Maedhros. “Have a look at my notes. Connect these last few gaps and you will have a final product to be quite proud of, Nelyafinwë.”

“Thank you,” he said again, taking the paper, his heart jumping as if he had run up a flight of stairs. “I will see to it immediately.”

It wasn’t until he was out of the professor’s office that he let the grin spread across his face. Published! There would be something to talk about at the next party!

***

The summer sun was just edging towards too warm against Fingon’s exposed arms and legs as he lay back in the golden grass, tossing his ball up and down. He kept his eyes closed so as not to be dazzled by the brightness of the sky, but he was so familiar with the weight and fall of the ball he did not need to see it to catch it each time it came back down towards him. The thrust and fall of it was relaxing; the repetitive flexing and bunching of his well-trained muscles lulled him into calm. There was a faint breeze rustling the grass, which occasionally blew over him and swept away the worst of the heat, keeping him comfortable. Overhead, birds caroused, wheeling this way and that, occasionally dashing across the tendrils of wispy clouds that were all that marred Valinor’s skies that day. It was entirely peaceful and Fingon let out a deep breath of contentment.

Ah, but Maedhros was still talking.

“Well?” he was saying, and Fingon realized he had let slip by a crucial moment to interject with a sympathetic or disapproving noise (whichever was most appropriate) and now was being asked a question. “Am I wrong?”

He caught his pigskin ball and opened his eyes, turning to look at Maedhros’ pale, vexed face.

“Well of course you’re right,” he said. “If Makalaurë listened to you, he wouldn’t be in half as much trouble.” When he had missed a cue, it was always good to fall back on “you’re right.” That usually calmed Maedhros down.

“I told him this would happen,” he griped, and Fingon debated whether he could inquire into what “this” was without revealing that he didn’t already know.

“You know Makalaurë,” he said with a somewhat indulgent smile. “Foresight is not his gift.”

“Foresight! I would gladly settle for common sense!” He snorted. “The way this city gossips—and he thought Culuina wouldn’t find out about Eteminion?”

“Well…” Fingon began, then trailed off, not sure if Maedhros would appreciate his speculating on the less-than-admirable behavior of his brother.

“Well what?” But Maedhros would not let a thought go unsaid once it had been hinted at.

“Perhaps he wished for her to know.”

“Wished!” Maedhros exclaimed. “Why would he wish for her to know he had been unfaithful to her?” Fingon shrugged.

“Perhaps he wanted their courtship to end and knew that she would do it herself if she knew,” he said. “Or perhaps he wanted her attention.”

“He was courting her,” Maedhros said. “In what way did he not already have her attention?” Fingon shrugged and started tossing his ball again. “Do share your thoughts, Findekáno,” said Maedhros, and Fingon could hear the annoyance in his voice. A smile twitched on Fingon’s lips.

“Perhaps Makalaurë enjoys the turbulence of his relationships,” he said. “Perhaps he thought if he riled Culuina this way, it would inspire her to passion.” Maedhros was looking at him like he had just suggested they test whether the Children of Ilúvatar had the power of flight, an expression at which Fingon couldn’t help but laugh as he sat upright.

“Passionate in her anger with him, perhaps,” Maedhros said. Fingon shrugged. Anger was passion, of a sort. “For what could he ever want such a thing? I think you have been laying in the sun too long.” Fingon laughed again.

“Is it so hard to understand?” he said. “Never have you wished to make another jealous to prove their affection for you?”

“Never!” said Maedhros, looking perfectly appalled. “Have you?”

“Once or twice,” said Fingon, shrugging one shoulder. “Never have I done it thought—it is rather immature, is it not? Although for Eteminion?” He grinned. “He would be worth the effort! Have you seen him on stage? There is an Elf who knows passion!” Maedhros was still looking at him like he’d gone crazy. “No? You find him not attractive?” he said.

“I never thought about it,” said Maedhros. “I do not watch plays to drool over the actors.”

“Are you accusing me of drooling, Russandol!” Fingon laughed. “One can appreciate both the art and also the bodies behind it!” Maedhros’ look had gone sulky, the way it did when they spoke overlong of issues concerning romance. “Perhaps you and Makalaurë simply cannot see eye-to-eye on this,” he suggested.

“I think perhaps we cannot,” said Maedhros quietly, picking at the grass. “It makes no sense to me, Findekáno, not even when you speak of it.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The way people behave when they find another attractive,” said Maedhros. “How do they manage to lose all sense of reason?”

“That is nature of love and sex,” said Fingon with a little smile. “It renders one a little insane…but that isn’t always bad. One may enjoy a touch of madness.” Maedhros was just looking at him, indirectly, still tearing at bits of grass.

“It makes no sense to me,” he repeated, softer still.

It took Fingon a moment to gather that perhaps Maedhros was trying to tell him something. (He was not always very good at picking up on these things, which Turgon had told him.) Sobering, he folded his legs, setting his ball in the space between.

“You know,” he observed after a pause, “I believe Auntie Irimë is that way.”

“What way?”

“I mean, that she agrees with you. She is unwed,” said Fingon. “And I have never known her to express a desire for it.”

“Aunt Findis is unwed also,” said Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged.

“Auntie Findis has always been a bit aloof, has she not?” Maedhros was shredding a long blade of grass between his fingers, a furrow between his eyebrows. Aunt Findis also spent a great deal of time out of Tirion, and was not in general inclined to discuss such things around her nieces and nephews, which made it harder to guess at her stance.

“Russandol,” said Fingon, and when Maedhros was looking at him, he pitched the leather ball right at Maedhros’ face. His nose was spared the unfortunate content by his quick reflexes, and then he glared in a way that would have made their cousins cower (it was rather reminiscent of Uncle Fëanor).

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“You are thinking no longer about your problem, are you?” said Fingon cheerfully. “You’re welcome!” The ball clocked Fingon in the head right before Maedhros tackled him.

***

It pleased the king to host, as frequently as he could, large dinners for the entire extended family. Atar always insisted they were there, to a man, and there was little that could excuse one from the event—academic demands were about the only thing. Grandfather Finwë would throw a celebratory dinner for nearly anything—Princess Findis visiting from Valmar or the start of a new season or a grandchild getting a particularly good grade or Atar finishing a new project—but often he hosted them for no reason at all. That night’s dinner was one of that sort.

The dining hall was bedecked in lanterns alongside the lamps of Atar’s design and the seats around the table had been cleared to allow family and guests to take food and wander at will. Maedhros and his brothers, as always, were dressed to the nines, as Atar would not tolerate them arriving at any event of his father’s smirched in soot or dirt, or dressed unsuitably. The particular headpiece Maedhros had chosen for that night demanded he move with stately grace, or it was going to fall off his head and with the weight of it, probably take out someone’s foot in the process. (It did look very fine though, and he had spent several minutes in front of his mirror admiring the effect.)

Choosing the right time to approach Lalwen meant not accosting her as soon as they arrived, while ensuring she wasn’t able to slip off before Maedhros got to speak with her. It would need to look natural—he was not interested in anyone else thinking he had cause to seek out his aunt. For a few moments he lingered around the wine with Maglor, to reassure him that there was nothing amiss between then despite Maedhros’ earlier annoyance. Maglor was then distracted by one of his many musical rivals and disappeared to go boast under the guise of conversation.

When Maedhros did approach Lalwen at the table, he didn’t get his greeting past his lips before she said: “You took your time.” Then she turned to look at him, seeming amused with his expression. “I will give your subtlety is much improved on that of your brothers, but your eyes have been burning a hole in me since you arrived, Nelyafinwë.”

“You knew,” he said, deciding Lalwen did not need a lead-in. Lalwen shrugged.

“I theorized,” she said.

“But you said nothing of it. Why?” Lalwen added a few more dumplings to her plate and considered.

“You seem to me rather reserved,” she said. “And we have not spoken much. I did not think you would appreciate my theorizing, nor take it to heart. Some conclusions we must reach on our own, in our own time.” Maedhros was somewhat troubled that she had gathered so much about him despite the brevity and infrequency of their interactions.

“And are you?”

“I am,” she said, flicking her eyes up to him.

“How did you know?” She shrugged.

“It is harder to see a lack of a thing, but at some point, it becomes apparent. Anyway, it is not as uncommon as you might think. It is simply not spoken of.”

“And…Aunt Findis is…?” Lalwen let out a burst of laughter.

“Findis? No, not her. She’s only excessively particular—about what is she not particular—and will take only women as long-term partners.”

“Does…do people…know?” he asked.

“About me?” she asked. “Some do. Some may have guessed by now. My siblings know. But,” she added abruptly, holding up a finger, “that was by my choice only. Such things are private, and no one has a right to know what you do not wish to tell. This you should bear in mind, Nelyafinwë. To none do you owe answers or explanations about this. If I may offer counsel, as your aunt, little though I have taken the role—” This being the fault more of Atar than of Lalwen, Maedhros suspected, for she was close with both the children of Fingolfin and of Finarfin, “—let no one pressure you to speak when you would not. Your heart is your own business, and no one else’s.” She turned to go, paused, and glanced back. “There are many kinds of love. An absence of one does not mean an absence of all.”

Then someone was waving her down from the side of the hall and she departed with a last glance at Maedhros over her shoulder. In pensive silence, he took a few pork buns and meandered off out of the way of those trying to reach the table.

Witnessing Elves in the bliss of courtship and wedlock, it was easy to feel cheated. Taking in the countless works of art labored over with such effort and devotion for the sake of romantic love—for a particular paramour, or simply for the notion of it—it was hard not to be frustrated at his own lack of perspective and understanding. Hearing the way others spoke of romance and of marriage—how could he not feel the rest of the world was in a joke he simply didn’t get? Yet Lalwen seemed content.

“Russandol!” He recognized Celegorm’s excited call as he tore himself out of his thoughts. His brother was coming towards him with an ear-to-ear grin that usually spelled Trouble, and even more concerning, with him was Fingon, who rarely spent time in the company of Maedhros’ brothers, less still without him present.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Not what I’m doing,” said Celegorm in a poor pantomime of innocence. “What Findekáno and Irissë are doing.” Maedhros’ eyes snapped over to Fingon, who grinned.

“And what are Findekáno and Irissë doing?”

“Grandfather has some fireworks from your father he has saved for a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And?” said Maedhros.

“And Irissë and I have decided tonight is a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And why is that?” Fingon shrugged.

“Because it is!” he said. “Tyelko is coming with us. Are you? When the party begins to wind down?” Maedhros scrutinized the pair, opposed in so many ways, but united over the opportunity to make things explode in pretty colors. They were both grinning at him, pleased as a bird on the wind with the prospect of their stolen pyrotechnics.

“Come on, Russandol!” wheedled Celegorm. “Come with us! It will be such fun!”

“I suppose I shall have to,” Maedhros sighed with feigned resignation. “Someone must make sure you burn nothing down by mistake.” Fingon pumped his fist in triumph.

“I shall come and find you when we’re ready!” he said, hurrying off for more food. Celegorm flashed a double thumbs-up and went to go steal sweets from Caranthir. There were plenty on the table, but he insisted the ones he took from their younger brothers and cousins tasted better.

The Arafinweans were in from Alqualondë for at least the next few weeks, which meant Maedhros could pick out their golden heads among the rest of the dark-haired Elves. Finarfin himself was there with Fingolfin, debating over what to take from the table, while Queen Indis leaned over the table to remark to them both. Finrod was over by a window with Turgon and a friend, where they were all in animated conversation about something, which presently involved Turgon using cheese cubes to make a demonstration (Finrod gave a wave when he saw Maedhros looking in their direction). Aunt Eärwen, warmly tanned after several months in her hometown, had her had bowed by Aunt Anairë’s, speaking lowly as they did when they wanted no one to intrude on their conversation. Atar was crouched beside Grandfather’s seat, listening attentively to whatever was being said, while Finwë observed his guests. Aegnor and Amrod were either playing or squabbling, it was hard to say, and either way it was happening perilously close to a pedestal housing a priceless vase. Lalwen was leaning back against a red column in easy conversation with the friends who had summoned her away from him before.

Something which had been tense in Maedhros for some time relaxed slightly. Ammë had warned him he had a tendency to overthink things and while he privately considered Ammë habitually underthought things, perhaps in this instance, there was truth there. Maybe Lalwen was right—maybe he was too worried about something that did not bear worrying about.

His bigger concern, in all truth, needed to be making sure Fingon did not set those fireworks off around a building.

[missshezz]

Title: Lost & Found

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: None apply

Tags: Angst, Drama, Follows Here’s Negan (TWD tv universe), grief, shock, parental suicide, you POV (2nd person narration) as a kid. Negan is not a bastard here. Deals with death.

Word Count: 1300 words

Summary: Negan finds you after burning his house down

The flames greedily consumed your house. You stood there as everything you owned in the world was consumed in the blaze.

You were only gone a few hours.

A quick run into town to search for baby wipes, formula, and diapers for Mikey.

You couldn’t help the Vipers were out on the prowl and needed to hide.

How your mom managed to get around the block you setup in case she took notion, you didn’t know.

Somehow, she had, and managed to get into the garage where all the gas dad stockpiled when things started getting bad was.

I should’ve waited for Mrs. Hinkley to get back from her mercy mission.

I should’ve waited for nighttime to go scavenging.

I should’ve given her the last of her medicine so she’d’ve slept the whole day.

So many should’ve’s you could’ve done.

Things you would’ve done had somebody told you to do them.

Nobody was there, though.

It’s just you and your eleven-month-old brother, Mikey.

Your cousin, Ashley took off with Mrs. Hinkley’s granddaughter, Nina after the government instituted worldwide lockdowns to slow the spread of the disease.

Not that it worked.

Your older sisters got sick and were taken to the hospital.

Neither of ‘em got better.

You overheard Grandpa Joe tell Mrs. Hinkley that their bodies were taken to the crematorium.

You figured he told her the truth given the cloud of smoke always in that vicinity.

Grandpa Joe, Uncle Ed, and Auntie Barbara took sick then and also went to the hospital.

They never came home.

Your other cousin, Raymond got himself killed by the Vipers when he refused to give ‘em the medicine he bartered for.

And your dad?

Well, he either went and got himself bit while he tried to get your mom’s medicine or he got killed like Raymond by the Vipers.

You didn’t for one minute believe what Mrs. Hinkley said.

Your dad wouldn’t’ve left you to take care of your mom and Mikey.

He might’ve been a jerk at times but your dad always took care of you and your siblings.

Nope, far as you were concerned, your dad got killed. It was the only reason you’d accept for why he didn’t return home when he told you he would.

There was a loud groan a split-second before the roof of your house caved in.

Plumes of smoke and ribbons of bright orange flame billowed up towards the moonless sky in an almost hypnotic dance.

Burning plastic, wood, metal, and another, foul stench stunk up the air.

You didn’t dare think ‘bout what that last smell was.

You’d be sick if you did.

A twig snapped behind you.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you imagined it being one of them.

You didn’t know if that was the right word to refer to them by. You’d heard ‘em called loads of things: infected, biters, walkers, creepers…

To you they’re just the unfortunate.

A buncha people who hadn’t figured out they were dead.

Your dad told you the only way to kill one of ‘em was to either shoot ‘em in the head or stab ‘em between the eyes.

You hadn’t had to do that.

Until now.

How you’d accomplish it, you didn’t know.

Your dad took the only guns your family had with him when he left, your knife wasn’t sharp enough to cut paper, and you had your baby brother — who you wisely decided to take with you rather than leave home with mom — strapped to your back.

You slowly turned, terrified of what — not who ‘cause the unfortunate weren’t people anymore — you’d find.

A guy with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire wasn’t what you anticipated. Eyes as dark as yours stared first at the flames devouring the last section of your house before shifting to you.

“What happened, kid?”

Shame smothered your fear and panic. What kid wanted to admit their mom burned their house down ‘cause the voices inside her head convinced her too?

Your mind works feverishly on an answer he wouldn’t call out as a lie. You settle on, “It was an accident,” because it seemed safe enough.

He doesn’t believe it, though.

Not for one minute.

And he ain’t afraid to let you know he doesn’t buy your story.

“An accident, huh?” He pointed to a large red can in the middle of the yard. “That gasoline pour itself out? Light itself?”

Your shoulders droop.

Your eyes lowered to the ground.

Tears blurred your vision.

You tried to hold ‘em back.

Be a grown-up.

You aren’t an adult, though.

You’re a kid.

You shouldn’t be dealing with any of this.

You should be somewhere safe, protected by your folks, and doing everything you can to help them as they struggle to survive in this strange new world.

There wasn’t anybody else there, though.

Just you.

“My mom,” you mumbled into your chest. “She got real sick after she had Mikey. Heard voices that told her to hurt herself. They told her to do it.”

“What the fuck?” Shock and other things you couldn’t identify vibrated in his voice. “You saying your mom is in there?”

You nod as another groan pierced the silence. You looked back just as the walls of the house tumbled inwards.

More smoke and flame billowed forth.

Mikey, quiet throughout everything, whimpered.

He’d start fussing for feeding or changing before too long. Thankfully, you found formula, diapers, and some clothes in the house you hid from the Vipers in.

You just had no bottles to put the formula in or a way to warm it.

Mrs. Hinkley probably has a few bottles in her place I could take, you supposed as you murmured softly to Mikey to quiet him.

It wasn’t lost on you that an infant depended on you for his sole survival.

A twelve year old kid shouldn’t be raising one.

It wasn’t fair.

Not that life was, you realized as the man released a heavy sigh.

No, it was cold and cruel.

Much like this world.

“C’mon, kid.” He placed a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder. “Time to go.”

“I don’t got any place to go.”

“Nobody around here will take in a couple of orphaned kids?”

“Mrs. Hinkley probably let us stay with her but she’s off on one of her mercy missions. Don’t know when she’ll be back.”

If she’d be back.

This world taught you there was no guarantee on people coming back.

From the corner of your eye you spotted a few ramshackle figures coming up the street.

Attracted by the fire and the smell you refused to acknowledge.

The man must’ve caught sight of ‘em, too, because he said curtly, “You’re coming with me then.”

Every lesson you were taught about strangers screamed through your head.

Don’t go with ‘em being first and foremost.

Something, though, convinced you to trust him.

“Where we goin’?”

“As far from this shithole as we can get.”

He led you over to the motorcycle parked in your best friend’s driveway.

Kylie and his family got sick same time as your sisters.

Were probably taken to the crematorium with them, too.

“Mister?”

“It’s just Negan, kid. And this?” He indicated the bat he slid into a special pouch. “This is Lucille. And she is awesome.”

You didn’t know why a baseball bat was so awesome, but given you had a knife about as useful as a pencil against a gun, you figured it made sense.

Nothing else did.

“Hop on,” Negan told you. “And hold on tight.”

You did as told.

Wasn’t like you had much choice.

You were just a kid, after all.

A twelve year old one.

With a baby you now gotta raise.

‘Cause your mom burned your house down.

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #231

Do you like to cuddle with your S.O. or do you prefer your space? I like to cuddle with him, so long as I'm not hot. If I'm hot, don't touch me.

What TV shows do you watch on a regular basis? None.

What is the last thing you scribbled down on a Post-It note? I have no idea.

Do you care if your produce is organic or not? No, not really.

Do you have any children? If so, how old were you when you had them? If not, do you think you ever will? No, I most likely never will.

Do you get enough calcium? To my knowledge, yeah. I've always liked milk.

Are you nosy? Dude I am so nosy and I know I am. It ain't gotta have nothing to do with me, I just like knowing shit lmao

Are you happy with the size of your bedroom? Yeah.

Where was the last place you went that was totally new to you, as in, it was the first time you’d been there? A primarily sushi place for Mom's birthday. I tried something else (there was no way I was eating sushi), some Thai dish, and it was horrible, I had to eat something when I got home.

When was the last time you used someone else’s computer? Girt's actually, last time we hung out. Long story short and to make it understandable to people who don't play, I was storing certain things in WoW in case I ever do come back to the game.

What’s the relationship status of the last person you talked to? Divorced/single.

Do you say sorry first? If I believe I'm wrong, yes. I am not one to easily say sorry first if I believe I did nothing wrong.

Who will you be spending Christmas with this year? Without fail my mom, and unless something is seriously stopping us we go to my older sister's place, and usually Nicole (my other, younger sister) is there too. I'd like to see Girt, but we usually don't on Christmas day, we spend time with our immediate families.

Did you go to high school with your current best friend? Yes.

Have you ever been a passenger in a semi-trailer truck? No.

Whose was the last funeral you attended? I don't think I've ever been to a funeral, just a wake.

Do you avoid using public restrooms? I try to, yes. But if I seriously gotta go, I gotta go.

Have you seen any extended relatives in the last month? No, I barely ever see extended family. None live in North Carolina.

Do you like eggnog? Nooooooooooooo.

Who is the person you dislike the most? Of people who are actually in my life still, Nick.

Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? I absolutely would if I had an income. I don't have disability checks, I don't have anything. I literally get money on Christmas and my birthday, that's it.

Do you know anyone with celiac disease? I have a cousin with it, yes. I think her mom also has it.

How many siblings do you have? Are they all full siblings? I have two full-blooded sisters, one half-brother, and technically three half-sisters, but one I have never met or spoken to or know almost anything about.

What’s the weather like today? Raining cats and dogs on-and-off, windy. We have a hurricane.

How do you usually celebrate New Years? Occasionally Mom and/or I will have a drink, and that's pretty much the extent of it.

Do you currently have any alarms set? Not right this minute, but at bedtime I've been setting an 10:30-11:00 A.M. alarm lately. I've been sleeping in too late.

Do you like whiskey? Meh, I can have some in mixed drinks. I don't particularly like the flavor, but I don't like the flavor of alcohol period, so...

What type of milk do you like to drink? 2% or whole.

Do you have a first aid kit at home? Yes.

Are your parents dog or cat people? Is that different or the same as you? Mom's a dog person. Dad, I'm not sure. He has a cat and loves him, but we also had dogs while he was still with my family, so idk. I'm a cat person.

What’s your favourite flavour of potato chip? Just plain/salted, honestly. I do like salt & vinegar and french onion, though.

Would you ever get a matching tattoo with someone? Maybe my mom.

What is your Chinese zodiac animal? Rat, I think.

What form of communication did you last use to talk to the person you're currently interested in? Discord.

Do you want to see someone right now? Yeah, I saw Girt like... two days ago and I still really miss him.

What was the last thing you looked up on YouTube? Powerwolf's new album, I think.

Did the last guy/girl you kissed have any piercings? No.

Do you actually love your parents? Yes. I don't know where the hell I'd be without my mom.

What pattern do the sheets on your bed have? They're just plain white.

Where did you get the underwear you are wearing right now? I don't wear underwear with my pajamas, that's so non-cozy lmao

Do you feel uncomfortable sharing drinks with other people? Sure do. I WILL with Girt, but I'd still prefer not to.

Have you gone through a lot emotionally, or has life been easy thus far? I've been through the ringer.

Do you spend more time outside or inside? Inside, it's no competition.

Would you rather give up the computer or the TV? TV, easy. I don't even watch it on my own, only with Mom or Girt.

Last person to make you seriously mad? Tobey.

Who have you recently made up with after fighting? Nobody.

What kind of toothpaste do you use? Crest.

What were you doing this morning at 1am? Most likely sleeping. A flash flood warning woke me up at some point, though.

Have you used a tissue today? Yes, my allergies have been out of this fucking world today.

The last person that slept in your bed gets arrested, what do you do? Cry extremely hard and figure out what the hell happened, try to reach him over phone if he's allowed. I'd have no guess what he got arrested for.

When people ask "how are you?" do you say "good" even if you aren't? No. I don't info-dump, I just don't think there's shame in sharing that you're not doing great.

How was your Friday? Tomorrow is Friday, so the kids should be coming over while their parents work. I don't have a book to read right now, so it's gonna be a long day. I do like Fridays though, at least it's something different, I just get stressed out by kids too easily.

Did you speak to your father today? No, it's been a minute.

What was the last thing you drank? Raspberry lemonade flavored water.

How did you wake up this morning? Tornado warning alert. There's been three or four actual tornadoes touch down in the area since last night, but so far my city has been gratefully spared.

Some people were really destructive as a child, were you? No.

Who was the last person you were in a car with? Girt.

Who was the last person you cried in front of? My mom.

Do you know anyone that is gothic? I have a friend, as well as me, at heart at least. I definitely feel like I fit the gothic aesthetic ideally and emotionally, I just can't be bothered to dress up (that and I can't afford stuff like that), and I HATE putting on makeup.

Have you seen UP? I've seen I think most of it.

How is your mom? Stressed, always.

Do you feel comfortable getting up and giving speeches? HELL no.

Have you ever dipped french fries in a frosty? Yes, I didn't get the appeal at all.

Would you prefer eating jello or pudding? Pudding, so long it's chocolate.

Last time you ate a salad? It's been a long while. I don't really like salads.

Have you ever been described as “adorable”? It's been said before.

Are you a moody person? I can be, yes.

What are you listening to? I'm watching 8-BitRyan play Into The Pit.

What video game could you waste the most time on? It WAS World of Warcraft, but I've stopped playing it. It's the main reason I've been doing more surveys lol, I'm fighting to find other ways to kill time.

[starcrossedjedis]

Which of your ocs is most like you and in what way? - 🖤

Ngl, I immediately remembered having racked my brain to an ask like this before and because I am -

a) in that stressful "mums pre summer break" phase where there's never enough hours in a day and

b) having a crippling phase of "overwhelmed yet understimulated" (please anyone, just throw anything my way that gets me talking about my HotD girlies, I don't even care which one, because if the hyperfixation void catches up with me it's game over 😅)

- so I simply copy pasted and polished the old reply - sorry! I love you anon, don't abandon me because I'm lazy ❤️

Imma say the first thing my OCs have in common is my taste in men *cough* (to quote @drbobbimorse "Sara's found a way to ship [OC] with Peter Gadiot, what a surprise" 😬🤣)

And I think all of my OCs have some aspects of myself in them eg Farrah Wheeler, who is an outsider and struggling to balance what she'd have to do to fit in and what she really wants - that was 187% me all throughout school.

For some of them I definitely draw from my half-resolved "Sudden And Unexpected Dead Parent Issues" 😬 (eg Winnie, who deals with her mum's passing in the worst ways and dragsan already struggling Noah along)

But I think the OCs that are the most like me are the ones who are either mothers or have an otherwise strong caring side. I know that my brand on here is more of the "Deadpan Sarcastic Bitch" variety, (which is kinda circumstancial though with the years of anon abuse) but in my day to day life I am mom shaped in every sense of the word. I am the mom friend in every group, I am the mom all the kids flock around, I'm the dummy who helps out with all the school activities, hell my Larp character Ilvy was dubbed "Walking Helper Syndrom" (by that campaign's main antagonist, who loves to see her try and fail💀), because I can't even turn it off to play pretend for a weekend 😂

Which means that at the top of my head I'm feeling a lot of kinship with Elyana Dondarrion (HotD), Inara'a Brae (SW), Jay Vendar (SW) and Sun (OPLA - Going Merry Verse), because they are all characters that take on a caretaker role of some shape within their stories - Elyana is a mother, Inara'a becomes Obi Wan's Keeper, Jay raises his little sister and also takes an almost parental role with the whole crew of the Rebirth and Sun is the Straw Hats' mom friend slash big sister slash sister slash weirdly hot cousin who kinda bullies you ❤️

[richmondsims]

Andrew had never really seen the point of making a bigger deal of 'milestone' birthdays. I mean, sure, you can contemplate your life at 20 or 30 or 40, but you could equally contemplate the past decade at 24 or 36 or 41. Now however, at age 30, he found himself drawn into reflecting back even so.

To be fair, his life was hugely different to the way it had been ten years ago. At 20, only a couple of years out of a childhood spent in children's homes and foster care, Andrew was completely without ties.

He travelled around, taking any job he could, and only staying until he had enough money to move on to the next town. Then, at 25, he'd come to Richmond.

He'd got a job as usual, but in a matter of months, he also had a girlfriend, a dog and an apartment. True, the only one of those things he still had now was the the dog, but he hadn't exactly shaken off the bonds of adult responsibility either.

He'd lost the job because of his somewhat chaotic relationship with the girlfriend. Then in quick succession he broke up with the girlfriend, got the apartment and got the dog. Then he got another job working for the brother of the woman who had just fired him. The ex-girlfriend left town, came back, and then started working for the same guy as Andrew. Not that it mattered because, by then, he had another girlfriend.

He'd met Tracy through an online dating site. She was living in a cottage in Bluewater Village that had belonged to her late grandparents, with her daughter Tania. 

She was also studying for a Communications degree at SSU. Their relationship had developed quickly, and Andrew (and his dog) left the apartment to move out to Bluewater village with her. 

Tracy's parents now owned the cottage, and they'd let her stay there rent free while she was in college. It was only fair that they start to pay after Andrew moved in with her. Money was tight but Tracy grew vegetables for them and Andrew did extra shifts, and they were a happy little family.

As for Andrew's other extended family, as he'd told Tracy they weren't really people you'd want to get to know. He'd kept in loose contact with a couple of relatives, though, and through them he learned about a distant cousin, a five year old boy who needed a home following the dissolution of his own family. 

Andrew's experiences in state care hadn't been too bad, but he'd heard the horror stories from others. And in any case, a home and family of your own were going to be better no matter what. They were far from rich but they were sure they could afford another child, and there was some government support for foster parents. Following a hectic series of appointments, lessons in kinship fostering, home reviews and legal advice, Neal joined their family.

Tania was used to being an only child, and it took her a while to accept Neal. After a couple of years, they now got on well. 

There was still the occasional argument, but no more than any other kids growing up in the same family. And they really were all family now, after Andrew and Tracy were married a couple of summers ago.

It was a quiet ceremony in their backyard, with only their children and Tracy's parents and a couple of close friends as guests.

They'd kept it small partly because of the cost, and partly because Tracey's friend Juliana was finally planning her own wedding for that autumn, and they didn't want to steal the attention from her when she'd had so many problems and delays.

---

From Andrew

These guys have never had an update since I recreated my neighborhood in TS3, so there's a lot to get through.

Neal joined the family almost immediately after I recreated them in TS3. I had set up Story Progression for the household and turned off pregnancy - but I forgot to turn off adoption. Family-orientated sims that they are, the next time I went to play the household it had a new addition. I had played other households for some time and I didn't have a save before it happened, so he got to stay. I made him a family member of Andrew because that made more sense than a couple in their position intentionally seeking to adopt an unrelated child.

Everything Andrew describes in the first part of the story happened back in TS2 and on the blog - you can find the updates by following his tag. It was a slightly crazy period in the story, but it all seems to have worked out well in the end.