#most delightful ch

[tuiyla]

This goes without saying so I held off for like 15 hours but now I’ll say it anyway:

ANYA JENKINS DESERVED BETTER

[tiredassmage]

brb going to spontaneously combust about the intimacy of eye contact ;_;

[sunflowercider]

Lloyd literally just gets a letter from julian and hes so fucking happy and proud of him oh my god

[tanoraqui]

Theory: Elrond effectively wears headlamps like a Dad(TM)

Proof:

Elrond, at least on semi-formal occasions, wears “a star upon his forehead” (RotK book 6, ch.9)—that is, presumably, a pale glowing gem on some sort of coronet. This comes across as very classically Elvish (light, jewelry, star imagery), and a nigh-explicit reference to his father Eärendil. However…

Elrond’s children don’t see as well as Elves, as cited here. If his children don’t, then Elrond, even less Elvish by blood, certainly doesn’t. Now, I will admit that I forget if “Elves can see in the dark” is canon or very popular, D&D-enabled fanon, but it certainly makes sense considering that Elves flourished for centuries or millennia under just starlight, before daylight even existed…and it’s equally reasonable to assume that half-elven night vision is as relatively “weak” as their cited distance vision.

Elrond is the proud father of three, and exhibits traditional Dadly behaviors such as being a little bit of a nerd (loremaster) but also one of the most reliable guys you know, adopting any child left in his presence for a sufficient amount of time (Aragorn), and telling his daughter’s aspiring bf that he won’t be good enough for her until he has a steady job (also Aragorn).

My dad irl, who I promise is a pretty typical Dad, was positively delighted when he discovered casual-use head-mounted flashlights about a decade ago, and has self-satisfiedly worn them on every camping trip and nighttime dog walk ever since.

CONCLUSION: Elrond regularly wears glowing, star-evocative gems on his brow, especially while traveling or at fancy evening parties, and he looks great and it make people respectfully murmur Eärendilion (whether he likes it or not)… But really, it’s not a fashion statement or implicit political position or whatever; it’s because if he doesn’t have some sort of flashlight, he will trip on torchlit steps or walk into low-hanging tree branches in the dark. And it’s so much easier if it’s hands-free! (Especially when he’s spelunking for lost texts!)

His kids all go through a phase of thinking he’s mortifyingly dorky about this, then begrudgingly come to accept that it is really convenient to have a hands-free light for dark nights, caves, etc, and start wearing one themselves.

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series, glimpse of angst, fluff, humor, strangers to friends/roommates to lovers, a bit of back and forth

word count: 4.2k

cherry here!...and it all comes crashing down.

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 5

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

For years, you spent time behind a screen, mindlessly running after Eleanor with a notepad, messy hair sticking out like a madwoman. It must’ve been quite the sight for your fellow colleagues. A constant cycle of proving yourself to others—to your own fucking parents—that what you were doing was going to be all worth it at the end. It was only right that you were utterly exhausted.

Now suddenly, there’s this boy. He has the prettiest watercolor eyes you’ve even had the pleasure of admiring, the cutest dimples, a charming nose, most feathery lashes, pinkest lips, and above all; a heart of gold. You’ve been thrown the toughest battles—the kind you would’ve fought alone if it weren’t for Amelia and Roman—but the universe has rewarded you.

In the span of a month, Charles has completely won you over. From his boyish grin to his dominating smirk. There was just something about him that fell into place with you; like a puzzle piece. The Monegasque never failed to make you feel giddy all over, butterflies soaring freely inside your stomach. 

Only now, there were a different type of eyes lurking back at you. Livid, you almost flinched at the thought of them turning red. Resentful, the kind you only thought you knew. Broken, like the glass plate laying at your feet. 

But the worst had to be the betrayal, written all over them. 

And you knew at that moment. This was the last and only summer.

-

“Wouldn’t it be scary if I just zip down because a shark bit my leg?” you ponder, gently threading through the tides. The green eyed boy tilts his head in amusement. If he hadn’t taken the time to understand your wild imagination, or dark humor, then he would’ve rolled his eyes and yawned. Instead, he slowly nudges your calf, lighthearted, droplets sliding down his face. 

“Not so much as scary, but rather impossible. Sharks don’t swim near the Amalfi Coast.” You nod, though there’s a skeptical aura that lingers as you fix your snorkel. The brunette sneaks a loving glance, taking in your rosy state, scrunched nose when you swallow a gallon of sea salt water. He laughs. “You should keep an eye out for jellyfish, eh. Now those are a problem.”

“Jellyfishes and I are friends. They would never intentionally hurt me. C’mon, let's go back.” 

The day had started early. Four fucking a.m. The Monegasque had hurled you out of bed, declaring that time was running out and he needed to spend all of it with you. The day prior, he had promised he would always text, call, and visit. It made your heart flutter and pounce all at the same time. 

Hence, snorkeling. It was a fun and quick activity, so naturally you agreed with a killer pout as you squinted at the bright sun, despite it being the crack of dawn. Signaling to a glimmery oyster, you excitedly nod when he makes his way over. Once you reach the surface again, you clap with delight. “Can you open it for me?”

He doesn’t answer, but rather focuses his attention on snapping it wide. You can feel your eyes shimmer at the sight, an electrifying pearly white. Almost greedily, you pinch it in between your fingers, bringing it up to parade. “That is absolutely stunning. Oh my God, do you think I could turn it into a ring?”

His lips curl. “I’d say so.”

After that, you both settle into a comfortable silence. The sun was blazing hot at this point, and still there was a breeze. Just when your face would start to dry up, you would dip back in and beam at the Monegasque. He grins, crinkles, hugging the corner of his eyes. He allows himself to swoon when you wink up at the rays of sunshine. “So, I was thinking…”

“Mhm,” you murmur, orbs trained on your newly prize possession. 

Nerves fill the brunette’s veins, sharp hands gently massaging his jaw, letting out a shaky breath. You furrow your brows, cocking your head to the side. Is everything alright? Charles sheepishly smiles. “Well, I, uh, was wondering…” He trails off when your lips wobble, hinting that you knew what this was all leading up to. “Would you like to go out on a date? With me,” he adds shyly. 

“You were kind enough to seek me a gem,” you hum. “I would love to, Charles.”

“Wonderful,” he sighs in relief. “I-I-I know we sort of skipped a couple steps a few days ago,” he stutters anxiously. Your cheeks burn up at the reminder of him in between your legs. “So— but—I’m definitely glad that we’re able to—ouch!” he yelps in pain, teeth gritting. You fill up with panic, frantically eyeing the clear water. 

“What? What?” you urge. “It’s a shark, isn’t it? I knew they would find a way!” The 26 year old barely had a chance to fill you in on what was really going on, but couldn’t really do much when you zoom out, popping the pearl into your mouth safely, floppy arms threading fast to the point that they became sore. 

“There’s no—oh my word.” He grimaces, a painful expression mapped out as he, too, follows you out as quickly as he can. As he limps over to you, you scream, shiny jewel falling straight onto the ground. 

“Charles, Charles, Charles.” Your stomach drops, fingers jittery, “There’s a jellyfish wrapped around your ankle…”

“You’re all caught up,” he grunts. “Get it off!”

You squeal when he lifts his leg up at you. “I can’t! Can’t you kick it off or something?”

He clenches his jaw, heavy pants filling the air. “And risk getting stung again? No, thank you. I drive for a living! I need this thing off.” He flings his leg and the transparent sea-creature disconnects, landing straight into the water. He stares back astonished and you simply laugh loudly and maniacally. You did it! “Yes, now pee on it.”

“Oh—hell no. What is this? A kink of yours?” Your nose scrunches up with clear disgust, as if you just caught a whiff of a baby’s diaper. Charles scowls. It’s supposed to help—do you think I want to do this? You gag, adamantly shaking your head. “No, no, I’ve read about this! We can add vinegar!” Briskly grabbing your essentials, you grip his wrist, already dragging him to his car. 

He tears up—though, denies it—almost kicks you, and groans like a baby, but survives his injury. “Better?” Barely. Washing your hands, you share a stern glare. “At home remedies. Godsend.” He sulks deeper into his seat, wet hair trapping his face. Once you dry your hands, you plop down next to him, pecking his lips. “Grump.”

A beady eye pops open before snapping back shut. “I’d like to see you get stung.” You gasp theatrically, playfully swatting his shoulder. He chuckles, hauling you atop of him. You almost giggle like a teen, but manage to tune it out. “How ‘bout our date?”

“How about you rest? Cha, we can go out tomorrow.”

His bright eyes dim. “But we only have a few days left…”

Your mood comes crashing down as well, downcast eyes flickering like fireflies. “Then I should get ready, no?” His lips turn upward. “Meet me by the door in fifteen.”

It’s a rush, digging through your suitcase, trying to find the perfect dress, the perfect flats. You lose a good chunk of hair as you comb through it, due to the salty water, but manage. You briskly fly through your makeup routine, slather your body with perfume and lotion, and dash back downstairs, finding him already standing there. 

Charles was at edge up until that moment. His tenseness slips away as soon as he sees you, looking as beautiful as ever. There’s a harsh tan going on, but even that makes you all the more breathtaking. He’s not too bad himself and you know it when you blush. From his linen navy blue shirt to his denim jeans, you swoon. 

“You smell like honey,” he stammers. “You look lovely.”

“Grazie.” A beat. “You got a few new ones.”

He’s generally a cool guy, but you always strike him with some type of new feeling. He burns up, softly grazing his nose where a few freckles pop up. “That always happens when I’m out in the sun for too long. Ready?” You purse your lips, skipping towards him. 

When you were eight, you had your first date. You suppose that really depends on how you see it. You mother had tried to become friends with a few ladies from the local book club and you always found yourself tagging along. Obligated, more so. His name was Joey and he had two missing teeth, so every time he spoke, a lisp would come through. It made you giggle cutely as you would lick your melted ice cream off your forearm. Eventually, your mother felt the right to storm out, pulling you away, and you never saw or heard of him again.

At eighteen, you had your last. You should've known from his name alone. James. He was tall, blond, a complete know-it-all, but he had noticed you. The crush slowly died the moment his eyes trailed to the next pretty girl, and the next, and the next.

Now, you’re mid-twenties and this feels like the right choice. He isn’t missing a row of teeth, he buys you ice cream and never once rushes you, he’s tall and proud, and has a set of chocolate curls. Most importantly, he has eyes for you and only you. It was as sweet as it could get. 

“Can I ask you something?” Charles raises a brow, humming along. Twirling your pasta against the metal fork, you prop your chin on your palm. “What were you doing that day at the beach? Where we first met.”

Crimson red slashes his already burnt face as he chokes on his wine. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your perspective over me.” He drums his long fingers. “I was taking a nap.”

“Oh, well, I know that, but you were basically a goner!” You teasingly whistled. “I’m a curious little monkey, so please, enlighten me.”

The Monegasque tsks, relaxing his wide shoulders. He circles the restaurant instantly before leaning in across the table. “That day I was feeling particularly stressed. I was dealing with a lot of things and I don’t remember much after that. Except when a friend gave me a so-called magic potion.” He takes a sip to fix his dry throat. “Oh it did wonders, I tell you.” Absolute wonders, he mouths. 

Your eyes widen. “Like…drugs?” you hiss, bewildered at the possibility. He cringes and nods, floppy hair bouncing. Your mouth forms a silent O, then nibble on your bottom lip, letting go. “I didn’t take you for a—”

“Me either.” You hear the sound of plates crashing down as you flinch and you both turn your attention to the apologetic waiter. The older couple look pissed, bitterly curse out the poor man, and blink as if they weren’t the vulgar ones. Charles rolls his eyes, then sighs. “I don’t think I could ever understand people like that.” 

“Ruthless?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth. It’s ugly. Makes them look so out of touch with reality, which I suppose is true.” Green eyes flicker to the waiter once again before getting up to help. Tonight is really only the first time he’s gone out without his supposed disguise, so it’s obviously made your stomach flip at the thought of someone recognizing him. 

Which they do.

“Charles Leclerc?” The accent is thick—and clearly Italian—as they step closer, phone already whipping out. The brunette turns, a lopsided smile drawn. “Holy shit! It’s really you! Can I please have a picture?” After a few minutes of chatter, the Monegasque excuses himself from the group, looking a bit suffocated. 

“Being tackled in public? That’s what stresses you out, right?” His breath gets caught in his throat, but doesn’t make a move to shut the claim down. He answers by turning his attention to his lap. You sigh. “What did you take and who gave it to you?”

“You probably don’t even know him—Daniel. He’s quite the man, knows lots of people, and thought it would help. It did. Coke. I-it was my first and only try, I promise.” 

You release a further breath. “You’re old enough to know your wrongs from rights. I trust you.” He eases up. “Doesn't mean you should rely on that.”

Charles looks up with a frown. “I feel like a fucking scumbag. I mean, does it make me a bad person to dread meeting fans sometimes? They’re always supporting me—it’s the least I could do.” 

“You’re only human, Cha. You have your good and bad days. They would understand.” He shrugs, smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you remember what you told me that day you cooked that godforsaken meal?” 

He nips the air. “You said it was delicious!”

You snicker, glad to see his humor coming back. “I lied. No, but you told me I had to stop pleasing everyone around me. Focus on myself. You said that. And I advise you to do the same.”

He’s heard this countless times. With Charlotte, which he only tuned out angrily, blaming her for not understanding his duties. Carlos, narrating how he of all people should understand. Pierre, smacking his head before walking away, already annoyed that too many people had tried to help, how he got called out on repeat. But with you, he simply nodded, somewhat agreeing. Not completely, but enough. That itself was a lot when it came to him and his stubbornness. Something inside of him told him he would do whatever you asked him to. It was a scary—liberating—feeling. 

The last time he felt this was with…

A wave of realization slithers across his features. Charlotte. That last person he felt this familiar feeling was for Charlotte. And even then, their relationship felt foolish compared to anything he’s ever felt for you. There were sparks flying when you fluttered your doe eyes back at him, when you called him out on anything he does with a witty sense of humor…

He’s been fucked ever since the tiny ballerina kissed the hot-headed Stormtrooper.

“My words of wisdom are pretty clever,” he voices, smirking. “You’re right. I should focus more on myself.” Pause. “Thank you. For everything. For taking the time to get to know me. Not many bother these days.”

You want to cry at the gratitude written all over his handsome face, the sound of his disbelief, like a kid who genuinely thought they’d be picked last for a game of tag. 

“You're very important  to me, Charles.” You gently take his large hand into your smaller one. He stiffens. “You won’t ever forget that, right?”

“Not even if I try, no.” Then he presses a warm kiss onto your skin, and you feel him smile against it. “Anything you say or do would take me forever to overlook, to erase.” More pressure expands through your already firm chest, ragged breaths. “Something tells you’re a once in a lifetime type of person. How could I ever let that slip away?”

-

You excuse yourself in a flash, tears threatening to spill after his touch felt words. Just when you thought you couldn’t feel more two-faced, he somehow squeezes your heart around his fist, and you deserve every ounce of shame, of guilt. 

After a round of paper towels that you dab as harsh as soft Kleenex, you force a bright smile in the mirror, shooting a quick thumbs up and storming back out to your date. 

The 26 year old was concerned about the hazy interaction, perturbed eyes blinking as you got up as if you had just seen the Devil himself, unbeknownst that you felt like one. He’s left anxiously waiting, tapping his shoes against the shiny tiles, leg bouncing up and down with anticipation. Cursing underneath his breath, he stands up and makes his way to the women's restroom. He receives a few baffled glances when he bolts down the hallway. 

“Jesus Christ,” you yelp, finding Charles right in front of you when you swing the door open. His green eyes narrow like knives, carefully analyzing your pink nose, red rimmed eyes. “You scared me—”

“What did they say to you?”

You frown. “What are you talking about?”

His hands make their way up to cradle your face, thumbs grazing your temples. You raise a neat brow. “Did anyone follow you? See you? Were they rude? My fans aren’t normally like this, I promise they’re sweet, but if they did anything to you, I swear to God—”

Instantly shaking your head, you let out a nervous giggle. “No one said anything, don’t worry. I just really had to pee. Promise.” 

This is what he was most afraid of when he first opened up to you, to go out in public. Charles was terrified at the image of your privacy being invaded, much like his. For hurtful words or actions to be aimed at you. And then you blink up at him with a sour expression because he knows you just cried, he obviously grew protective. Leaning down, he meekly kisses your forehead. “What’s wrong then? You hate me that much?” he jokes. 

You bite back a smile. “Something like that. How about we go somewhere dear to us?”

-

Added to the torment of what you were feeling, you didn’t think things could get any worse—and yet. 

Today. By today. Get it done. 

Aghast, your delicate fingers come up to your berry lips, pinching at them nervously before biting down on your thumb, re-reading Eleanor’s message. Friday. You originally had until Friday. It’s only Wednesday. Sure, only a forty-eight hour difference, but still. You wanted to hold onto the most valuable time possible if you could. You try convincing her to change her mind, but it was a worthless battle. You knew once she had her mind set on it, then that’s exactly what had to happen.

By today.

You’re sobbing, panting, your vision is blurry as you type on your phone, angry as you fiddle against the tiny screen. Who could you really be mad at? Eleanor? No. Charles? No. The universe? Tempting, but no. It was all you. If you hadn’t mentioned having a possible exclusive for the sake of saving your job, then you wouldn’t be tangled in this mess. 

You can’t go down that way, it’s ladies only!

I’m terribly sorry, but I have to check on my wife.

You recognize his urgent voice, deep and raw. His words aren’t true, but it fucks you up just the same. Hurrying to slip your phone back inside your purse, you quickly fix your appearance before opening the wide door, finding Charles mid-knock.

“Jesus Christ. You scared me.”

-

“Back where we started,” the green eyed boy chirps when he spots the tiny pub that sits atop of the hill. “It feels as if we were just here yesterday. This is fantastic.”

“I didn’t think you loved it that much,” you poke fun, bumping your hip against his. His watercolor eyes flicker to yours for a brief moment, then focusing back at the old shed. 

“Things can surely change in the span of a month.”

The implication was as clear as daylight, but it only flew past your head as you enthusiastically ran up, smiling back at him. Nico is still there, serving drinks with a cheshire grin, when he spots you. “I remember you! How have you been, cara mia? Is Italy treating you well enough?”

You buzz, tippy toeing as you sheepishly try to spot the main reason you came back. “Oh, definitely. I think I might stay. Do you, um, happen to have—”

“Got it right here,” he says, gloved hand wrapping around the familiar liquid. You blush, ordering a round—bottle—and making your way back to the Monegasque. As soon as the tray hits your table, he throws a dubious stare, thanking the older man. “Huge fan, Mr. Leclerc.” He extends his Ferrari merch with a timid grin. “Do you mind?”

Charles returns the warm smile. “Not at all.” He signs away sloppily, but professionally. Nico zooms cheerfully, eager to boast out to his co-workers. You giggle. Very nice, very nice. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Does my kind gesture get me a kiss?”

“We’ll see,” you mumble, looking away before he spots your pink cheeks. 

He sighs dramatically. “Do you really think it’s for the best if you drink this crap again? Do you remember the last time you had a sip?”

“I’ll go easy. This shit is good.” Throwing your head back, you gulp down the sweet alcoholic drink, eyes squeezing tightly before you huff. “Exactly. Try some.” The brunette does, but steady, a careful eye always lingering onto you. You don’t get drunk this time—rather tipsy. You tell yourself it's because you don’t want to wake up with a killer headache tomorrow, but you know that’s far from the truth. It’s simple. You just didn’t want to forget the last moments you had with him. 

His adoration would only last so long.

Clicking your phone open, you clumsily had it over to him. Record me. He huffs, but amusement colors his orbs. “Here we go again…” You snicker playfully, marching over to the lady at the piano. You’re back, she pronounces. 

“I am.” You laugh. “Do you happen to play guitar?”

She shakes her head sadly before lighting up. “But Nico does. Nico!” she screams as the man rushes over. “You play song for pretty girl standing right here?” Volentieri, he chirps, looking for his rusty instrument. After a bit of discussion, you twirl back, walking to the center stage. 

“I can still recall, our last summer. I still see it all.” Charles laughs, throwing his head back like a little kid as he reminds himself to keep your phone steady. “Walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain. Our last summer, memories that remain.” 

The guitar is a lone act, but fills up the room as if there were a band. Occasionally, the keys of the broken piano fill the room as you smile gently. From the way you dance to the way you smile, Charles lives for every moment, taking in your happiness. 

You should have seen the foreshadowing. The song. The plates that crashed during dinner. The stare. It was all laying right out in front of you, and you stupidly chose to ignore it until it was too late. 

“Our last summer, walking hand in hand…” You trail off the moment his eyes turn dark, furrowing to the screen then back to you, as if trying to come up with a possible explanation. He stands up abruptly, chair squeaking so loud that everyone’s heads turn to look. “No,” you whisper in disbelief when he walks out, leaving you like an open love letter. 

“No, no, no, no, no.” Flying down the stairs, you trip a couple of times, concerned glances shared between Nico and the older lady. None of it matters as you run after Charles. 

Anger must give you wings because he’s long gone when you reach the open air. Dirt crunches underneath your heels as you desperately try to catch a sign that he’s around. When he’s not, you instantly call a cab, rudely directing him to your shared Airbnb. 

-

He loves you; he's sure of it the moment you tuck a strand of hair behind your jeweled ear, slightly hesitant as you try to refresh Nico’s mind over what song you wanted. He even practices a few strings before winking over at you. 

He knows it the moment you reach a certain note that makes your voice crack, smiling shyly, giggling through your singing. 

And you loved him all too late. 

Draft is perfect. Green light, publish it. We can talk about your promotion when you get back. Congratulations. Hard work really does pay off. 

He recognizes the name as soon as it blares across your screen, still recording you, spinning across the stage without a care in the world. He feels inanely invasive when he clicks on the email, but pushes the feeling away with the fact that this appeared to be good news, and was there really any harm to that?

Charles Leclerc: The Man Behind the Helmet.

He reads through, spotting your name swiftly. 

Sat down with him…

High on the beach—a desperate tactic to release some much needed stress during the off season…

Golden pin, prancing horse. Gifted from the late, Hervé Leclerc…

Fearful of what’s to come once Hamilton enters the picture later in 2025…

He’s skimming but it’s enough for him to wonder if he’s experiencing true headache right now. Your voice cuts off, turning pale as you blink back at him. Fury enters his veins as he storms out, not caring about what you must think. He hears you chasing after him, but manages to climb into the first cab he sees. 

What he hates the most is that he still feels like a complete idiot for leaving you behind. For marching out without a single word. 

For being so stupid. 

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire @alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar

[usnatarchives]

A Culinary Journey Through Presidential History 🥪🍰🍽

Delving into the culinary history of the White House is a fascinating exploration of taste and tradition. This article embarks on a delicious journey through time, highlighting five remarkable recipes from the kitchens of past U.S. Presidents and First Ladies. These recipes not only offer a taste of history but also reflect the diverse palates and influences that have graced the Presidential table.

Bess Truman's Bing Cherry Mold

Bess Truman, known for her skill and style in the kitchen, contributed a variety of recipes that satisfied many. Among these, the Bing Cherry Mold stands out. This dessert, a perfect blend of sweetness and texture, reflects the simplicity and elegance of the Truman era. Truman had specific dietary preferences, famously disliking onions, and maintaining a healthy diet, but this dessert was a family favorite, indicating a balance between health and indulgence.

Rosalynn Carter's Plains Cheese Ring

Rosalynn Carter's Plains Cheese Ring is a savory delight that hails from the Southern culinary tradition. This cheese appetizer, named after the Carter's hometown in Georgia, is a testament to Rosalynn's commitment to bringing a touch of home to the White House. Its rich, creamy texture paired with the tang of sharp cheddar and the sweetness of strawberry preserves, offers a unique and memorable flavor experience.

Laura Bush's Cowboy Cookies

First Lady Laura Bush’s Cowboy Cookies are a testament to her Texas roots. These chunky, flavorful cookies, packed with oats, nuts, coconut, and chocolate chips, offer a hearty taste of the American Southwest. They were notably a part of her husband's Presidential campaign, symbolizing warmth and hospitality.

Dwight D. Eisenhower's Apple Pie

President Eisenhower was not only a leader but also an enthusiastic cook, particularly known for his apple pie. His version of this classic American dessert is said to be a delightful mix of sweetness and spice encased in a perfectly flaky crust. This pie represents Eisenhower's love for simple, home-cooked meals, a contrast to his high-profile public life.

Gerald Ford's Red Flannel Hash

Gerald Ford's Red Flannel Hash is a colorful, comforting dish that combines cooked beets, potatoes, and corned beef. This dish, with its vibrant red hue and hearty ingredients, is a nod to Ford's Midwestern roots and a symbol of the simple, wholesome American fare.

www.fordlibrarymuseum.gov/library/document/0126/1489765.pdf

Exploring these recipes is not just about the flavors and ingredients; it's a journey through the different eras of American history, each dish telling a story of the time and the people in the White House. From the elegance of Bess Truman's desserts to the rustic charm of Laura Bush's Cowboy Cookies, these recipes offer a delectable glimpse into the nation's past, one plate at a time.

Read more:

[izvmimi]

malevolent enterprise ch. 1

cw: ceo!au. sukuna and yuuji are siblings. drug use. header by @/cafekitsune! a/n: background to a series of oneshots. masterlist

Exactly two unexpected things occur exactly one week to the hour of Wasuke Itadori’s death - 1. Yuuji Itadori, second grandson from his only son Jin Itadori, inherits all of Itadori Enterprises and its subsidiaries and 2. Yuuji’s older brother and lifetime antagonist Sukuna formally changes his name to Ryomen, and establishes Ryomen Industries.

Yuuji, in moments, is saddled with the grand title of C.E.O., and Sukuna, if he didn’t have enough reasons to dislike his kind, caring younger brother, has finally added yet another one to the list. This part doesn’t particularly bother him, after all, even Yuuji has to admit, no matter how much he has tried to love his brother over the years, Sukuna is fundamentally a piece of shit. 

And that’s exactly why he’s the perfect choice for the job.

Yuuji sighs and takes another piece of sushi off of the left flank of the poor girl who’s been laid prone and nearly naked on the table for most of the evening. He’d ask her if her shift was coming to an end soon but even he had to admit it felt weird asking about the work conditions to a girl who was meant to be a prop at an event that was theoretically in his honor. The salmon is exactly the right temperature and feel in his mouth and he can’t ask for more. He offers her a thumbs up as he walks past her which has her somewhat confused, then makes his way back to the lounge chairs.

Sukuna by now has stopped schmoozing all the other industry leaders in the room and now contents himself with four giggling floozies in his lap, his practically blood-red eyes glowing in the neon club lighting as he smirks at him. Yuuji gives him an exasperated look but finds a seat far away alone. He’s actually not sure why he’s still here - the new personal assistant that was assigned to him is already sending emails from the interim chief that he still doesn’t understand and Sukuna’s already told half of the attendees he expects him to run Grandpa’s business into the ground. A few girls venture in his direction, one of which Yuuji has to admit is pretty enough to make his cheeks warm (if it’s not his last three beers finally kicking in) but Sukuna’s already whistled and called them over by the time the first girl opens her mouth to introduce herself.

“I’ve got plenty of arm space to spare!” he practically cackles, and the last girl, the pretty one, takes a last look at Yuuji before apologetically sauntering over to his brother for attention. Sukuna and another young CEO, who Sukuna cruelly trash-talked just less than a month ago, take shots off of another woman’s chest, and Sukuna finishes off the theatrics with a line of coke down her abdomen. 

Yuuji rolls his eyes, but before he can get up and finally convince himself to leave rather than tolerate his brother’s antics, another body slides into the booth next to him, bumping him on the shoulder.

“New CEO!” 

Indoor sunglasses cover the young man’s eyes and before Yuuji can smile and embrace him, Satoru Gojo has him practically in a headlock mussing up his hair. 

“Oi! Stop!” Yuuji hisses, embarrassed to be treated like a kid, especially in the presence of his older brother already trying to force him back into the shadows. Yuuji recollects himself, adjusting the lapel of his shirt but Satoru frowns.

“I’m shocked you made it,” Yuuji says. He’s delighted to see his family friend, just as odd and eccentric as Sukuna can be but with less of the dickish behavior.

Somewhat. 

"I mean hopping on my jet, cutting my vacation short-” Satoru stops and sighs, stretching out his long limbs as he leans deeper into the soft cushions, “but of course I’d show up to congratulate you.” Gojo sits up suddenly, leaning in, and Yuuji doesn’t ask himself how he can see through those. 

“So are you gonna compete with me now? Throw me out of the market?”

Yuuji grins. “I don’t think you’re touchable in all honesty, but even if you were,  I think we can both agree to be successful.”

Gojo is satisfied with this answer. Clinking his beer bottle on Yuuji’s forehead, a move that genuinely throws him off guard, Gojo downs the rest of the bottle then turns, winking at a girl in Sukuna’s court, and when she nearly rises, Sukuna gives him a practically glowing red glare. 

Gojo laughs, then turns back to Yuuji who snorts.

“I think there are enough girls to spare, Aniki,” Yuuji teases. He leans in, draping his arm over his senpai’s shoulder. “After all, I’m pretty sure Sukuna’s laywer friend is here, just waiting for you to get on her nerves.”

Gojo laughs. “She hates my guts but I know she wants me in hers.”

Yuuji sips on the beer he’d set aside, not bothering to make an additional comment, remembering the last time he mentioned the redhead to him, he’d spent nearly thirty minutes just talking about her tits. Despite this, the same man could easily be found in numerous news articles with a number of different women, so he couldn’t actually be sure of the depth of his interest, but Yuuji had the feeling that Gojo felt a little differently about her. 

A sideways glance makes it clear that Satoru is already scanning the room, to see if she’s still here amongst the throng of people. Yuuji watches Sukuna who seems to have chased away the extra floozies and now sits with one girl straddling him, his own hand suspiciously low down the curve of his ass, and the other licking and whispering into his ear, something that looks vaguely doglike. Yuuji frowns and looks away, but Gojo has already risen, his own instincts prompting him to find someone to go home with. 

But before he can go off and get really wasted, Yuuji realizes he has a serious question for the more experienced corporate bigwig before he calls it a night.

“Aniki.”

Gojo’s head turns to him, a drunken half-smile on his face.

“Ne?”

“It’s a work question,” Yuuji answers with a tinge of discomfort. Asking for help is embarrassing at this stage, but Gojo is the only one who doesn’t judge him, rather helps even if it’s in a way that seems ridiculous, like some kind of flippant genius.

Gojo frowns.

“Fine, but you have to promise to have a good time.” 

With that, Gojo starts to sway with the music, and with the great length of his body and limbs, dressed in all black from head to toe, Yuuji is briefly reminded of bamboo gently swaying in the wind. He stifles a laugh before rendering himself serious again. 

“You’ll call me a dumbass but I have a new vacancy that’s sort of high up and I’m trying to figure out who to hire.”

The lenses obscuring Gojo’s eyes don’t help Yuuji gauge his thoughts but Gojo is still dancing so Yuuji continues talking.

“I want someone from the outside. Someone who didn’t know my grandpa or Sukuna. Any recommendations where I should start looking?”

Gojo does a full body roll, then stops. 

“I’ll send you an application tomorrow. Now loosen the fuck up.”

Yuuji blinks, then starts the two-step of a man who is under too much stress but not drunk enough.

“Okay.”

[brabblesblog]

Ch 2: Whither is thy beloved turned aside?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The invitation to the Withers’ party arrives at the Crimson Palace during a ball. Astarion allows her to go, with some caveats. Angst and smut.

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

The invitation could not have come at a worse time for Astarion. They read it after the party, as the last of the guests prepared to depart.

He glanced at Ban, who was still staring at the letter. She looked a little lost, and he immediately knew she wished to go. If it had been up to him, the letter would have been tossed into the fireplace immediately. Seeing them, his old friends, would be an unwelcome reminder of who he’d been. He knew they preferred that Astarion: weak, someone who acquiesced to their wishes - with snide words, perhaps, but nary a protest. They had all slowly stopped talking to him after the rite. Not that he cared, he reminded himself; he needed no one other than his consort.

“So.” He broke the silence, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his throne. She was perched on his lap, still staring at the parchment, as if she hadn't heard him. He hated being ignored. Especially by her.

His hand slid down to grip her muscled thigh, squeezing a little harder than he normally would, aiming to draw her attention back to him. Ban’s eyes flicked up in surprise, then settled back into that detached expression she usually wore when talking to him in the presence of others.

“Yes, my lord?” she said mechanically. There were still some guests mingling in the ballroom, so she maintained the decorum befitting the Ascendant’s consort.

“If you wish to go to the reunion, pet…” he said, weighing it even as he spoke. He’d let her go. As much as he disliked the idea, she’d probably be delighted. But there was no way he'd let her out of his sight, especially not across that sort of distance. And especially not around the people who knew him before - people who had less than stellar opinions about his improved self.

“I would be glad to accompany you,” he drawled, masking the amount of time it actually took for him to decide. He stretched his legs as he spoke, as if it was a trivial matter and he’d decided on a whim.

He knew she exchanged letters with them, and it had never bothered him before. It did well to give her entertainment in between their work and overseeing the renovation of the palace. None of them had paid her a visit, however, and he found himself glad of it. Gods forbid they came and tracked mud on his carpets, touched his furniture with grubby hands, or worse - spewed supercilious, self-righteous drivel.

Ban put the parchment down. She was dressed in a tight dress with thigh slits that went up all the way to her hips, revealing the long, hard planes of her thighs. Astarion had chosen it, of course. It reminded him of the one she used to wear, the one that was given to them by Umberlee’s priestesses. His hand moved higher, rucking the dress up several inches, letting his greedy lust take over momentarily.

“We can go, pet, if you’ll let me have a little more than I usually get tonight,” he purred.

Ban nodded. Of course he’d ask for something in return. But this opportunity was far too important to pass up, especially after Gale’s most recent letter.

I may have come across some information that might be useful to you, he’d written. I shall look into it further and will update you soon.

“What… more… would you want to have?” she asked. Her pulse picked up slightly in apprehension, but also arousal. He could ask for anything, really, and if she were to deny him or push him too far, she worried it might finally be when he chose to compel her. And yet her body still responded to his words, to the mere idea of what he might ask for tonight. Still her beloved, even as they stood in the ruins of what they had built.

“I’ll let you know when we’re there.” He gave her haunch a light slap, indicating she should stand. She did, and he headed into the thinning crowd to see off the last of the guests.

She watched him go, his sharp figure cutting across the ballroom gracefully. As was their protocol during events like these, she headed for the doors, seeing the guests out and thanking them as they slowly ambled out of the palace. Her face felt tight, her smile too stiff. No one noticed. To them, she was simply the Ascendant’s plaything. No one was aware of exactly how much she contributed to his endeavors - just the way Astarion preferred it.

Before long, the ballroom was empty, and Ban headed back to their shared bedroom. The moment she opened the door he was upon her, his clothing already discarded on the floor. He growled as he pushed her against the wall.

“I have been wanting, my love. Waiting all night. I wanted to take you right in front of everyone,” he hissed against her ear, hands greedily grabbing every square inch of bare skin he could reach.

Ban arched her neck, moaning when he spoke. It was well-rehearsed and well-executed, and he usually bought it - or at least found it sufficient. Tonight, however, he did not. He drew back, arms on either side of her face, caging her against the wall.

The eyes boring into hers were as hungry and feral as ever, but then he shook his head as if to clear it. His erection stood proudly out from his abdomen, but he made no move just yet.

Ban eyed him warily, tonight’s discussion on her mind. She braced herself. “What did you want then, Astarion?”

As she said this, she slowly began to move to her knees. It was a pretty good guess; he did seem to like her in that position, to remind her who exactly was in charge. But she immediately realized it couldn’t be this. This was… normal, and he had asked for more.

Astarion’s hand on her shoulder stopped her, helping her back up. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Not that.”

Instead, he pressed closer. When he cupped her cheek, it was surprisingly, achingly tender. He pursed his lips, a small moment of uncertainty passing over his features.

“Love me,” he said, and it was a challenge. “You have not done that in so long, my treasure. Love me.”

It was one of those rare moments when he acknowledged that things had changed. She didn’t answer, but neither did she flinch. And he took that as his cue.

Hot, searing lips met Ban’s, yet another reminder that he was different. His free hand took hers and placed it flush over his heart. In the wilds, his slow, undead heartbeat had been a source of comfort to her; she had lain against it, listening to it night after night. Now it pounded and raced, something it had been incapable of before. She fought down the urge to draw her hand back.

“You haven’t done that in ages,” Astarion whispered as he broke the kiss. For a split second, he looked at her with desperate, longing eyes, but she missed it, her own eyes closed. “You haven’t listened to my heart, haven’t felt it beat for you. You used to,” he hissed, and there was anger there.

Did she prefer it when it was slow and abnormal? Did she prefer it to this one - strong, racing, living? It hurt him to think about it. Gods, it hurt him to think of before. The hand on her cheek tightened for the briefest moment, but he mastered himself. No.

“I need it again, Ban. If only for tonight.”

The words were a plea. Laced with demand, yes, but a plea nonetheless. His voice threatened to crack at the end of his sentence.

Ban exhaled roughly at his words. She was torn; a part of her wanted him to know exactly how to make her love him the way she used to. The other, larger part of her merely wished to pretend and get it over with.

“I love you,” she countered, “always have. Forevermore will.”

And that was the truth; for however changed and twisted he’d become, she would always harbor feelings for him.

Astarion wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. It was a far cry from the time they’d slept together in the clearing, when he had hopped into her arms. He carried her to the four-poster bed effortlessly, setting her down on her back. He climbed over her, kissing his way up from her abdomen to her throat.

“You do?” the Ascendant said quietly. Inside, he was pained; he knew this to be largely true, but that resignation was there. That distance. Part of him wondered if that was the actual price of ascension.

Part of him thought that had he known, he would have refused it.

He kissed her throat, hiding his face. He let a growl escape him, let his hands grab her wrists and pin them above her head. He was not, would not, be weak. He wasn’t that mewling cur. Not anymore.

He had ascended. Now he must pay the price.

He brought a hand down to cup her breast. She whimpered when he gripped her wrists a little too tightly, and he instantly eased his grasp, sensing her discomfort. He lifted his head from her neck to watch her face. She had her eyes squeezed shut, face turned to the side to give him access to her throat. It was as if she was in the act of turning away from him.

How pathetic, he thought. I’m the king of my own little kingdom, and I feel as if I have lost everything.

But the Ascendant refused to let these thoughts rule his deeds. Vulnerability was something he had cleansed from himself. He released her wrists, his hands deftly undoing her dress. She shifted to help him strip it off of her.

As they finished, she finally spoke up.

“Yes, I do,” she said carefully, her face guarded and neutral. “I have loved you from the day I first laid eyes on you.”

And what a stupid godsdamned idea that had been.

Astarion wanted to push her, to force her to admit that the love they shared had been changed. By her. Because she wouldn't accept what he was. Because everything he’d given her - riches, power, sex - wasn't enough. Because she wanted the one thing he could not provide - doing so would pave the way for the ghosts of who they used to be. So he’d force them both to settle for this farce.

“And I love you, my dearest consort,” he said thickly, letting it go. He crawled his way back to her, settling his head between her legs. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her muscles tighten under his lips.

“I am nothing without you,” he whispered, and they both knew it to be painfully true.

He sunk his teeth into her thigh.

It wasn’t horribly painful, and Ban forced her leg to stop twitching. She watched her lord suckle at the wounds, his fingers gently making their way to her mound and finding her clit. He thumbed a soft, circular pattern he’d mastered long ago. Licking off the last of the blood, he met her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. The sanguine hunger had been cured in the ascension, but he still craved her blood, simply because it was a part of her.

One dark, hungry look was all the warning he gave before he spread her folds and dove in, his tongue lapping needily at her core.

Ban hissed at the sudden warmth of his tongue, growing wet almost instantly. Sex may have lost most of its passion, but that didn’t mean there was none, or that it wasn’t enjoyable. Astarion was still Astarion, after all.

What Ban worried most about were his thoughts during the act. Did he still dissociate? They had been sleeping together almost every night since the rite, at his behest, but she had never dared ask. Before the rite, he’d finally been able to let her touch him, and even still it had been fraught. It was one of those topics she worried would hurt his ego and remind him of his past.

But Astarion was incredibly present; had been for some time now. He’d vowed to erase his past, and that had included the damage done by the parade of bodies he’d had to lie with. There’d been a learning curve, but it hadn’t been too difficult. Being in the moment was no longer challenging, not something he had to work at. Not when there was no longer anything to fear. He was the master now: he took what he wanted, in the time he wanted and in the manner he wished it to be.

And of course, because it was her. His Ban, the only one he’d ever allow to touch him, see him, know him this way, and she was the strongest balm of all. He knew he would be likely to relapse if they invited others to their bed - that shared event in Sharess’ Caress had proved as much - but alone with her, in his palace? Surrounded by everything that was his? It was effortless to be present in the moment.

He licked at her clit eagerly, alternating soft, feather-light touches with longer, harder laps. Then he wrapped his lips around it, letting his teeth graze her bud gently. He was rewarded with a low whimper and he chuckled darkly, satisfied. As broken as their love was, at least he knew he was still able to bring her to the heights of ecstasy. He snaked a hand down, palming his cock, grinding into his fist and the bed.

He licked her a bit more, bringing her close to peak, and then slowly slithered up her body. He met her gaze and saw a mix of lust, love, and that ever-present and all-encompassing resignation.

“Let me make love to you?” His tone was gentle and a little uncertain. He disliked the way it had slipped out of him, but found her reaction - surprise and… hope - well worth it. He figured that if he wanted her to at least pretend to truly love him tonight, then he may as well give her something to work with.

She gulped, the facade broken. “Yes, Astarion. Just like before.”

At any other time that would have enraged him, but his need to feel her love was too great tonight. He bit back a retort, watching her face as he stroked his cock a few more times before lining up and slowly sinking into her wet heat.

As she watched him slide into her, a small thought occurred to her: there’d never been a time they’d made love without something being off. The first two times they’d been together, he had been manipulating her. Their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands and even those final days before the rite had been filled with exploration, but also with worry. His ability to enjoy intimacy had still been fraught with setbacks. Every time after that had been after he’d changed. It was ironic, she mused bitterly, that the closest they’d gotten to healthy sex had been him seducing her for protection.

And then all thought was quickly chased away by the sensation of his cock burying deep inside her.

Astarion began thrusting. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Ban’s pained expression. He needed to think of her as she’d been, laughing as they made love - that genuine joy in simply being with him. He imagined her in the clearing, wincing a little as he remembered uncharitably thinking her gullible. Shifting course, he brought forth memories of their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands, when they had finally started something real and stopped having sex, but had found other ways to be intimate. When he would touch her, make her come undone, and she would look at him like the sun rose in his eyes. Those, he realized belatedly, were the happiest moments of his cursed existence.

He would give almost anything to see that again. Almost.

He rarely allowed himself to think of the past, but tonight was an exception. He’d asked her to love him again for one night, and so he indulged himself. He thrust faster, driven by his memories, trying to use his body to love her broken pieces back together; trying to give her what he couldn’t back then.

Ban noticed, saw Astarion’s eyes were closed. He was usually very visually greedy, eyes eating up her every reaction as he fucked her senseless, but tonight he seemed like his old self. His thrusts were hard, but with the intention to give, angling himself so that he hit her spot with every pass. She felt tenderness breaking through her apathy and was unable to stem the flow. She couldn’t help it; she stroked his cheek, surprised when he whimpered in response.

His eyes remained shut, but his face was less pained. “Stay with me,” he said, his tone entirely different. It was softer, more earnest. “Just like this, forevermore.”

“I will, if you stay like this too.” It wasn’t a demand, rather a plea. A prayer, one she hoped her Astarion could answer from across time and whatever distance now separated them.

They were both nearing their peak, Astarion thrusting as hard as he possibly could without hurting her. He shook his head at her words, an agonized expression on his face. In those few moments he’d stolen from the Ascendant, he wanted to grant her wish. But he knew once he came, he wouldn’t be able to.

He would have to be the Ascendant again when the dawn breaks, and the Ascendant refused to be that spawn - refused to be anything that man was. The spawn could only ever be allowed to surface in the dark of night, between silken sheets and whispered words; a secret the Ascendant could not allow her to see.

And if that broke her heart, well, the Ascendant could live with that. She’d still be here, and they could both continue the dance they knew all too well.

Ban decided to try again. It was a risk, and she feared being compelled, but if there had ever been a moment in the past six months that it could work, it would be this one.

“I would stay. If you let me be free, Astarion, I would st-”

“No!”

His eyes flew open, the moment evaporating instantly. Freedom? What? So she could run away from him? So he would be left with absolutely nothing, a wretched creature in far worse misery than he’d been in as a spawn? No. She could not be freed.

For a split second, he wished he’d made her into what he was under Cazador. But the thought was instantly swallowed by disgust and self-loathing. No. He would never.

But she couldn’t know.

Ban deflated at his outburst, the resignation returning to her eyes as she nodded. “Fine. For tonight, though, I can.”

He’d settle for that.

The Ascendant closed his eyes again, hips resuming their movement. He wanted to drown in his memories again, and so he let his mind fill with them, let his mind be caught in their current, allowing them to drag him under.

Her, laughing at some silly prank he’d pulled. Her in their tent, coming undone as his fingers touched her and his lips kissed her. Her, telling him she loved him for the first time, but not asking for anything in return.

The power of that final memory unraveled him. His climax washed over him, and the low whine that escaped his lips sounded nothing like the Ascendant. It was in that moment that his mind inadvertently reached for his creation - his bride.

They both gasped at the contact. He tried, frantically, to stem the flow of thoughts, and was mostly successful. Only one slipped through to her, the one which brought him to his peak.

He was reading a book while she rested on his chest, part of their usual nighttime routine. He looked down at her, brushing back a lock of her hair.

“You should sleep,” he said. “If we’re going to push for the nightsong tomorrow, you’ll need all your strength.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. Tomorrow could decide the fate of the Shadow-Cursed lands, and she did need rest.

“I want to spend as much time with you as I can. Just in case things go wrong tomorrow.” Her hand splayed over his chest, and his undead heart sped up at the contact. He smiled.

“Once this is all done, darling, you’ll have eternity with me. I promise you that. As for tomorrow, we’ll be fine. I've got you,” he assured her lightly, miming shooting his twin crossbows.

Ban laughed, and her next words came forth unbidden.

“I love you, Astarion. You don’t ever have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

The memory washed over Ban and she felt the wild, intense surprise, the joy he’d felt at her words. The strength of his remembered elation stole her breath, and she stared at Astarion in shock. When the alien presence of his mind had entered hers, she’d thought he was finally going to bend her to his will. She had been prepared to fight. Instead, she’d seen this memory, one she had thought rejected by him.

Was he thinking about that? Was that on his mind as he came?

Astarion jerked back quickly, feeling threatened by this sudden, unwanted vulnerability, and much like a cornered animal, his only recourse was to lash out.

“How dare you,” he hissed. “You ask for freedom, but invade my mind. Look at me.”

He grabbed her by the jaw, turning her to face him. He was aware that it had been his mind that had reached out for hers; she didn’t even know such a thing was possible. But his need to never show weakness was too great. Indignation won out; he took umbrage at this evidence that she could coax that sort of softness from him still, that even the Ascendant could be swayed by her love.

”You will never be free. You understand? Everyone - everything you need is here. In. This. Palace.” He let go of her, his chest heaving. Tears threatened to prick his eyes but he refused to consider why, holding them back by sheer force of will.

“You’ve done as I asked. We will go to the reunion. And then you’ll see,” he sneered, “exactly how pathetic the past was, compared to now.”

With those venomous words, he turned away from her. He missed the determined gleam in her eye, the one that he used to find so vexing and yet so alluring, the one that had never failed to charm him.

Later that night, whilst the Ascendant was in trance, his creation began to prepare a bag. She packed her old armor and weapons from their adventure. In the morning, she would say that she was giving them to Karlach for her battles in Avernus.

And he would believe it, because he’d forgotten her strength, forgotten the stubborn determination that had lured him to her in the first place. He’d believe it because he would be there, watching her. Because he, in his insistence on keeping her a caged bird, had forgotten what she was capable of.

[milfjuulpod]

Guidance, Ch II

lunch, coffee, perfume, emails

read chapter one here

A/N: heyyyy sorry for my absence my writers block is insane rn….anyways i hope y’all enjoy the second chapter, lmk how u feel abt it and what u wanna see! also- i have posted both of these chapters on my ao3, same username. ok here u go bye

-

The office you resided in was dark, a soft light illuminating from the computer screen, gentle music playing from its speakers. The desk was littered with papers, folders, notes, pens—it was quite the mess. Ava had dropped off a stack of reports on students, those who were falling a bit behind and needed a bit of help. So naturally, you quickly got to work. You knew when you arrived at Abbott that you wanted to help as much as possible, and there was no point in waiting to get started. Sure, it was only the first couple of weeks, but you figured it was best to get a head start on things.

Thus, you launched yourself into work. Most of these students had struggled all last year, and you decided to take some preventative measures to help both the students and teachers. Organizing the files into different piles, you heard a knock at the door. You invited whoever it was inside, and were met with a delightful surprise. “Hi Melissa, how can I help you?” You asked, taking your eyes off of the mess sprawled in front of you. “I think you might be the one who needs help, kid, what's all of this?” She asked, almost laughing at how disheveled your workspace was.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, as Melissa took place in the seat across from you. “Ava dropped off some files on students, so I’m trying to make plans for them for this year.” She looked at you with such care at that moment, before returning to her usual demeanor. “Well don’t run yourself into the ground before we get halfway into the school year, I have a feeling your desk is gonna look like this a lot,” she teased. You replied with a quiet yes, and went to turn the music down before Melissa stopped you.

“Hold on, is that Italian?” She asked, trying to hide the smile on her face. Glancing at the screen, you realized what was playing. “Yeah, it's called Salvatore, by Lana Del Rey, I listen to this song a lot.” Her smile grew at your statement, and took mental note of it. At this point, you wondered why Melissa came in here, she still has yet to say. As if she read your mind, she spoke again. “I came to bring this to you, I had some extra and wasn’t sure if you’d eaten already, and I’m gonna guess you haven’t,” She gestured to the desk once again before setting down a tupperware in front of you. As she stood up to take her leave, she said, “I hope you like this Italian food as much as you like listening to the language,” and walked out of your office. You felt nearly as warm as the food sitting in front of you. 

       

When five p.m. rolled around, you figured it was about time to call it. Many plans were made for students, the rest would have to wait until tomorrow. You packed up your things to leave, when you remembered the tupperware sitting on the edge of your desk. Melissa’s tupperware. Hoping she didn’t leave, you grabbed it and rushed to her door. Unfortunately, her lights were off and the door was locked. Looks like that will have to wait until tomorrow too. 

      On the way out, you were stopped by Janine. “Hey! how’s the first week going?” She asked, excited as ever. You told her about the work you had done, and what was still left to do. “I just gotta take this home and wash it now, it’s Melissa’s.” Janine’s eyes widened at that statement, making you feel like maybe you said something you shouldn’t have. “Oh, Melissa gave you that? It took weeks before she even remembered my name, let alone give me something,” She shuffled on her feet nervously. “I hope she’s not trying to butter you up for anything,” Janine’s rambling was cut off by Gregory pulling up to the two of you. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

      Walking to your own car, you wondered what Janine could’ve meant by that. Melissa had been nothing but kind to you, what could possibly make her say that? Sure, the older teacher had a bit of a tough exterior, but she already took a liking to you. Janine’s words echoed in your head, and the anxiety grew as you thought about what Melissa really wanted from you. 

        

The following morning, you walked to Melissa’s classroom with her clean tupperware and coffees in hand. One for you, one for her. You were just going to return her dish, give her the coffee, and leave. Nothing more, nothing less. The crush on her was a bit ridiculous at this point, you barely knew the redhead, and yet you wanted nothing more but to learn everything. Knocking lightly on the door, you let yourself in. “Good morning, you left yesterday before I could give this back to you. Oh, and here’s a coffee as a thank you.” You greeted Melissa with excitement. Except she didn’t match the energy, at all. She didn’t even look up from her computer as she quietly said “thank you.” 

        Okay, maybe you were planning on staying a bit longer and chatting with her before getting to your own work, and you felt a bit defeated. Silently, you left the classroom and walked to your own office, wondering if Janine was right about Melissa. It was hard to focus on work feeling this way, and slowly, but surely, it was lunch time. Opting to work through it, you didn’t visit the break room with everyone else. You missed Melissa anxiously looking for you in the break room. But her best friend didn’t. 

        

“Why do you keep looking at the door? Are you waiting for someone?” Barbara asked the woman next to her. Melissa glanced at the cameras, before deciding to lie. “Uh, no. Just…paying attention. You can never be too careful.” Barbara knew what that tone meant, but decided to let it go. Playing the events from this morning back in her mind, Melissa felt a little bad for ignoring you, and this made her upset. Why did she care? 

      “You’re shaking the whole table bouncing your leg, Melissa. What’s going on?” Barbara questioned. Melissa just sighed in response and leaned back in her chair. With a stern look from her friend, she started talking. “I don’t know. That new guidance counselor came by this morning to return my tupperware and I was busy so I didn’t really say much. And then she just left, but what was I supposed to do? She got me coffee too, I didn’t even realize until she was gone. It was good though, I haven’t been to the place she got it from. Maybe I should ask her where it is? Or…I don’t know…” The redhead trailed off. Across from her, Barbara tried her best to hide the shock from hearing her friend’s words. 

       “Why are you overthinking this? I’m sure she’s fine and wouldn’t mind you inquiring about the coffee. Go, before the break is over and I have to hear about this all over again tomorrow morning.” Barbara laughed as Melissa rolled her eyes, but she stood up to go searching. 

     

  You, on the other hand, decided to pick up a sandwich from the corner store across the street for lunch. Upon returning, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you opened the office door. “Melissa! Oh good god you scared me, what are you doing in here?” You whisper-screamed, adrenaline still rushing for a moment. “I had a question for ya,” she replied, so casually. As if it was normal for her to sneak into your office while you were out. Come to think of it, you remember locking the door, how exactly did she get in?

       “A question that couldn’t wait for me to get back from the store? And that’s my chair, scooch it,” You set the sandwich on the desk and leaned against it as well waiting for Melissa to move out of your seat. She didn’t. “Sorry for being so short with you this morning, kid. I was a little overwhelmed with making plans for both of my classes, but thank you for the coffee, that was sweet.” She smiled at you sincerely, and if this is what you get for buying her a coffee, it might become a daily thing. “Where did you get it by the way?”

        “Oh! It’s this new place that just opened up by my apartment, Opus. I’ve been a few times already, might become a regular there,” you told her. “Yeah, that makes two of us.” Melissa stood up to leave, and without thinking, you grabbed her hand to stop her. “Wait! Did you say both of your classes? You have two?” 

        Melissa was visibly surprised at your physical touch, but she didn’t pull back either. “Yeah, a combined second and third grade class. Gonna be a great year,” She informed you, rolling her eyes in the process. You let go of her hand finally and took in what she said. “If you need any help, with lesson plans or grading, you know where to find me.” 

        The teacher took your hand again and gently squeezed it before letting go, “Thanks hon, I’ll keep that in mind. And next time you need lunch, you know where to find me,” She said with a smirk before walking out the door. Sitting down, you took in the smell of her perfume that coated the area for a few moments more. The sweet scent was quickly forgotten when you looked at your computer screen. Many emails, forgotten assignments, but what caught your eye immediately, was a new email, from Melissa of all people. 

       Forgot to ask while I was still with you, but would you want to meet this afternoon or later this week to help me with some planning? Maybe we can enjoy a coffee inside the shop this time. Let me know. 

-Melissa Schemmenti

[tuiyla]

I think I like Spike

[nyonyen]

PUPPY DOG EYES

dog!randal ivory x cat!gn!reader | AO3 ᴛᴀɢs: hybrids, established relationship, suggestive fluff, pet names, scratching, play-fighting ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ: a sweet anon (🧛🏽‍♀️) will most likely do a p2 with smut if ppl are interested!

Randal lays on the sofa, stretching his frame the entire length with no regard to your comfort, “What ya watching, (Y/N)?”

You smile as his tail wags, hitting your leg roughly, “Just some Russian thing Nyon left on, I’m not sure…”

“In that case,” he flips onto his back, his yaeba fang glinting as he grins, “You wanna play a fun game?

Your whiskers twitch unconsciously, “Your last game ended up with half of my tail getting caught in the AC vent…”

“Oh, come on!” Randal cocks his head, smiling with faux innocence, “It’s only pin-the-tail-on-the-donkeyperson, don’t you just looove that game, pet?”

“Ugh, you know I hate that name!” You huff, thwacking him in the head with the remote. “Let’s just watch this, how about that?”

He grumbles, somewhat relenting, “You’re such a… what did Luther call it? Spoilsport! Party pooper!”

Ignoring him, you opt to turn up the volume. The droning foreign language and dated slapstick humor seem only to make Randal more determined— pushing him to grab the remote from your hands with his mouth, “No more Russki anime for you!”

“What the fuck, that’s gross!” You can’t help but let out a giggle as he shakes his head rapidly like the dogperson he was, growling with vigor. “You’re slobbering, ew!”

“And?” He crawls off you quickly, opting to crouch animalistically on the carpet, “What’re you gonna do about it, kitty-kat?”

So this is the kind of game he wants to play, huh?

You hop off the couch as well, stalking him with a smile playing upon your lips, “You’re in for it, mutt.”

Randal squints at the term you use for him, pleased with how easily you’re playing into his hand. He mirrors your movements, circling the coffee table as if it were a sumo match beginning. You squint back, your claws subconsciously flexing. You’re hyper-aware of how his tongue darts to lick his bottom lip— he was always so fascinated by them.

“Starting to think this isn’t even about the remote anymore, kuku…” Randal whispers as the circle closes in slowly.

You don’t grace him with a response as you finally lunge at him from across the table— pinning him to the floor. He scrambles as your nails dig into his shoulders through the fabric of his gakuran. Baring his teeth in retaliation, you press even harder into his flesh— much to his delight.

“Who knew you were such a bad kitty?”

“Do you ever shut up, Ran?” You lean close, your breath almost fogging up his glasses.

Randal’s wild eyes sparkle even more as you lick a stripe up his cheek— you feel the way his chest rumbles with satisfaction. You’d call it a purr if you didn’t know any better. You knew you had more or less ‘free roam’ of your boyfriend, with the catmen and their master out on the town. This was something you fantasized about often— finally getting the upper hand in your scuffles.

He manages to squirm a bit more out of your grasp, breaking you from your confidence-induced reverie, “Stay still and let me taste you a bit more… I know you like it, baby.”

You kiss gently at the corner of his lips as the entirety of his body vibrates from your rough affection. His silence was an unexpected bonus, as you had mentally prepared for his antics to continue. Your tongue slips between his lips, and he bids you entry easily. Randal sucks on your tongue almost instantly, desperate for even this small amount of dominance on his end.

Shutting this down with a scratch down his shoulder, he chokes out a muffled moan against your mouth. You pull back slowly from the kiss, leaving him panting unceremoniously. Watching him with lidded eyes, you suddenly spit on his outstretched tongue. Moaning again, he swallows without question.

“Good boy,” you whisper, antagonizing him further. “Know any other tricks to impress me?”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Randal chuckles again, albeit with more bated breath, “As long as you keep those cute claws in me.”

[polutrope]

This might be the most Tolkien sentence I've ever read:

Though [the Quendi] were, from their Awaking, also immediately concerned with linguistic expression - at first in especial of their delight and joy in Arda, and of their love for their spouses.

The Nature of Middle-earth, Ch. XII (pg. 84)

[cherryxcadbury]

Mbappe loving the relationship his girlfriend has with his family. His mom loves her, his brother coming to her for girl advice, his niece and nephew always wanting come over by Aunty Y/N

this is so so so cuteee

y/n: your name 

"I've been dying to see them again." You spoke to your boyfriend, Kylian on your way to his parents house.

"All those two ever talk about is seeing Auntie Y/N." Kylian chuckled, referring to his niece and nephew. 

“Now that I think about it, I think they like you more than me.” Kylian pondered.

You chuckled, “Can you blame them? You’re not exactly the most likable person in the world.” 

“Cherie everyone loves me.” Kylian scoffed, turning onto his parents’ street.

You mused at his response. 

“God the paparazzi again. Keep your head down Cherie.” Kylian advised you, as you both became blinded by the camera flashes. 

“What are they doing all the way out here in Bondy.” You muttered.

“They found out where my parents house was at the beginning of January. Been here ever since.” Kylian explained.

The flashes continued to blind the both of you. Kylian rested a hand on your thigh as a meaning of comfort. 

“Ease off the gas pedal slowly Kiks. Their driveway’s coming up.” You directed him as you both managed to pull into the gated home unscathed.

“I feel like one of these days you’re going to eventually go blind.” You sighed.

“That would be a true tragedy. Wouldn’t be able to see your beautiful face anymore.” Kylian winked at you, to which you just rolled your eyes despite a blush forming on your cheeks. 

Before you could respond, noise outside the car caught both of your attention. At the doorstep was Kylian’s mother, waiting with her grandkids, Kylian’s older brother’s children. 

The two were frantically jumping up and down, awaiting your arrival. 

You turned to share a knowing look with Kylian but he was already outside opening your door for you. 

“You go greet them while I get the bags from the back.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You smiled gratefully, walking to the door where the two little ones ran into your arms, covering you in hugs and kisses.

“Auntie Y/N! Bonjour!” They squealed.

The two of them were only fluent in French, but were rapidly learning English as they started school. You yourself didn’t speak French but you knew enough to communicate with them. 

“Bonjour [insert French word for children]! Are you being good for Mama and Papa?” You asked them, bright smiles on their faces.

They enthusiastically nodded, “Oui Oui! Of course!” 

“So you do love Auntie Y/N more than me!” Kylian feigned hurt. 

“You two best go show Uncle Kiks some love else he’ll start crying.” You whispered to them, to which they quickly complied, running to his arms.

“Y/N!” Kylian’s mom welcomed you with a warm hug.

She also did not speak much English and you didn’t speak French but you always found someway to communicate. 

“Comment allez-vous?” You asked, hoping your accent wasn’t too horrible.

You saw her eyes gleam with pride.

“Speaking French just for me! How sweet!” She exclaimed.

“Now come, come! They all want to see you!” His mom beckoned you into the house.

“Uh Mama!” Kylian complained, trying to make his mom remember he too was there.

His mom rolled her eyes muttering something sarcastically in French before hugging and kissing him on the cheeks. He was a huge Mama’s boy. They always jokingly fought with each other. 

You all went to the sitting room where the two little ones had magically teleported from Kylian’s arms back to their parents laps. 

Kylian’s father was the first to stand. He hugged Kylian first, who was physically closer to him before coming over to you.

“Y/N, cherie! Come over here!” He beamed with delight.

You and Wilfried Mbappe got along splendidly. He spoke a bit more English than the rest of his family and was someone you enjoyed talking with. You both loved facing each other in a game of cards and discussing your latest reads with each other. You’d even managed to get him to read cheesy rom coms, your guilty pleasures.

“Did you read the latest book I sent you?” He questioned, hugging you.

You nodded, “I did! It was a very quick read.”

“And?”

“It was really good! The historical setting was enthralling. But you and I both know you preferred reading The Cheat Sheet.” You replied knowingly, resulting in a laugh from Wilfried.

“Okay okay enough! I want, no need to talk to Y/N now!” Ethan plowed his dad out of the way. 

Ethan smiled at you cheekily before bring you to the kitchen.

“Someone seems excited.” You mused at Kylian’s younger brother.

He was only a few years younger than you, so you got on quite well.

“Do you remember the girl I was telling you about?” 

You furrowed your brows in remembrance. Of course you remembered. Ethan would not stop talking about her.

“Celine?” 

“Oui, oui. Her!” Ethan exclaimed, sharing the same bright smile Kylian did. 

“Her family supports Marseille.” He grimaced. 

“Yuck. That makes a messy Le Classique.” You responded. 

“Exactly! And we’re playing Marseille’s youth team next week and she’s going to be there because her brother plays for them. So what do I do on the pitch?” 

“Ethan, you do know not everything can be settled with football right?” You glanced at him with amusement.

“But if it had to be…” He tried to steer you in the direction he was headed in.

You rolled your eyes, “The maybe score and dedicate the goal to her. Or look at her during a celebration.” 

Ethan stroked his non existent beard. 

“That’s good! I like it! Maybe I’ll do one of Kylian’s celebrations. Because she’s in love with Kylian! Honestly I think she might even be into him.” Ethan rambled.

You laughed at his lovestruck expression, “How old is she again?” 

“19.” Ethan responded simply.

Your eyes bulged out. She was somewhat similar in age to you. Not at all suitable for 16 year old Ethan. 

You playfully nudged him.

“Do not try and get with her.” You warned.

“Why?” 

“Dummy! She’s 19 and you’re 16! So gross on so many levels. Also illegal. Also, not many 19 year olds are into 16 year olds. And if they are, they need to get their heads checked.” You explained.

“You have a point. She seemed kind of bossy anyways, not how I roll. Pretend this never happened!” Ethan exclaimed. 

“I promise.” You smiled, pinky swearing with him.

“Do you wanna know a secret?” He asked. 

“Always!” 

“I heard Mama and Kylian talking earlier. She was giving him a family ring she’d saved when she thought he’d found the one.” He whispered before running off. 

What? There was no way. 

You walked back into the sitting room only to see Kylian bent down on one knee, rose petals scattered everywhere, with a book bouquet behind him. 

It didn’t take you more than a second to say yes and find yourself wrapped in his arms. 

Kylian had always known that when he believed he’d found the one, his family would adore her too, unconditionally. And for him, you were exactly that. 

For Kylian, you were the sun, the moon, the stars, and the sky. You were his whole world. He couldn’t imagine living life without you. And luckily for him, you felt the exact same way. 

I will put this gif on every single post because I cannot with this man 🤩

[underdark-dreams]

[ch1] - [ch2] - [ch3] - [ch4]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.5

Ramazith's Tower undergoes a change in management.

Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Oral Sex, NSFW | Word Count: 5.5k [Read on AO3]

Rolan had fought battles with Tav before. So why did he feel such a pit of anxiety in his stomach?

Perhaps fighting gave him too much credit. The goblin camp’s ambush on the Grove, the ghouls descending on Last Light Inn the very morning after she’d returned his siblings to him…they’d never really battled side-by-side before. He’d always found himself somewhat on the backfoot around her. 

Today would change that, and there was no more time for those past missteps. Lorroakan could put up a stiff fight when crossed; he was sure to be irate at being denied the Nightsong.

Dame Aylin, Rolan reminded himself. She was a person, after all, not another relic for an archwizard’s hoard.

The Weave required his total and complete concentration this morning. Anything less might put Tav in danger, and that was unthinkable.

As such Rolan spared no thought for the morning’s customers and their tedious inquiries. Most he directed straight back to Tolna, to her clear annoyance—he could practically feel her silent glare on his back. His body moved through the motions of helping the rest, not caring how rude or addled they might find him. His mind whirred away far above the mundane.

Well-worn incantations trailed through his mind like a mantra. Each one that he knew by heart suddenly seemed worth practicing another dozen times.

With his thoughts caught in a loop, the minutes crawled by at an agonizing pace. The sun took an eternity to climb above the low structures of the outer city. Just as Rolan began to wonder whether Tav might have put off the conversation with her allies, the unmistakable signal appeared just as she’d promised. 

A blinding, comet-like streak blazed across the sky. 

Rolan’s pulse leapt into his throat as he stared up through the vaulted windows of Sorcerous Sundries. The silvery trail of it shone supernaturally bright, even against the cloudless blue of midday. Its path pointed toward the Upper City.

There was a chorus of exclamations from the customers within the building, some delighted and many terrified. A few ran out the front doors for a better look. Out in the courtyard, the troupe performing their unimpressive magic show turned tail and ran mid-demonstration.

“What in—” 

A fleck of something molten singed his wrist—Rolan shook it away with a flinch. The dwarf hawking conjurement scrolls had disappeared into thin air on his right, leaving his lava elemental to shamble untethered toward the open front doors. Its trail of superheated liquid spread perilously close to the nearby bookshelves and alchemy chests. Rolan aimed a cantrip at the thing, just barely pushing it back into its containment runes.

Tav appeared the very next instant. Dressed for battle now, she led her companions in a dead sprint through the front atrium of Sorcerous Sundries. Her longsword swung already drawn in her hand.

“Now!” Her eyes pierced Rolan’s as she dashed for the stairs.

Rolan threw his work aside. He dipped to grab his quarterstaff from under the counter, then took off for the staircase to follow Tav and her companions.

Those few seconds passed like hours in his head. In a flash, the scene waiting for them above streaked through Rolan’s mind. He knew Lorroakan’s magic better than anyone—why the hells hadn’t he prepared her better for what to expect?

“Take out his Myrmidons first,” Rolan said in a rush as they took the stairs two at a time. “They’re Weave bound—grant him resistance—”

Rolan couldn't tell if she was listening. “Tav!” He heard his own voice shouting, and gripped the metal plates on her shoulder before she could step to the portal. “Don’t go near him until they’re dust, understand?” All the subconscious reasons why he’d avoided fighting next to her before were flooding back to him.

“Yes,” she said in clipped tones, but she spared him a fierce glance sideways. “We’ve taken worse.”

This isn’t about you, this is about me and my weakness and how I will go absolutely fucking mad if anything happens to you—

He wanted to shake the words into her, but there was no time. Instead, Rolan cast without thinking. 

Just before her other leg disappeared into the swirling void, his hand directed a strand of Weave out toward her, wrapping her in defensive magic. He felt the telltale sap of energy in his chest and knew his spell had landed.

Pitiful consolation—but it was what he could manage. Rolan breathed in and shouldered his way through the portal behind her.

Already breathless and disoriented, it took him a moment to come to his senses on the other side. Rolan blinked against the bright Upper City sunlight filling the Tower before catching sight of his master on the far side of the dais.

Dame Aylin had beaten them here. Tav and her companions rushed to flank her shining wings—Rolan followed, trying to note the positions of Lorroakan’s waiting Myrmidons while catching the tail end of the aasimar’s rebuke.

“—one good reason, magus, why I should not strike you down where you stand!”

Aylin spoke like the ancient and powerful being she was; her words hit Rolan’s ears with the weight of some kind of dreadful prophecy. They would strike fear into any sane mortal’s heart.

Naturally, Lorroakan showed no such inclination to humble himself. He preened, belittled, outright lied to Aylin’s face about the glowing runes traced into the floor behind him. The man’s audacity made Rolan’s blood run hot. In this moment, he felt painfully ashamed that he’d ever called himself his apprentice. 

Clearly, Aylin was not one to suffer such fools so easily. “A liar and a thief, desperate to stretch his miserable life with the Moonmaiden’s blood. Heretic—” Her feet left the ground as she rose into the air, righteously angry, her wingspan spreading behind her to cast a shadow on Lorroakan’s face.

Lorroakan’s eyes turned pale and cold as he watched her, and Rolan recognized the look as the one he saw before a blow was struck. 

“A shame,” Lorroakan sighed, shaking up the cuffs of his robe. His gaze fell on Rolan. “Boy, mind the runes—if she won’t go willingly, then the cage must be ready to contain her.”

Even now he was too self-important to note that it was Tav’s shoulder Rolan stood beside, not his former master’s. A laugh of absolute pity rose in Rolan’s throat.

“You ungrateful hellspawn—” Lorroakan’s eyes widened with rage at the sound. “Stand against me, and you will die with the rest!”

Lorroakan’s hands made the gesture of summoning. Behind him, Rolan heard the four corners of the room surge to life as the Myrmidons woke for their master. Tav’s companions drew steel and shouted a flurry of protective spells.

Rolan took his stance and reached out for the Weave.

—

“Not in range—!”

Too late to heed Wyll’s shout of warning, Lae’zel’s greatsword sliced down into the flaming Myrmidon on the lower stair. A hellish whip of fire lashed out in response. She turned just in time, catching the brunt of it against her pauldron, but a lick of flame sliced her cheek. 

Uttering a harsh Gith warcry, she vaulted bodily around the thing to refocus on the icy elemental swirling its way toward Aylin, leaving the other for the casters to handle. Gale launched a volley of magic missiles into the column of fire she left behind. Wyll’s Eldritch blast landed after like a small explosion, bursting the thing into dust.

Tav sliced in frustration at her own target. Every time her longsword cleaved the stormy Myrmidon in two, it seemed to reform nearly as powerful. 

She cursed herself for ever underestimating a wizard as vapid yet as cunning as Lorroakan. He’d be easy to take down on his own; the problem was getting at him. 

Lorroakan was protected up to the fucking gills, wrapped in elemental power from each of the Myrmidons he controlled. Rolan’s warning echoed in her head—their only course was to pick them off, one by one, until the wizard stood on his own.

Aylin was doing her damnedest, slicing and searing the two elementals nearest Lorroakan with the ferocity of survival. Rolan flanked her superbly, casting back anything that got close on her greatsword’s upswing.

This fight is just as personal for each of them, Tav realized.

Catching her momentarily distracted, the air Myrmidon conjured a gust of air that buffeted her backwards. She wobbled and clenched her legs beneath her, trying to keep her footing on the now spill-slick carpet. The awkward position forced her to thrust her heavy sword forward for balance.

The Myrmidon directed a surge of sparking energy at her. Whether or not it was aimed to, the bolt struck her longsword like a whip crack—lightning skipped and leaped from tip to hilt and rushed straight up to her neck.

Her sword arm spasmed involuntarily, agonizingly, from shoulder to fingertips. The numbing jolt was followed by searing heat that tunneled to her very nerves—the smell of burning flesh emanated from under her arm plates. She was screaming in pain before she recognized her own voice.

A sound she instantly wished she could call back. Rolan’s figure wheeled in panic toward her, turning his back on the archwizard.

No, her lips formed silently. Burning agony forced her wordless to her knees, though she wanted to yell in frustration at her own stupidity. Too many things were happening too fast; Lae’zel flew past with her greatsword held forward like a pike, battering the air Myrmidon away toward the railing with a precise rush. Aylin’s wings beat in righteous anger behind her as she shook her head with rage—the moonbeam circling her swelled with power, incinerating two more Myrmidons on her left and right.

But all Tav could see was the red wizard’s face twisted into a snarl behind Rolan’s shoulder, recognizing an opening and preparing to seize it. She forced air back into her lungs. “Rolan!”

She thanked every god listening that he somehow understood. Rolan turned back even as the incantation formed on Lorroakan’s lips—but the apprentice was quicker than his master.

Thunderous force erupted from Rolan’s extended palms. Shockwaves reverberated out like hot gusts of wind from a furnace, ruffling through her hair where she slumped, pushing rivulets of blood and sweat across her cheeks. The spell carved its path out toward Lorroakan in a crashing wave; his boot heels skidded against the floor like a ragdoll pulled back by a giant imaginary hand. 

Then Lorroakan hit the railing behind him with a sickening crack and toppled feet-over-skull, joined by the crackling Myrmidon nearby that was just barely caught in the blast of Rolan’s spell.

There was the echoing shriek of the archmage himself, shrill and disbelieving, followed by the clatter and crash of metal and stone many meters below them. No doubt the crush of Lorroakan’s body was muffled by whatever it had collided with—no living thing could have survived a fall of that force.

The rest of her companions had paused the battle to watch Lorroakan’s fall, even Aylin herself. But then Tav realized that, in fact, it was over. Their final two opponents had just toppled into the abyss below; the rest lay crushed to dust on the floor of the Tower. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Gale remarked in wonder. He was peering down over the edge of the dais where Lorroakan’s body had tumbled along with his conjure. “Who taught you how to do that?”

“I did,” was all the answer Rolan spared. His boots were already splashing through puddles and ash to where Tav lay slumped on her side.

He knelt beside her with barely contained panic on his face. “Where is it, your arm? I should have—” Rolan was casting around, clearly trying to conjure up some knowledge of healing magic.

The raw skin below her shoulder was throbbing and hot-wet with what she knew was blood; her tunic chafed like steel against sinew with the slightest movement. With effort, she unclenched her teeth enough to speak. “My p-pack—”

Rolan pushed away from her to where she’d dropped her belongings. Though turning her neck hurt far too much, she heard the clinking of bottles as he urgently rifled through it.

He knelt close beside her again, and his thumb uncorked the potion with one sharp nail. The taste was like honeyed wine as Rolan tipped it past her lips. She could feel the bloody skin of her arm sealing back together and unsticking from her tunic. Then a wave of calm swept the pain away with such force that her vision tunneled for a moment.

Her eyes cleared to land on Rolan’s face. All at once her chest was squeezed with guilt. He was the one whose whole world had just shifted on its axis in the space of a morning. He shouldn't have to nurse her just because her lapse in focus almost got her killed.

She pushed herself back to her feet without success. For a moment she feared that her muscles were permanently broken, but then she realized Rolan’s hand on her shoulder was holding her firmly to the carpet.

“Stay put,” he instructed sternly. “Give yourself a moment.”

“I'm fine,” she insisted. Her eyes traveled over him instead, checking for injuries. A cursory glance reassured her.

“Stop worrying about me—” Rolan was scowling at her in a way she found strangely comforting. “You’re the one who nearly lost an arm.”

She twisted said arm out from under her side, waving it experimentally to and fro until her shoulder plates jangled. “Still attached. See?”

“Only because—” Rolan cut himself off with an impatient huff. Before she knew it, his hands notched under her arms, and he hoisted her to her feet with surprising strength. He kept his grip there until she’d caught her balance.

Aylin swept toward the two of them, wings spread slightly behind her with the flush of victory. But the shine in her eyes was duller than Tav expected.

“Well fought,” she praised them nevertheless. “Both of you. I did not expect you to turn on your master so readily—” Aylin leveled her gaze down at Rolan. “But you proved yourself up to the challenge.”

Rolan dipped his horns to her slightly. “Lorroakan was never my equal in magic, let alone my superior. His plans for you only proved his utter foolishness. And his cruelty.”

“Then you are already wiser than he,” Aylin declared. “I am heartened to hear it. Perhaps you make a worthy consort for my steel-hearted friend after all.”

“Glad you approve,” Tav grimaced, praying none of the others had heard that. Beside her, Rolan coughed in a way that sounded strangely like a cover for laughter.

The subject seemed to amplify Aylin’s weariness, however—with a few parting words she flew the Tower to return to Isobel. Gale was at Tav’s shoulder in the next instant, and she could already read his face.

“I know, I know…Annals of Karsus,” she filled in with a sigh. Just once, she did wish for a moment to catch her breath. 

Gale at least looked apologetic. “More urgent than ever, I’m afraid.”

Rolan regarded the other wizard with sudden suspicion. “You’re researching Karsite magic?”

“To fight the Absolute,” Tav explained wearily. “Listen, I’ll tell you ev—”

“We may need Astarion’s help,” Gale interrupted in a single-minded rush, “unless there’s a path past the vault defenses.”

“Don't look at me.” Tav turned to look at her Tiefling. “Rolan’s the Master of Ramazith’s Tower now.”

Her own words sent a shiver down her back. Rolan seemed to feel something similar; he straightened his shoulders to his full height as they looked at each other.

“If it can help, take it,” Rolan decided. He unclipped a small rune hanging at his belt and tossed it into Gale’s hands. “Give that to Tolna, she’ll disarm the route for you.”

The shift in power seemed to ripple around the room like a tangible thing. Even Lae’zel, who had been standing on the sidelines in disinterest at the subject of magery, was drawn in. She cocked her head in her birdlike way.

“This is how the archwizards of Faerûn choose their successor? Whichever apprentice defeats their master in combat?” She jerked her chin. “Barbaric,” she added, decidedly approving of the practice. 

“That’s…” Gale raised a finger as if to counter, then took a rare pause. “We’ll discuss it on the way,” he finished.

In the same breath, the two of them headed for the portal and the vault below. Tav glanced to Wyll, who gave a nod of understanding and followed the others. She and Rolan were left standing alone in the middle of the Tower’s main floor.

The two of them glanced around in silence for a long moment. Under her boots, the fine carpets squished with a mixture of ice-melt, spilled sublimates, and shards of glass from shattered alchemy equipment. The stairs on all sides were dusted with piles of ash from destroyed summons. Early afternoon sunlight streamed in cheerily through the windows, as if unaware of the carnage that had just filled the place moments before.

“Nice place you have here,” she joked weakly. 

Rolan didn’t answer her. His face was tilted up toward the towering bookshelves rising to the ceiling. Abruptly, he walked up the stairs to one and plucked a random volume from the shelf. Then he let its spine slowly fall open in his hands. 

She followed after him with curiosity. There must be significance to the gesture, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“I can read them,” he said down to the page, so low it was difficult to make out. “Every book in this tower…I can finally read them all.”

“You couldn’t before?” A unique form of torture for a mind like Rolan’s. Already, Tav was hit with another strong wave of satisfaction that Lorroakan was dead—a feeling she suspected would return many times over the next weeks and months.

“Cal’s going to love this,” he added with enthusiasm, replacing the book and tracing along the other titles. “This is the best library for leagues—not just books on spellcraft, memoirs and poetry too—”

“And Lia will love that the bastard’s dead.”

That made Rolan let out a laugh, his fang-like teeth glinting bright and sharp. He was handsomer than ever when he was happy like this. Without thinking, she leaned to plant a besotted kiss on his cheek. 

Rolan let out a satisfied hum and took her hand in response. She allowed herself to be gently pulled behind him as he headed for a delicate staircase spiraling upward against the north wall.

“Where are we going?”

“Not sure,” Rolan answered truthfully. “But there must be a bath up here somewhere. We’re both a mess.”

Even without glancing down at herself, she knew he was right. Blood and sweat and ash had soaked through the seams of her armor to coat unpleasantly over her skin.

They passed up several flights, up through floors Rolan remarked he’d never seen before. They included what must be an artificer’s workshop, filled with half-built metal constructs. Eventually they reached what was clearly the previous owner’s chambers. A massive four-poster bed stood against the far wall, rounded with arched windows overlooking the city. 

Tav felt a visceral urge to turn and leave the place immediately. But Rolan was surprisingly impassive, leading her with curiosity toward a small door in the corner. It swung forward with a touch, and they both blinked against the brightness as it latched behind them.

The room’s four walls were close-set but cavernously tall. Sunlight streamed in from the narrow windows many floors above, softly reflected by the pale polished marble of the walls. The space was nearly bright as day as a result. 

From some high point that her eyes refused to focus on, a sheet of water descended silent and smooth like the surface of a flat bubble. It seemed to flow straight into the marble tiles under her feet without a sound. Behind the shimmering surface an enormous soaking tub was built into the floor.

Intrigued, Tav shook off the gauntlet on her free hand and reached her bare fingers through. The water flowed quietly around them, closing back into a uniform sheet below as it disappeared into the floor. When she withdrew, it took her weary mind several seconds to reconcile the fact that her fingers were completely dry.

“Ramazith’s magic,” Rolan mused beside her. He was inspecting the flow of water above as though he could see the structure of the spell beyond it. Something beyond where her eyes could reach.

“You can tell one wizard's magic from another’s?”

“If you're familiar with their work. Ramazith’s research on conjuration is famous. When I was quite young, I dreamt of learning it from the man himself.” 

She watched Rolan’s face glass over slightly, and for a moment he looked very far away. Then his eyes flicked to hers. “He never wrote me back,” he explained simply. 

A memory that would do no good for him to dwell on now. She released Rolan’s hand instead, and began loosening the ties of her plate armor. 

They undressed beside each other without speaking. The only sounds were the echoes of metal falling against marble as she shed each section of armor to the floor. Rolan’s layers were much faster to make work of; when he was down to just his trousers, he turned her around to undo the tricky buckles behind her neck and shoulders. 

Eventually all of their clothes lay discarded in piles around them. She shook her hair down around her face, feeling strangely shy—not because of Rolan, but at standing covered in blood and grime in the most lavish and spotless bath she’d ever seen. She quickly passed under the quiet sheet of enchanted water, and Rolan followed.

When Tav’s dry feet met the bottom of the basin, steaming water poured up rapidly from the carved stone itself and pooled well above her knees. She sank down into it with a grateful sigh, letting the water’s surface graze her chin. It was heavenly.

“Did I mention I love you,” she groaned, eyes closed.

“I can always stand to hear it again.” Water rippled against her neck, and then she was being drawn back against Rolan’s ridged chest. She settled contentedly against him and folded his arms around her own. 

Soaking her worn muscles in a hot bath, feeling Rolan’s ribcage rise and fall steadily against her back—it was enough to feel utterly at peace for a moment. The steam rising around them was lightly scented with something fresh and herbal. 

Balsam, she realized, which would account for the speed at which her aches and pains were dissolving away. The thought brought back a memory that made her smile to herself.

“You told me once that I smelled like balsam.”

“It’s always reminded me of you,” Rolan agreed, his voice humming between her shoulder blades. “Why is that?” He added, curious.

“Cheap way to patch yourself up,” she said. “We needed a lot of patching up in those days.”

Rolan settled her more comfortably on his lap. “I remember the first day we met. You were absolutely plastered in goblin blood from head to foot.”

“And I remember the look on your face…you were absolutely appalled,” she laughed, leaning her head back against one of his shoulders.

“It was quite shocking.” Rolan’s hands traced her arms under the water. “But sexy, in a way.”

“Is that what does it for you?”

“Yes.” Not bothering to deny it, he leaned down to kiss the juncture of her neck.

“Interesting,” she mused. “Maybe I should get into fights more often.”

“Though I admit, I much prefer you like this.”

“Naked in your bath, you mean?”

“Precisely.”

She turned with a laugh, straddling his legs to sit facing him. It came as only a mild surprise to find the old bruises on his face had faded away from the medicinal steam. Rolan rested his hands on her hips under the water, gazing at her from under his lashes with those flame-gold eyes. 

She carded her wet fingers through his hair, tugging out its leather tie on the way. “You’re going to be absolutely insufferable about this, aren’t you.”

“About what?”

“All of it,” she answered, reaching past him for a bar of soap and lathering it between her hands. “Having your new tower all to yourself—” She massaged the lather into his scalp, dipping his head back slightly to better soak his hair. “Being Master Rolan now—”

Rolan closed his eyes with a deep inhale, letting her tug his head this way and that as she gently scrubbed at his wet hair. “Please don’t call me that around other people.”

“Why?” She asked, working her fingers up from his nape to back behind his horns. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it too much,” Rolan clarified, and though he kept his eyes shut, she thought his cheeks were flushed a deeper burgundy than usual.

“Ah.” She tugged his wet hair back a bit rougher than was necessary, dipping to nibble on the tip of one of his pointed ears. “So what you’re saying is, definitely call you Master Rolan when Cal and Lia come to see the Tower—”

With a splash that almost certainly soaked their clothes on the floor, Rolan flipped their bodies to land her up on the edge of the bathtub, back pressed against the cold marble of the wall.

“Insolent woman.” Rolan slung one of her calves up over his shoulder. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth descended hot between her legs.

With a gasp that echoed around the space, her head fell back against the wall. She clutched a fist into his wet hair, panting as the flat of his tongue smoothed up and parted her folds. “Fuck, Rolan—”

He only gripped her hips tighter in response to his name, sharp claws dimpling into her wet skin, tilting her up and open for his exploring tongue. When he plunged it between her folds and licked a curling shape upward inside of her, the tip of his nose brushing her clit, she groaned and shook against him and clenched her knees around his face to keep him there. He lapped at her eagerly in response, slinging her other leg up across his shoulder to join the first.

Seated against him for balance, she found her own very much thrown off. She clutched both his horns to steady herself, panting at the way his tongue swirled over her.

When the tip of his tongue hit her clit, she keened and arched her back into his mouth. “Right there—Gods—”

Rolan groaned involuntarily at the way she gripped his horns and ground herself against his face, seeking more of his hot and eager tongue against her peak. The sound only sent another shuddering wave of stimulation to her core. 

His fingers gripped her with bruising force now as she rocked herself against his mouth, tugging his horns with an insistence that only seemed to spur him on. One of his hands curled over her wet thigh to use thumb and forefinger to spread her open. As he did, his lips closed over her clit to roll her in circles with his tongue.

Tav’s legs clutched and spasmed around the dagger points of his ears. Her balance nearly slipped against the wet stone under her—Rolan firmly pressed her back against the wall, holding her steady as she twitched and came under his mouth.

Shaking and off-balance, she leaned completely into his grip as waves of release clenched through her belly. Hot tears of sudden relief rolled down her cheeks, and she scrubbed a hand across her face before he could see them. Her other hand held tightly onto the ridged curve of his horn.

When she finally floated back down to her body, Rolan had slipped her legs down back into the warm water. He kissed a gentle path across her stomach, where the muscles of her core still ached and fluttered from her climax. The loose ends of his hair tickled her inner thighs.

Limp and spineless, she let her body slide back under the water to coil sideways on Rolan’s lap. Her chin landed heavily over his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. A handful of warm water was poured over the crown of her head. In the back of her hazy mind, she realized he was quietly washing her hair for her in turn.

To her embarrassment, more tears streamed down her cheeks, rolling to patter against his shoulder. She hoped he couldn't tell the difference from the rippling bathwater. When a snuffle caught in her throat, she knew she’d given herself away.

“I'm so—tired—” She choked out, feeling very foolish for ruining such a rare lovely moment in a lovely place. But the tears still leaked out the corners of her eyes. 

“Then stay here and rest a while,” Rolan told her, his nails gently scrubbing her scalp. He sounded remarkably unbothered by her reaction.

“I can’t,” she groaned into his shoulder. “I have so much to do—the Vault—”

“Maybe I can help,” Rolan replied, resolutely dumping more trickles of water to rinse out the soap. “For one thing, why in hells do you need a book on Karsus?”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut; she felt a jumble of words boiling up in her chest. 

“Rolan…the Absolute is actually a giant, ancient, angry Elder Brain chained up deep under the city. And Gale thinks it’s wearing the Crown of Karsus, and that’s how Ketheric and Gortash and Orin are managing to control it, with these Netherese stones…only now Ketheric’s dead and we have his stone, so the containment’s breaking. And it’s going to go free and absolutely lay waste to the Sword Coast unless we get to it first.”

Rolan was very still against her as everything poured out. Then his fingers smoothed her wet hair back. “That doesn’t sound like a problem we can solve today,” he said decidedly. 

“But I have—”

“Tav.” Rolan’s arms drew her away firmly. Unable to escape his gaze now, she nevertheless hung her head, ashamed for him to see her red-faced and weeping like a child. “You’re making mistakes. You nearly got yourself killed just now. If I hadn’t put mage armor on you, you might’ve lost your sword hand.”

She stared up at him. “But that spell doesn’t work if you’re wearing plate,” she blurted out.

“That’s not the—” He shook his head impatiently, as if she was changing the subject on purpose. “The point is you can’t help anyone if you’re dead. And if you keep going like you have been, you might get yourself that way. Do you understand?”

He let her lean forward to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re one to talk,” she mumbled, feeling rather defeated nonetheless.

Rolan wrapped an arm around her back. “It’s not easy to ask for help,” he agreed quietly. “But there’s no need for you to do this alone anymore. It’s reckless, for one thing. And you have allies.”

She kept her face tucked against his neck, feeling his pulse against her lips, and thought on it.

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“What?” She raised her head to look at him. “Rolan, you’re…you’re honestly one of the most determined people I’ve ever met.”

Rolan examined her expression for a moment. One of his hands worried little circles into her back underneath the water. “I haven’t felt that way,” he told her. “I’ve felt stupid and ashamed for weeks. After everything, when you came to the city—” His voice broke slightly, and he looked up at the ceiling to continue. 

“I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want you to see me. After all the times you’ve helped me and my family, I couldn’t bear for you to see me at my worst all over again. It was painful,” he decided. His gaze tipped back to meet hers. “And now it’s better. You’re strong, and you’ve helped me. So let me help you, Tav. It doesn’t make you weak.”

She leaned in to kiss him. Hands through his hair, she pulled his mouth against hers, pressing their lips firmly together.

When they broke apart, she kept Rolan’s jaw held between her hands. A trickle of water ran from his hair down across his temple. 

“I’m absolutely in love with you,” she declared.

As she watched, Rolan’s damp and freckled face split into a charming grin, the sharp tip of one fang notching over his lip.

“I know.”

[theold-ultraviolence]

Bestie fuck us up with girldad!aemond!!!

Ohhhh bestie.......dad!Aemond in general is something I love to read but didn't think of venturing into myself and now I can't stop thinking about it. I have a couple of thoughts. Ok this is modern!Aemond but please, to all the besties, let me know if canon dad!Aemond is something you'd like to see from me!

Aemond and reader never really thought about being parents. I never like detailing my reader's family background that much so it can be inclusive to all, and with Aemond we all know there's a lot of family drama that always surrounds him, and his own dad never really paid much attention to him nor his siblings.

You're both content with being dog parents to Vaghar and Patch

But one day you're going over to Helaena's to babysit Jahaerys and Jahaera (whom in the modern au I hc that Helaena adopted them)

And Aemond is struck with all the feels when he sees you playing with them; holding them and rocking them in your arms all smiling and happy. In his eyes, it looks as though you're glowing. And it's got him thinking about you carrying his own child.

Of course, he shakes off those thoughts because it's something you've talked about not being interested in. But now it's in Aemond's mind, and he can't stop thinking about it.

Now when he sees you with Patch in your arms, cooing at him and calling him, 'my baby' Aemond's just all fuzzy within. He just has to bring it up. When he does, one night when you're laying in bed together, you confess that you'd never considered children until him. But it's still something you're so nervous about. You already have a nice little routine of your own, and you've been by yourselves for so long now, you're weary of how a baby might change you.

You decide to wait a year and talk again about how you're feeling to see if anything has changed.

After a year, you decide that you're gonna stop using contraceptives, and just go with the flow. Don't think about it too much. If it happens, it happens, and you'll welcome it.

Of course, it ends up happening!

And Aemond's over the moon when it turns out you're having a girl! he never really considered the gender of the baby, and didn't have a preference. But when the doctor breaks out the news he wouldn't have had it any other way. A girl is perfect. He's already in love and feeling so attached to his baby. He buys her all the nice things, the fanciest, most expensive cradle and stroller, baby clothes from fancy brands, and all that jazz.

When he sees her in your arms for the first time, after you give birth to her...his world turns upside down. He's never ever felt this fierce protective and devoted in his life. He's just overcome with pure, unconditional love. And he also sees you in a whole new light. You brought this child into the world, through gritted teeth, blood, sweat, and tears. And he never thought that it was possible to love you even more than he already did.

He's obsessed with having his baby in his arms because, she's so, so so tiny. How can she be so tiny and delicate!?

He looks so funny, all tall and scary with a tiny baby girl in his arms.

And he loves it. He loves how easily he can lift her up in the air because to him she weighs nothing. And he delights in hearing her laugh when he does. He loves tickling her, and caressing her soft cheeks, feeling the weight of her head in the crook of his neck.

His Targaryen genes are strong so she mostly takes after him, but her general frame and mannerisms (as she grows) are yours, as well as your nose.

And the baby is obviously adored by the dogs as well. At first, Patch was a little jealous because he was used to being the baby of the house for so long, but honestly, that lasts like 2 seconds. As soon as he gets a big whiff of the baby's scent he's head over heels.

Now he finds her clothes and clean laundry basket and nestles himself there because he's smitten.

Aemond likes those nights when he lets you sleep, and he's the one getting up to change her and feed her. He sits on a rocking chair in the nursery, with Patch by his feet as he rocks his baby in his arms and maybe hums lullabies to her until she falls asleep.

I can't decide on a name to this baby but I love the sound of 'Lucy Targaryen', 'Lilly Targaryen', and 'Amaelia Targaryen' (with the ae to make it more westeros-y lmao). The last one may be my favorite but I'm open for the besties' input!

[amournoir]

Hey girl! I love your oneshots and I thought about this oneshot (klaus m. x reader) where she's Hope's mother and a part of the family, also married to Nik. Hope is eleven and they all go watch the Barbie movie (2023) and mother and daughter force them to get into character, like wearing pink, singing the songs, and etc. Rebekah is a big fan too! Thanks for reading this, even if you don't take the request.

pairing(s): f!reader x klaus, f!reader x hope, klaus x hope

count: 1.3k

warning(s): absolute fluff

author’s note: thanks for this request! it was actually fun to write! ☺️

Barbie Fiasco

In the Mikaelson mansion, amidst the opulent decor and timeless elegance, a rare moment of familial unity unfolded. Hope, the precocious and imaginative 11-year-old daughter, had managed the seemingly impossible task of convincing both Y/N, her doting mother, and Klaus, her imposing yet doting father, to join her in watching the latest Barbie movie.

The grand room, usually reserved for solemn meetings or strategic discussions, now transformed into a cozy theater for the Mikaelson family. Hope nestled between her parents, excitement radiating from her as she clutched a bowl of popcorn, her eyes fixed on the colorful world of princesses and magical adventures.

As the movie played out its whimsical tale, laughter and joy filled the room. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at Hope’s infectious enthusiasm, occasionally stealing glances at Klaus, who, despite his stoic nature, couldn’t hide the softness in his eyes while watching their daughter’s delight.

As the movie ended, it left the Mikaelson trio enveloped in a cloud of contentment. It was a precious moment—bonding over something as simple yet enchanting as a Barbie movie. The shared experience forged a new memory, etched in the hearts of a family often consumed by the complexities of their supernatural existence. Hope’s fascination with the Barbie movie didn’t wane after the credits rolled. In fact, it ignited an unexpected whirlwind of enthusiasm within her. The moment the movie ended, she turned to her parents, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Mom, Dad, that was amazing! Can we please reenact the scenes?” Hope pleaded, her enthusiasm infectious.

Y/N exchanged a glance with Klaus, both equally amused and intrigued by their daughter’s request. “Well, darling, how about we watch the movie again tomorrow?” Y/N suggested.

But Hope was adamant. “No, Mom! We have to do it now while it’s still fresh!” she insisted, her eagerness bubbling over.

Klaus, the formidable patriarch of the Mikaelson family, took one look at his daughter’s animated face and couldn’t resist her fervor. “What do you have in mind, little one?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Hope’s eyes widened, a mischievous glint dancing in them. “We need costumes and you two have to get into character! Pink dresses, crowns, and singing the songs!”

Y/N stifled a laugh, watching her husband’s skeptical expression. Klaus, known for his stoic demeanor, was about to embark on an unexpected adventure into the whimsical world of Barbie. The absurdity of the idea didn’t escape Y/N, yet she found herself intrigued by the prospect of seeing Klaus in a completely different light. Hope’s pleading eyes and infectious excitement eventually won them over. With a shared glance and a shared smile, Y/N and Klaus agreed, promising to indulge Hope’s fantasy of a Barbie-inspired family playtime.

The next day, Hope’s excitement knew no bounds. She rummaged through her mother’s extensive wardrobe, pulling out every pink garment she could find. Y/N, amused by her daughter’s fervor, assisted in selecting the most vibrant and outlandish ensembles for the upcoming playtime. Klaus, however, approached the situation with cautious skepticism. He observed the flurry of activity, a mixture of bemusement and reluctance etched across his features. Hope bounced around the room, sorting through costumes, determined to transform her family into the characters from her newfound beloved movie.

“Alright, darling, we’re ready,” Y/N announced, donning a flowy pink dress, an ornate crown perched atop her head, looking every bit the part of a fairytale princess.

Klaus, on the other hand, stood there in his traditional attire, a raised eyebrow his only response to the extravagant display. “I hardly see the point of this,” he grumbled, though a hint of amusement danced in his eyes.

Hope’s face lit up with sheer joy, her enthusiasm contagious. “Dad, you have to get into character! Wear pink, smile wide, stand on your tippy toes— be a Barbie!”

With an exasperated sigh, her father relented, stepping out in the most absurdly pink outfit he could find within his and his wife’s wardrobe. He wore his wife’s pink leggings that were far too tight on him, they rode up halfway to his legs and a pink fluffy glitter coated skirt sat around his waist. He couldn’t find a shirt so he settled for a white one with pink lettering ‘be true to you’, a shirt Y/N and Hope had worn to a mommy and me brunch. To top it all off, a large makeshift pink crown with black dots —presumably the diamonds— sat on his head with a pair of pink and white striped fuzzy socks. The contrast between his stoic nature and the flamboyant attire was enough to send Y/N into fits of suppressed laughter.

Yet, to Y/N’s surprise, the feared original hybrid embraced the absurdity of the moment. He sang along with exaggerated dramatic flair, mimicking the characters from the movie to appease his daughter’s whims. Y/N watched, thoroughly entertained, as Klaus fully committed to the role, an unexpected and endearing sight. Their living room transformed into a scene straight out of a fantastical fairytale, the family was fully immersing themselves and channeling their inner Barbie, much to the amusement and delight of Hope.

Unbeknownst to the trio, their impromptu Barbie-inspired playtime hadn’t gone unnoticed within the household. Rebekah, intrigued by the sounds of laughter and frivolity emanating from the usually stoic corridors, decided to investigate. She stealthily made her way towards the source of the commotion, her curiosity piqued by the unusual sight that awaited her. As she peered into the room, her eyes widened in sheer delight at the spectacle unfolding before her.

Rebekah couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of her brother, adorned in the most ludicrous pink ensemble, wholeheartedly participating in Hope’s fantastical world. Y/N, equally engrossed in the play, radiated joy, her laughter filling the room. Her phone in hand, Rebekah captured the heartwarming scene, documenting the unexpected and endearing sight of her formidable brother embracing the fantasy. She couldn’t resist joining in, eager to partake in the familial revelry.

“Rebekah!” Klaus shouted, momentarily breaking character as he noticed his sister’s presence.

Rebekah simply grinned, snapping pictures and recording videos of the unusual but heartwarming family moment. Her laughter and participation added to the joyful atmosphere, turning the family playtime into an unforgettable event that would be remembered and teased about for days to come.

Days turned into weeks, and the delightful Barbie-themed family playtime had left a lasting impression on the Mikaelson household. While the memory lingered as a cherished moment for Y/N, Hope, and even Rebekah, it became a source of endless amusement for Kol.

He seized upon every opportunity to tease Klaus about his unexpected Barbie impersonation. He found endless delight in poking fun at his brother, exploiting every chance to jest about Klaus’s unexpected venture into the world of princesses and magical adventures.

Every encounter with Klaus was an opportunity for Kol to craft witty remarks and humorous anecdotes about Klaus’s ‘Barbie persona’. His sly comments echoed through the halls of the mansion, earning a chuckle from anyone within earshot.

“Ah, brother, who knew you had a penchant for pink?” Kol teased, a smirk playing on his lips as Klaus rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

Despite Klaus’s attempts to dismiss Kol’s jests, the teasing persisted, the memory of Klaus’s reluctant yet endearing portrayal of a Barbie character becoming a running joke among the siblings. Though slightly irked by Kol’s incessant teasing, Klaus found a sense of amusement in the situation. The unexpected turn of events had brought about a lightheartedness within the family, a break from the usual brooding nature of their existence.

The Barbie movie fiasco, as it came to be fondly known, remained a cherished memory for the Mikaelson family, a moment of lightheartedness and laughter amidst their timeless legacy of darkness and drama. And despite Kol’s relentless teasing, Klaus secretly cherished the memory, finding solace in the familial bond that transcended even the most absurd and unexpected moments.

🏷️ taglist:

⤷ @catmikaelson20 @elijahmikaelsontrash @hopes-wife @klaustopia @klausysworld @loverswillowed @moremaybank @miasmultifandomdump @mrs-maximoff-kenner @multiversediaries @mxacegrey @original-siphon @onlyfreds @panic-at-the-fiction @ranising @slinthoex @spike-and-angels-gf @spnandtvdudeservedbetter @thatfanficstuff @thatfictionalwh0re @wholoveseggs

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