#now i made a new oc and have thoughts about a second (and third and fourth yk the drill)

[the-travelling-witch]

1) you're not appearing on my dashboard as often as before and i find it extremely me-phobic from tumblr 🙄 idc if it's ramblings or writing TUMBLR LET HOLLY TAKE PLACE ON MY HOME YOU DAMN COWARD

2) idk why but i noticed now your aesthetics about scara's style of clothing and tattooing??? or maybe i forgot but then remembered it idk BUT ANYWAY now a teeny tiny question: will you perhaps do the same for the others in the future, should you find the proper pics? i think it's nice to have an actual reference for that kind of things, otherwise i don't think your followers will be short on ideas lol :>

mwah mwah take care~

— ❄️

1) i think it’s less of a tumblr issue and more of a holly issue, i’ve been very unproductive and didn’t dare show my face around tumblr jshsh (i really need to finish these diasomnia hcs and get back into the posting game but now there’s this oc who’s wedged himself into my brain)

2) i might if i can curate the right collection of pics; i didn’t realise it’s something people would want bc i just assumed people would project their own aesthetics onto the characters anyway; but i can definitely look into that (i was thinking about an outfit today and thought “modern au kazuha vibes”)

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 03

✩°｡ ⋆ the right husband

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, domestic life, family drama, fluff

notes: you and megumi start noticing these little things about each other? anyways, slice of life for this chapter―let's call it "fluff before the storm" *evil smirk*

listen to: found you - jyj more for fluff effect ehe

✩°｡ ⋆ unholy matrimony (masterlist) | chapter two : unholy matrimony <- previous ✩ next -> chapter four : going downhill

Your marriage to Megumi is, considering all things so far, peaceful. While it's platonic at best and filled with petty arguments at worst, both of you still managed to become something akin to close frenemies.

And Megumi is, in every sense of the word, a very decent husband.

He was well aware that living at the Zen'in estate had been far from comfortable for you―bumping into Naoya on several occasions definitely did a number on your mental health―and it wasn't like he enjoyed it either, so when your marriage reached its third month, he declared before the elders that the two of you would move out of that accursed property and live on your own.

"This place is nice." You marveled in awe at your new shared apartment. Every piece of furniture and appliance was brand new, exuding a modernity that was a stark departure from the aged, wooden-themed furnishings of the traditional Zen'in household.

"Of course, I chose it," Megumi quipped as he moved the boxes of your belongings. The second he saw this place from a real estate pamphlet, a spacious two-bedroom apartment with good cooking space, he immediately dipped into his life savings to purchase it.

To have his own personal space away from the clutches of the Zen'in, and let's not forget that now he has a certain wife to come home to. So overall, he considered it a good investment.

He eyed you, as you gleefully fussed over the little cactuses on the window. "Oi, get your things," he barked and you whipped your head at him sullenly, before begrudgingly stomping towards him.

By now, Megumi had found you more than just tolerable. Sometimes you still annoyed him with your little antics, but you were funny. He couldn't deny that his life had brightened considerably for the past three months―he wasn't as bored.

"You could've helped," you griped with a glare as you reached out for your box.

"You must be responsible for your own things," he deadpanned.

"But you're the husband! Husbands help their wives, no?"

That word again. Megumi didn't know why sweat gathered at his palm and something inside him jolted whenever he heard you refer to him as your husband. Shouldn't he get used to it by now? You made fun of him almost every day at this point.

He glanced at you with a straight face, or at least trying to. "Husbands don't help irresponsible wives."

"Hmph!"

You puckered your lips in indignation, and at that moment, Megumi thought you were cute.

Wait... what?

Well, the least you could do after he so kindly had both of you out of that Zen'in hell was of course, getting your own belongings in order. So you picked your boxes of outfits, already marked with your name, two at once just because you wanted it done quickly. The weight made you wobble and unsteady on your feet though.

Megumi frowned, already dreading one possible outcome. "Hey―"

And suddenly, you lost your balance, and he didn't think twice when he caught your hand, didn't think at all when your boxes fell with a thud, scattering the contents―as he instinctively pulled you to him, with him bracing the impact of the cold, hard tiles.

The feminine scent of your favorite shampoo filled his nostrils.

You fell on his chest hard, and even you felt the pain. "Megumi! Gosh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

You wanted to make sure he was alright that instant, your hand rested on the black sweater he had on, and what you touched―his body―was sturdy, hard. It dawned on you that it was probably the first time that both of you were this close in distance.

Your cheeks bloomed into the wondrous shade of peach, but you either didn’t notice or ignored it as you peered at him. "I'm so, so sorry! Did you hit your head? Oh no, are you in pain?"

Megumi cracked his eyes open, hissing at the pain on his back. And the immediate sight in front of him was the pair marbles of your eyes. And for one good second, he just bored through them.

Then he blurted the first thing in his mind to save his thoughts from being caught. "Get off. You're heavy."

You were broken from your trance and scrambled away, still mumbling apologizes. You honestly felt bad. "Sorry... I'll get my things right away. Are you fine though?"

He got up, rubbing his back. "Just get your things. It's fine."

"Once again, I'm sorry―"

"Yeah, yeah. You're so troublesome."

You wanted to retort back but you bit your tongue due to guilt. With a sigh, you put your scattered things in the box and went to your designated bedroom.

Megumi shifted his gaze to the little succulent pot he placed at the living room as you stalked away. Yeah, he was the one who bought those cute little plants and placed them at every corner of the place, wondering if you'd like them. His face burned at the remainder of your touch on his chest, and the vividness of your doll-like eyes just now.

Has he always thought you were pretty?

As much as you and Megumi wanted to live as mundanely as possible now that you had moved out, some bumps were still bound to happen. Zen'in clan, at any given chance, choked both of you with their traditional values; the importance of a man's strength and woman's virtues, heirs and whatnots―which sounded like a bunch of nonsense to you most of the time.

But as you’d been made aware, Megumi had his own agenda as to why he agreed to this marriage. He has a sister, who was cursed, and he wants to use his newfound resources obtained from the Zen'in who has legitimatized him.

“How long has she been like this?” your question came out in a whisper as you took a good view of Fushiguro Tsumiki on the pristine hospital bed. She looked so peaceful, as if she was merely sleeping and not on the verge of death. The only thing out of place that would show you her apparent state was the crimson curse mark on her forehead.

You had just finished your mission and decided to join Megumi after he finished his to visit his sister. It was your first time seeing her and the sight of her was quite heartbreaking.

"Almost nine years now." Megumi didn't turn to you as he gazed at his sister in melancholy. He looked sad, and deservedly so. You wouldn't be able to imagine how destroyed you'd be if your mother was the one in Tsumiki's place.

"Have you been able to figure anything out?"

"Nothing so far," he lamented. "Even after living in that godforsaken place for three months, I didn't find anything worth trying in the archives."

During the first three months of your newlywed life, Megumi spent a lot of time away in the warehouse of archives of Zen'in estate, looking for any way for him to help break this curse. Reflecting on those early days of your marriage, you couldn't help but recall how dreary and monotonous they had felt.

There wasn't much that he could do aside from visiting her, and so after leaving refreshment for the nurses, the two of you went back to your shared apartment together in silence.

"How was your mission today?" Megumi asked with a neutral expression as the two of you waited at a crossroad. He maintained a vigilant watch over the passing and approaching vehicles, positioning himself slightly ahead of you.

This. You can feel your cheeks getting warmer. Small gestures like this make your heart soar these days.

"Fine, just a grade 1. The usual," you answered, looking away from the sight of his broad back. "You?"

"Yeah, same. Ah," he pointed at the green light. "Let's walk."

He instinctively slid to your right, positioning himself closer to where the cars were lining up. It was a subtle gesture you had come to notice over time—Megumi is a gentleman underneath his prickly exterior.

He would get you take-outs even when you had insisted to cook. And he was fine with you invading his personal space in the very apartment he bought with his own wages from jujutsu work. And of course you noticed those little pots of succulent he planted just to make the place seem brighter—a considerate and thoughtful gesture on his part.

"I don't think I have properly thanked you," you murmured when both of you reached your home. "Thank you for getting us out of that place."

He glanced at you with a blank expression. "Hmm."

"But how do you get them to agree with this arrangement?" No matter how you look at it, Megumi must've faced quite a challenge. For a household as ancient as Zen'in, something like moving out must be seen as some sort of an outlandish behavior.

"I just said it as it is. It's a big deal, you know?" he replied with a grunt, taking off his shoes. "It's enough already that we keep our heads down and go with whatever they say, but marriage is a business between two people, not the whole clan. And it makes things convenient too for us in the future, so why not?"

"You're thinking that far ahead," you mused, blinking a few times.

"Yeah? Unlike you, I'm the adult here." He shot you a withering look. "While they keep droning on about having a kid, I used that chance to emphasize just how important it is for us to have our own space."

Ah, that again. It irked you too that the Zen'in elders seemed to pressure you into having a child. What was their aim anyway? A Ten Shadows-wielding baby?

But you were curious. Mainly because you just wanted to get a rise out of him. "Hmm, be honest with me. What are your thoughts about having a child?"

Your question clearly took Megumi by surprise, evident by how he immediately snapped his head towards you with an annoyed glare. "You're seriously asking me that, now?"

"Yes, why?"

He shook his head, settling on the couch. "I don't think I'm ready to raise a kid. I mean, the only reason they want us to have one is for that kid is to inherit the Ten Shadows. That's not exactly a good reason to have a child."

You should've expected this degree of seriousness from him. He was this kind of a person. But you really thought his obvious answer was cool, despite yourself.

"What about you?" he finally asked, waiting for your response.

You snorted. "Well, I share the same sentiment with you. I might've wanted to have them someday, just so I can protect them though." You fiddled with your fingers. "Children... they never ask to be born. We are the ones who must be responsible for them."

If he had to be honest, he was a bit taken aback. You had just said two things—a possibility of having children with him and a glimpse of what you believed in. Megumi decided to focus on the latter though.

"What was... your childhood like?" he tried to choose his words carefully, but it still came pretty straightforward to his liking.

"You don't have to be on eggshells around me while asking that," you chided with a smile. You'd figured he'd ask one of these days and it was no longer a sore topic for you to talk about. "A sob story, more or less."

You felt his questioning gaze on you, so you elaborated. "My mom didn't know that my father was a married man. She didn't know she was the mistress until she had me. And from then on, she lives the life of an abandoned wife whose sole purpose is to nurture her child to the fullest. Me."

You clearly had Megumi's attention with the way you worded your story. You shrugged. "My childhood was a happy one when I was unaware of anything and everything, until my father decided to take us back just to make me try these... jujutsu shit," you bitterly scoffed. "Apparently I have a knack for it, way more than my entitled half-sisters do. And so he finally provided for us."

You let out a full-blown laugh laced with sarcasm—you didn't know how it sounded to his ears. Miserable? Plain acceptance?

"Mom poured her heart and soul for me, so that I won't live a terrible life. She said it was better with my father rather than her, so she let me go." Reciting this story should no longer hurt, so why do you have the beginnings of tears at the corner of your eyes? "And father literally made me work for him. If I wanted to see mom, then I had to excel at a cursed technique. If I wanted to meet her, I must marry that prick Naoya."

"That's—" Megumi wanted to say something—anything, perhaps to soothe you. But he held himself back when to both of your surprises, you sniffled.

But you wiped your eyes and forced a chuckle before he could say anything. "No, sorry, Megumi. I wasn't looking for your pity. Yeah, so that's that. It's not like I want this." It's not like I want to trap you with me.

Megumi wasn't sure what his reaction should be so that he wouldn't come off as offending. But now that he had heard this from you, he was even more certain of one thing.

"Good thing I got both of us out of there, huh?" he lightly jested, and it worked. You burst into these cute giggles.

"They barely did anything to you though. You could've stayed."

"And watch Naoya harass you? Nah."

"Ah," your eyes now twinkled with that no-good gleam he almost saw everyday at this point. "So you no longer hate me. We've come this far. I'm touched."

He rolled his eyes. "I never said I hate you. Throughout people in our clans, remember? We can only trust each other."

"That's what I call progress, dear."

And Megumi didn't know where he got this sheer confidence from but he didn't falter when he retorted, "Whatever you say, wife."

That night, when you got back to your separate bedrooms, once again you were convinced.

You have picked the right husband.

✩°｡ ⋆ next -> chapter four : going downhill

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @illyrian-moonswarrior @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast

[cdragons]

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Jace is delulu, tiny!Aemond is kind of a jerk in this one, Dark Themes, shit is going down, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also, translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also, I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠

Author's Note: I'M BACKKKKKK! I am so sorry for leaving this story alone for so long! I have been getting into other fandoms and making new stories because of those fandoms. But the two new trailers for HOTD season 2 brought me back! I swear I will be better at updating this story! But on the bright side, I made this chapter over 5k word length! I own only the plot and OCs of this story, please do not repost without my permission.

Despite living in the Red Keep for nearly your entire life, you still felt hopelessly lost as you walked down the corridors beside the prince. Like you and Aemond, the sight of you walking side by side with the heir of the Iron Throne’s firstborn son made for an unusual sight for the courtiers of the Royal Family. But this was not the case with the serving staff, which comprised smallfolk. Your mother was a favored companion by Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra. Despite coming from such humble beginnings, Doreah of Essos became a highly regarded member of the serving staff belonging to the House of Targaryen. All the maids respected your mother, while most stewards who served under knights idolized your father. And as your mother’s daughter, they were very used to the vision of one of their humble sewists’ children playing with the Royal children.

As a result, no one so much as batted an eye when they saw you walking down the halls directly beside Prince Jacaerys. It would have made a much more unusual sight if your presence was absent by either his or his uncle’s side. The older staff bowed their heads in respect to the prince while also flashing a small but kind smile at you. The younger serving girls were still too new in the ways of the court and beamed with broad smiles at the sight of you before acknowledging Jace. You grinned back as you inwardly beamed at the knowledge that Head Septa Marlow was with you.

She would have scolded those girls fiercely if she had caught them greeting an apprentice seamstress before the prince.

You turned your head to glance at your childhood friend, who happened to be second in line for the Iron Throne, as you both made your way to his mother’s chambers. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in the troubled expression on his face. Just a few minutes ago, he was practically bouncing on his feet as the two of you left Aemond alone in the Godswood. But now it felt as if he was a thousand miles away from you despite being so close. Having been by his side since his birth, you always felt a sense of protectiveness toward the young prince. No matter his station, you were a month past your third name-day when he was brought into this world. It was natural that you were perspective to his shifting moods.

“Jace?” you softly called out to him. You were relieved to have brought him out of his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

Jacaerys stopped in the middle of the stone corridor. Staring at you with those large brown eyes, he looked much older than his actual age. When someone as happy and bright as Jace became somber, it was always a reason to worry. Was Rhaenyra all right? Had he been listening to those awful rumors of his true birth?

“Ashi’,” he began, “what were you and Aemond discussing in the Godswoods’ Heart Tree?”

Ah, so that’s what this is about.

You inwardly grimaced as you realized how foolish you were to worry. With Aemond and Jace, it was always something one did to the other. And almost every time, it was up to you to stop their squabbling by being forced into the middle. You were not as blind as everyone in the castle liked to believe you were. You knew that both boys had an unhealthy attachment to you for whatever reason they conjured in their minds. Reasons that were only encouraged by their mothers.

You were still cross when they interrupted you and your mother’s reunion with your father. The matter was really very stupid. Jace had made fun of Aemond for not having a dragon during their family supper with the King. However, Jace only did so because Aemond and Aegon were snickering to themselves about how fat Princess Rhaenyra had grown due to her third pregnancy.

It didn’t make any difference to you, in all honesty. All you remembered from that time was that your time with your beloved father was forcibly cut short. To make matters worse, the two boys’ outbursts startled your mother, and the stress was so terrible that it nearly caused her to faint.

As a result, you decided not to speak to either boy for nearly two weeks. It had grown to the point where Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra practically begged you to forgive their sons—but even a royal command would not budge you. It did not matter how many blueberry tarts or honey cakes they gave for your forgiveness. You made it very clear that you would resolve never to speak to either boy unless they sincerely apologized to your mother for the awful fright they gave her. You finally resumed your friendship with them after your mother asked you herself to forgive them after Aemond gifted her a lovely bouquet of blue and purple hyacinths, and Jace gifted her a basket full of her favorite honey lemon cakes.

“Jace,” you groaned, “you cannot be serious.”

“Ashi’, you’ve been spending so much time with him lately. I feel like I don’t ever get to see you anymore.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked away from him as you sped up your pace to reach their destination. You only made it a few meters from where you were earlier before Jacaerys caught up to you and firmly grasped your wrist to keep you in place.

“I’m serious, Ashi’!” he insisted. “Unless it’s for fittings or when the Maester seeks your help teaching us High Valyrian, I rarely ever see you anymore!” His eyes had a wet sheen in the light, and his lip quivered slightly. “I miss you. Luke misses you. And so does Mother and Father!”

If the pitiful sight was enough to fill you with guilt, his next question nearly broke your heart.

“Do you – do you still consider me your friend?”

“Oh, Jace-” you pulled your younger friend into your arms “- of course I do. I’ve been so busy with my duties and my mother’s health. She and Princess Rhaenys have been so concerned over Lady Laena’s pregnancy and are trying to convince Prince Daemon to travel to Driftmark for the baby’s arrival.”

Jacaerys wrapped his arms around you, eager to feel your warmth. If the gods were kind, time would stop, and he and you would stay like this forever. But he became sad at the mention of his Aunt Laena. He had heard his father recount hundreds of stories of their time together at Driftmark in their youth. Jace knew his father missed his sister terribly, and he was sure she missed him the same.

You noticed your friend’s change in behavior. You looked at him with concerned eyes, and his heart began to race at your care for him.

“Oh, Jace,” you whispered, “have I upset you somehow? I did not mean to!”

Jace frantically shook his head. “No, Ashi’! I just wondered…do you think I’ll ever meet my Aunt Laena?” he softly asked. “Do you think she’ll like me? Can you tell me more about my cousins?”

You rolled your eyes at his request. He had yet to do so despite your advice for Jace to send a raven or two to his cousins. You hadn’t seen the twins for many years, but the three of you wrote to each other so often that it felt like you would recognize them by how they spoke alone.

“I’m sure she and your cousins will adore you, Jace. Baela is excited about her new sibling. She says she’s close to riding Moondancer! Once she gets big enough, she hopes to ride her with Rhaena!”

Jace wondered how you’d react if you knew he didn’t write to his cousins because he was scared they wouldn’t like him. To be honest, he didn’t really care about them at all. He only cared about the way you smiled at him, and only him, when he asked.

“Mother!”

Still seated at her dark-stained ebony-wood desk, Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen scribbled away with her black swan’s feather quill, nearly hidden behind stacks of dusty tomes and piles of scrolls from across the Seven Kingdoms and, despite being heavy with child, remained to be one of the most exquisite beauties across the realm. Hearing her eldest son’s voice, she looked up from her papers and smiled at the two children standing in her chambers' doorway.

“Jace! You made it and brought our little Lady Ashirri with you.”

You looked down at your feet as your cheeks slightly pinkened at the attention brought to you. Princess Rhaenyra was one of your mother’s closest friends and one of the few belonging to the noble houses that approved of your father’s rise in status. But his title was only in name, and so many in the keep look down on him with ill-hidden disdain. And as a result, many in the keep looked down on you with the same contempt and disgust.

The image of Lord Otto Hightower’s cold and judging eyes gazing down at you with arrogance came to mind before you could block it out.

You lifted your skirts and bowed in a deep curtsy in respect for Princess Rhaenyra. “Yes, my princess. Prince Jacaerys told me that you required my assistance with something?”

Princess Rhaenyra warmly smiled and laughed. “Yes. My husband seems at a crossroads in deciding which fabrics best suit his sister. Although, as you can see, he is being unnecessarily picky about it all.”

Her husband, Prince Consort Laenor of House Velaryon, stood beside your mother with his arms spread wide apart. On each arm were textiles of luxurious materials and superb stitching patterns. His close friend and confidant, Ser Qarl Correy, stood close behind him. The crown princess spoke truthfully as the entire room was filled with dozens of fabric bolts, from brilliant orange-marigold Dornish satin to iridescent light-azure Yi Tish silk. Your eyes were filled with excitement and wonder at the magnificent sight. You raced to touch the imported textiles.

“Is this silk truly from Yi Ti?” you softly whispered while carefully stroking the surface with one finger. “It looks almost too pretty to be real. This color would beautifully complement Lady Laena’s complexion and silver curls.”

Your mother and Prince Laenor smiled in agreement. It was softer than anything you’ve ever touched. Yi Tish silk was famous for its textile quality. One bolt was worth double your mother’s monthly wage at the Red Keep. The color alone was mastery at its finest. You knew from personal experience that blue was an incredibly tricky dye to handle. Although it was a primary color, it was rare in nature. You had to devote hours, if not days, to find the correct materials to yield the desired tone and shade properly. But that work is useless if the dye ends up damaging the fabric. Dark blue was one matter – it was still stunning, and many nobles would pay a hefty amount of coin for it. But to own such beauty, you wouldn’t dare imagine the price for a few yards, let alone an entire bolt.

“Fine eye as always, little lady,” Laenor jovially laughed. “Yes, I’m sure at least one of these fabrics will make a suitable dress for my sister before she gifts me another niece or nephew. I’m afraid your mother is very cross with me at the moment. Any delay in choosing the fabric will result in her being unable to finish the dress before the baby is born.”

“Lady Laena will need it to be loose and not so tight around her waist,” you spoke matter-of-factly. “Muña says that most pregnant women have rashes and inflammations after giving birth, so the dress must be made of a fabric that won’t cause irritation. Let’s see…excuse me for a moment?”

 You took out the small leather-bound journal Kepa gave you as a gift from one of his many voyages with Lord Corlys that you kept in your dress pocket, along with a small stick of charcoal. You drew out the image as quickly as possible whenever inspiration struck, regardless of the time or place. It was a habit that could lead to horrible misunderstandings, but being scolded and berated mattered little to you if it meant you could train yourself to be half as talented a seamstress as your mother.

After flipping past all your previous ideas, you finally spotted a blank page. Racing to your mother’s side for help, you excitedly shoved the journal in her face.

You thought aloud and drew out the concept simultaneously. “I think it should be blue. Even if Lady Laena married Prince Daemon, she is still a Velaryon by birth! Maybe if we chose a material that looks like water, it would make her feel closer to Driftmark and Lady Rhaenys!”

Doreah beamed from ear to ear as she crouched down and took you in a tight embrace. It filled her with such joy to know her daughter had developed such a tender and compassionate heart. You were a deeply empathetic girl who always considered the needs of others before your own. Her little pearl had a heart of gold that shone through the darkest storms. She planted a loud kiss on your cheek before letting you go.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, my little pearl,” her eyes twinkled as she cupped your cheeks. “I have just the fabric in mind for it.”

Lady Doreah Pyke pulled out a large bolt of shimmering azure blue silk velvet. The rippled pattern and texture matched the transcendent and melancholy shores that surrounded High Tide. You gasped in delight at the sight of it. It was exactly the color you imagined! You gently caressed the hand-pleated panels, expecting it to feel crinkly and cheap despite its luster. But the fabric sheen and its soft, velvety texture made you want to wrap yourself with it like a warm blanket.

Your mother thoughtfully inspected the fabric. “Yes, this will be perfect. However, I think instead of a dress, it may be better to be used as a cloak. If the result is as beautiful as my little pearl envisions it to be, it would be a shame to be a dress for one lady. If it is a cloak, it can be passed down from mother to daughter.”

“An heirloom cloak…” you murmured in excitement. Your mother was a genius. “It sounds so romantic…the waves should be hand-painted and glass beads strung and stitched into the fabric. Oh, Lady Laena will look like a sea goddess! Would she like it enough to pass it down to Ladies Baela or Rhaena?”

Doreah chuckled at your delight and booped your nose. “She will love it, my darling – especially because you will be helping me make it.”

“A wonderful idea!” exclaimed Laenor. “Who better than our lovely Doreah and her little pearl to complete the task?”

“Really?” you gasped. To work beside your mother on such a prestigious project…was like a dream too good to be true. “Mother, do you…do you truly think I am ready?”

Jace jumped to his friend’s side to hug her. “Ashirri! This is wonderful! You and Lady Pyke will make the most beautiful cloak in the Seven Kingdoms - I know it!”

Rhaenyra and Laenor glanced knowingly at their son’s support for his dearest childhood companion. Everyone in the Red Keep knew of Jacaerys Velaryon's infatuation with Ashirri Pyke. If only the gods had allowed their stations to be so different. It seemed cruel to let two young souls meet and grow beside one another without the hope or possibility of love being borne.

You beamed at Jace with a brilliant smile that shone with so much radiance that looking at you felt nothing less than sin. You took his hand in yours as you squeezed his hand in silent thanks and appreciation for his words. In the young prince’s eyes, you were more heavenly than the Maiden herself. He hopes to be seen as strong as the Warrior in yours one day.

“Kirimvose, jorrāelagon raqiros,” you said in your mother’s native tongue, softly stroking your thumb on his skin as a rosy hue bloomed on Jace’s cheeks. “Muña, īlon līs jiōragon naejot mirre rȳ istin! Nyke jāhor sagon going ēlī!”

You were about to leave before stopping and tracing back your steps to bow to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Laenor quickly. Your cheeks were bright red from embarrassment from forgetting such basic etiquette.

“My princess, my prince, forgive me for not remembering to thank you for granting me this opportunity and forgetting to leave before you dismissed me. I was too caught up in my excitement. But, I swear that I will not let you down.”

The adults in the room shared amused expressions at your excitement. Ashirri Pyke’s transparent honesty and sweet nature were so refreshing to not only the Targaryen Princess and her prince consort husband but also the entire Royal Family. She was the perfect combination of her parents’ personalities. From Hotho, you adopted your father’s unwavering honesty and sense of justice. From Doreah, you were your mother’s copy in sweetness and purity. You were a highborn noble in all but birth and title.

Rhaenyra waved off your apology and nodded. “No need for apologies, little pearl. Run along. There is work that needs to be done, and your mother and I still have things to discuss between old friends.”

You pouted to hear that your mother would not be joining you. After all, this was a very important job, and you had hoped this would provide an opportunity to learn more of your mother’s secrets in her trade. But who were you to refuse a princess’ orders? You bowed once more before waving goodbye to Jace and everyone in the room before racing to your chambers. The disappointment you felt moments before was washed away by the jittering and buzz of your creativity rushing through your mind.

The waves would have to be hand-painted – that goes without saying. But should you paint silver instead of ivory for the sea foam? And did you have a steady enough hand to replicate each pattern perfectly? You were going to need a template to trace it.

You were going to need dozens if not hundreds, of beads ranging from violet to turquoise to teal. Were there any artisans in Kings Landing that could make such a large quantity? Were there any skilled enough to ensure the glass and crystals would yield such clarity and durability? You may need to ask Kepa if he made any glassmaker friends from Essos or the Free Cities.

Could you dip into your personal collection of sea crystals and pearls? Mother would be cross with you, but it would look so splendid against the fabric!

While racing down the many halls and past the flurry of chambermaids and squires, you came across Aemond. His trademark frown on his freckled face quickly turned to a kind smile.

“Ashirri! Mother wants to–”

But you did not have time to stop and quickly ran past him. You interrupted him with an apology.

“Usōven, Aemond! Yn issa muña se Dārilaros Laenor teptan mirros hen rōvēgrie import! Nyke emagon naejot jiōragon naejot mirre paktot qrīdrughagon!”

Aemond owlishly blinked before realizing you had spoken to him in High Valyrian. He took a few moments to mentally translate what you said before calling out your name and asking you to explain.

“Umbagon! Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma?”

But when he turned, you were nowhere in sight, and he was left alone in the middle of the stone corridor. His shoulders slumped in deep disappointment at seeing you running away from him. But he supposed that such a slight could be forgiven since you were his loveliest and dearest friend. On the plus side, he was gifted with the sight of how the sunshine rays peering through the windows darted your glossy locks and wrapped you in a warm halo that brought out even more of your natural charm and prettiness.

As soon as you reached your room, you shut the door and grabbed every colored charcoal stick you’ve been gifted since you began learning your letters. Grabbing your big sketchbook, you immediately began jotting down your vision. By the time your mother joined you, your entire floor was covered with pages filled with a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, violets, and silver. Doreah was ecstatic of the display of your budding talent and took you in her arms for a tight hug.

The next few weeks were the most thrilling of your young life. You would spend hours on end with your mother, going over and debating which colors would match the tone of the cloak. Your mother found out about your idea to incorporate your pearls in the stitching, and she gave you a lecture that put all her past scoldings to shame. Eventually, you relented. In truth, you were a tad reluctant to part with your pearls. Each pearl was a gift from your beloved kepa for each country he visited. He said it was his way of giving you a tiny part of the world to his little pearl.

Because you were so busy trimming and stitching, you barely had time to read with Aemond under the Heart Tree in the Godswood or watch Jace practice his sword fighting with Ser Harwin Strong. You and your mother could only be removed from the cloak when either Queen Alicent or Princess Rhaenyra ordered your presence. They often expressed their woes at your decreased presence in court. As a result, your mother would take small breaks to share tea with Queen Alicent to discuss your progress as a seamstress, or she would get called by Princess Rhaenyra to her chambers so that they may speak their most private thoughts and troubles in High Valyrian.

You would often escape their orders by spending time with Princess Helaena. She would sneak into your workspace to bring her own embroidery and ask for your guidance with the more intricate patterns. While most of the court found the second princess a bit…odd – you took to her presence like green to pink. The two of you greatly differed in personality, but that made your friendship with her all the more special. You always made sure to treat her with kind words and common courtesy.

The most rude you had been to her was when she showed you a massive spider in her hands, and you loudly shrieked before crawling under your bed as a reflex. It took a few minutes before you could rejoin her. When she asked if you liked to hold Gerald the Spider, you took your father’s thickest riding gloves before you went near the beast.

You only held Gerald in your palms a few moments before you cried and begged Helaena to remove him from your person. But despite the terrors you got from Gerald the Spider that night, it was worth it if Helaena could smile as happily as she had when you agreed. She was so pleased that she didn’t correct you when you called her by the nickname you made for her, ‘Hel.’ In fact, you were almost certain that the nickname made her happier than you holding the spider.

But despite the peace these past few weeks have brought you and your family, such joy was not granted to the rest of your friends. Trouble was brewing in the Red Keep for House Targaryen – a fact you were unaware of until much later. You were returning from the rookery after being notified of receiving a letter from Baela. She was so excited about the arrival of her new sibling. You were reading the letter until you heard soft cries in the library. Searching for the source, you were shocked to find Aemond crying in a secluded section of the Royal Library. Distressed at your friend’s tears, you immediately knelt and hugged him close to you.

Clinging to your arms like you were his anchor, you could only make out the words: ‘pig’ and ‘dread.’ When you voiced your confusion, Aemond explained once more.

“They gave me a pig!” he barked, wiping away the angry tears from his violet eyes. “They said they found a dragon for me, and it was a pig! The ‘Pink Dread’ they called it!”

You lowered his head to the crook of your shoulder. “Aemond, who’s ‘they’?” you softly asked.

“Aegon! Who else?” he exclaimed. Your simple linen frock muffled his yells. “My sister’s bastards were there, too!”

Your blood chilled. He couldn’t mean…Jace wasn’t…

“Aemond, you can’t say such things,” you warned. “It’s considered treason by your father’s laws.”

But Aemond wasn’t listening. “I hate those bastards. They shouldn’t carry the Targaryen name. Their last name should be ‘Waters.’ It’s the name that bastards born in the Crownlands carry. Northern bastards are called ‘Snow,’ ‘Sand’ for Dorne, ‘Flowers’ for the Reach–”

“‘Pyke’ for the Iron Islands,” you snapped and let him go. “Am I a bastard, Aemond? Am I what you hate? Do you hate my father?”

Aemond was shocked at your venomous tone. When he realized what he had done, he quickly tried to make amends.

He shook his head. “My pearl…no, no, no,” he said. “You aren’t a bastard. I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about–”

You clenched your fists and stood on your feet. “I know who you were talking about! That does not make it right!”

Aemond was getting angry. Why weren’t you taking his side? Had his whore of a sister already poisoned you against him? Had Jace already dirtied you with his filthy, bastard blood? He stood up and stared you down with fury in those beautiful violet eyes that you once so adored. But all you saw was his grandfather.

“Your father is a bastard,” he stated matter-of-factly. “He was a bastard from the Iron Islands that Lord Greyjoy didn’t want! He wasn’t worthy of his noble father’s house name, so he is named ‘Pyke’!”

You shook your head. “There is more to family than names and blood. I am neither a Targaryen nor a Velaryon. I do not carry a speck of your noble house’s blood, but I consider you and Jace my dearest friends! To me, you are my brothers! You and him are my family because I love you, not because of blood! Does that count for anything?”

“I never thought of you as a sister,” he spat out. “Not once did I consider you family.”

Devastation overwhelms your broken heart as tears flood your and Aemond’s eyes. He reaches out to hold your hand, but you step back. Once more, he tries to keep you closer to him, but you turn around and run to the door. When you reach it, he calls out your name and begs you to let him explain. Once more, you turn to face him to see he has not moved an inch. You feel so small and insignificant underneath the massive stone framework, but you summoned the sea of hurt and rage crashing inside your heart.

“I used to wonder how a horrible and mean-spirited man like Otto Hightower could be the grandsire of such a sweet boy,” your voice trembled, but you continued to steel yourself. “I thought…you were smart enough not to listen to such horrible things. I thought you were my friend. But I was wrong. I was so horribly wrong. What your brother, Jace, and Luke had done to you was cruel and unfair. But Aemond…what you had become…I-I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

With that being the final word, you raced to your mother’s chambers. You cried into her skirts and told her what happened – of the Pink Dread, Aemond’s cruel transformation, and the ruin of your friendship with him. You sobbed out your wish to leave the Red Keep and never return.

Doreah Pyke immediately thought of what Princess Rhaenyra had informed her in the afternoon. ‘Nyra told her that she would be moving her family to Dragonstone. Each day since her failed attempt to match Jace with Helaena, the Red Keep feels less safe and more hostile to her and her children. Since Harwin assaulted Ser Cole, tensions between the princess and the queen have reached an all-time high.

“Come with me,” her princess begged Doreah. “Come with my family to Dragonstone.”

“Oh, ‘Nyra,” whispered Doreah, “I don’t know. Dragonstone is so far from King’s Landing. And Ali would never–”

“Alicent is becoming more like her father each day,” Rhaenyra interjected. “She wants to put her son on my father’s throne – both she and her father are conspiring against me.”

Rhaenyra clasped Doreah’s hands in her own. “I know you want to believe she is the same girl from our youth. But Otto Hightower has sunk his poisoned claws in her and will stop at nothing to crown Aegon when my father passes. I need people I can trust by my side. People like you, my sweet Dory, and your husband.”

“…But Ashirri, my pearl,” sighed Doreah. “She will be so devastated. She grew up running in these halls, playing in the Godswoods, exploring this castle’s corners and shadows. This is her home.”

“Your daughter will flourish wherever she goes,” insists Rhaenyra. “She will never be alone – not with Jace, Luke, and Joffery by her side. And forgive me for what I am about to say, my friend, but…King’s Landing no longer agrees with you as it used to.”

Doreah sighed and gazed out the window with slumped shoulders. What her princess said was true but hard to hear. As she grew older, she found the air and noise outside the Red Keep more sour and rancid. It made her miss the clean and fresh sea breeze in Essos. Rhaenyra was not the only one who had noticed Doreah’s melancholy. Hotho, her beloved Iron Knight, has remained in King’s Landing after learning of her despondence. Her husband implores her to care more for her health – if not for herself, but their daughter.

Doreah waved off their concerns, but perhaps…they had a point. Stroking your hair to calm you down, your mother asked if you would be open to the possibility of moving to Dragonstone. She reassured you that she and your father would be there with you and that you would still be around Jace, Luke, and Joffery if you ever felt lonely.

You agreed before she finished and immediately started packing. By the end of the month, you had not spoken another word to Aemond and left with Princess Rhaenyra and her family to Dragonstone. You did not look back. You wanted to leave King’s Landing and Aemond as soon as possible. You wanted to leave this wretched castle and have peace once more.

While others stared at the obsidian castle with trepidation, you felt hope. Unpacking your things from your trunk and knapsack, you were determined to leave behind all the political headaches and focus solely on stitching with your mother and sailing with your father.

If only life could be that simple.

Translations:

Muña - mother

Kepa - father

Kirimvose, jorrāelagon raqiros…Muña, īlon līs jiōragon naejot mirre rȳ istin! Nyke jāhor sagon going ēlī – “Thank you, dear friend…Mother, we must get to work at once! I will bet going first!”

Usōven, Aemond! Yn issa muña se Dārilaros Laenor teptan mirros hen rōvēgrie importance! Nyke emagon naejot jiōragon naejot mirre paktot qrīdrughagon! – “I am sorry, Aemond. But my mother and Prince Laenor gave me something of great importance! I have to get to work right away!”

Umbagon! Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma?” – “Wait! What do you mean?”

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[monpalace]

ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, fierce deity/reader.

content .. the boys (separately) with a reader who feeds them well, and the fruits of their loving labor.

warnings .. unedited. no pronouns used (you/your). reader is implied to have more meat on their bones (vaguely). reader is in their housespouse era and they aren't even married (legally). non-graphic vomit and forgetting to eat mentioned (link). link and fierce deity are taller than reader. fierce deity is named aram for writings sake. reader is implied to be a god of sorts (fierce deity). fierce deity is literally my oc at this point.

notes .. my schnookums thought they could have big cheeks and get away from me? my cutie patooties thought that i wouldn't write about them eating right? my pookie bears thought that i wouldn't fulfill my duties as their #1? my baby faced sweethearts thought i wouldn't spend 2hrs looking for pictures like those? my favorite white boys? my honeybuns? my hollywood stars? my sugarpies?

i'll eat them. omnom

LINK has always been rather thin. That was especially the case when he was a child. Something about a Kokiri child's diet not fitting what a Hylian needed always kept him frail.

When you both were children, he had quickly gotten used to you plucking his arm when it was idle to compare his lack of fat to your surplus.

(He never minded. He always looked forward to being reminded why he put one foot in front of the other every day during his fight against Ganon, or repeated cycle after cycle when it came to Majora.)

(Funnily enough, you had always made fun of him for being shorter than you as a child as well. You always mentioned he needed to drink more milk and eat more cuccos so he'd one day pass you.)

It was when you were able to cook more than simple meals and wouldn't risk burning down your cottage that you would invite (force) Link over more often than you already have.

Link had always tried to limit his visits to when he absolutely needed to. Free food, bed, shelter, care, supplies, clothes, bathes (the list was endless), and whatnot were always appreciated, but he never wanted to become to comfortable lest he wake up one day (or night. Or afternoon. His internal clock was always ruined when it came to sleeping at your cabin) and decide not return to the world outside.

He does his best to turn down any seconds, or thirds, or fourths, or fifths, and so on you may offer him when he does stay long enough for you to finish whatever extravagant meal you made just for him.

Past experiences often make him sick (with trauma or physically) and result in him vomiting his food, but there's always more from you to replace what he had just eaten and the meal before (if he remembered to eat it).

What he can't finish at the table (or on the sofa, or in the bed), he takes with him when he leaves. Link is respectful in all meanings of the word and hates to leave anything to waste.

When it comes to thanks, he either finds ways to help around your cottage or brings back items from new regions for you to cook. Whether it be repairing the busted bathroom door you've been complaining about before fixing your water faucet so the pressure is what you want it to be, or bringing back a spice the Gorons specialize in you've mentioned wanting to try, Link typically feels his gifts fall lackluster when compared to your treatment of him.

(He trusts your skill and creativity enough to know you won't poison him on accident. He never brings back any recipes or instructions either if it's not a dangerous material.)

(He's always excited to try whatever new dish you've concocted, so his only condition is that you wait for his return to cook whatever it is he brought you. "A celebration, of sorts," he calls it.)

A look in a lone puddle had told him his cheeks had gotten fatter. He supposes he now understands why he was refused entry into one of the pubs when he had to retrieve Malon and Cremia's uncle.

He had noticed that the details of his arms were less visible through his shirts when a Goron had pinched one,— not in the same way you did when you were younger— he had mentioned that he had an amount of muscle and fat to be proud of before asking him to join a tournament. Any attempts prior to were quickly shut down.

During a day of horseback archery with the Gerudo, the sweltering sun had gotten to him enough that he had to remove his tunic and the shirt underneath to feel some sort of relief. One of the women who were training him took a look at his stomach and nodded approvingly, mentioning that he should praise his soon-to-be spouse for feeding him so well.

The last nail in the coffin came when he was riding Epona into Castle Town. His tunic felt uncomfortably small and his tights (curse those damned tights) felt as thought they were stretched more across the expanse of his thighs than they usually were.

He's back in your cottage when he finally vocalizes his thoughts, preferring you to any other tailor or seamstress in the country. "I've gotten to big for my clothes," he either sighs or signs to you while eating. His gaze held a thousand yards in them, idly watching his clothes move with the wind.

The tunic, hat, tights, boots hang outside the window on a string connected to your shed. They had to be washed after a (admittedly well-planned— even if they don't think) ambush by a hoard of chu-chus.

You throw a hazy look to them before returning to the bowl you were tirelessly mixing. You were making dinner, he thinks, or maybe it was in preparation for the big breakfast you were making with the variety of bread from the Gerudo he brought back.

You'd already given him a large snack earlier.

The thought makes him look down at the plate in his lap. Every spot of it was filled and piled with bread, and eggs, and meats, and jams. He couldn't see the white bottom of it even as he pushed and prodded around.

He takes a bite of it gratefully.

"I saw you before you left not even three days ago. You fit everything fine enough to me." At some point you had stopped stirring and held the bowl out to him. Link grabs something off the plate and dips it in without a thought, eating it before responding with a hum of approval. "I can make adjustments to then, if you'd like."

You leave the bowl with him before attending to something on the stove.

"Please," he responds, halfway through another bite of the (what he now recognized as) Gerudo bread and cocoa dip you had made. "Different pants would be nice, though. It'd be a nice excuse to finally get rid of those tights." Both tasted sweet by themselves, he realized, but left a calmer aftertaste that he'd like to savor.

"You've always hated the tights," you hum in response, moving from the stove to the coolers that he'd built you after bringing you a large fish that only lived in Zora's Domain. "What would you want to move on to now? Leggings? Shorts?"

Link watches you remove a pitcher from one of the coolers. He isn't sure how long it's been in there (he doesn't even remember watching you make it), but he assumes you took some ice out so the pink liquid wouldn't freeze over into complete ice.

He watches you try to take a cup from one of the cupboards, watching you struggle to grab his favorite one from the higher shelves.

He stands from the chair sat just outside the kitchen (he liked to watch you cook when you had the time), placing the bowl and plate on one of the many cleared counters (you liked to clean as you worked), and grabs the cup for you.

Link lowers his head with his hand when he hands the cup off, head resting upon the crown of yours as he watches you pour the pink liquid into it, idle arms wrapping around your waist as he makes some slick comment about eating enough milk and cuccos for your liking.

You don't elbow him in the stomach like you might have when you were younger and he doesn't hold the cup above your head teasingly like when he was younger to (— then again, he had to climb a counter to get it out of your reach.)

Instead, you wordlessly pass the cup back to him and he wordlessly drinks it despite not knowing what it was.

He likes it, as he does all your works, and notes how it was both sweet and sour. A taste that fills both his childhood need for sweet all the time and his older palate's need for other tastes.

Handing the cup back, Link tilts his head so he can press a kiss to your crown. "Anything you'd think I'd look good in," he finally responds, the flavor of the moment leaving a tooth-achingly sweet taste on his tongue.

ARAM is often humbled in your abode.

He may have acted arrogant to others in his younger years and horrifyingly aloof now that he's a more seasoned god, but he never failed to (willingly) crumble to his knees when in your presence during either times of his life.

He had no need for the sustenance mortals require, prayers and whispers of his name were always good enough for him, but he'd kiss the ground you walk on if it meant you'd bless him with another food you've created (he already does).

Aram is the provider to your fire-lit home, an arrangement the two have been living by for as long as he can remember.

He is the sword to your shield. The arrow to your quiver. The moon to ever burning sun (which he did create for you, after all). The wound for your gauze. The life to your world— and one cannot live peacefully without the other.

Your food had quickly become an addiction to Aram. He'd eat as much as often as he could, giving little response to when questioned why he loves it so much.

("Because it comes from your hands," he once explained hours later when you were sleeping. "Your hands, that create all. That nourish all it touches and replenishes all that is extinct. I am your antithesis, and I must destroy that which I love."

(You never had the heart to ask again.)

He has enough sense to slow his eating around you. One concerned comment about him choking was enough for him to indulge in needless your wishes, but a question regarding its taste had him eating like a mortal.

His relationship with food prior to getting hooked onto yours was brief and filled with obligation. He never ate to feel full, only to make the people he was fighting with shut up and leave him out of whatever conversation they were having.

It never lingered in his stomach like a warm fireplace that others had described it as. It never made him warm and filled with love. It never gave him the energy he needed to keep fighting.

It just went through his digestive tract (why did he even have one?) and disappeared like an heavy smog finally dispersed by a strong gust of wind before he had to fight again.

When a war was over, you always came. You took the battle-shaken soldiers away when it was their time and healed their ailments if they were able to withstand everything. You went through war-stricken cities and set everything as they should have been. You feed and clothe and bandage and sew and reunite and Aram isn't sure why he lingered.

He's seen the effects of what you can do long after you've left. He knows of the good you're capable of doing just as much as he knows the bad he can cause.

He craves your touch when he sees it at its peak. He indulges himself when he sees it first-hand.

Aram understands what the soldiers mean when you beckon him closer and offer him food, uncaring of how he stands tall above all else.

The soup warms his insides. The flavor resides on his tongue hours after he's finished it. His energy, though far from depleted, had made him feel as though he were a youngling again.

He craves more.

The addiction to your presence and your food (and subsequently, you) had started then. It's an event he could easily recall when asked, one he would happily recount to you if you ever forgot where his devotion to you started.

Meeting after a war or battle had become frequent enough that he had finally learned your name; not some silly alias those who followed you often referred to you as. He felt like one of those lovesick children soldiers talk about, tripping over himself and his words.

He's curious to you, an admirer more than a stalker, fortunately. When he wasn't on the battlefront, he was always hovering around as you worked, busying his hands with whatever task you've given him after noticing his lack of mortality.

You treated him well; doing so even after the era of wars were long gone and he was seldom needed. You cared for him as though he were one of the many wounded soldiers with no family to return to once all was done and said— and to an extent, he was.

He's eating when you bring attention to his softer thigh.

You were reading to him, a romantic thriller that held as much of his attention that your captivating voice did. His gaze focused heavily on you, watching as you lick your lips after each page, how your eyes rake over the page to ensure the tone you speak the next sentence in is correct. He notes how you shift less often, how he doesn't have to move you further up his lap so you can lean against his stomach.

"It's not as painful to sit on you anymore." Aram doesn't think that line was in the book, but he doesn't mention it. It dawns that you were talking to him when you look up, using your finger as a bookmark as you closed the book around it. "Have you gained weight?"

He's a big man; it's a fact he's known since the beginning of his existence. He has large arms, muscles well know for how he snatched prey up to bring back to you. His height made it a simple feat to reach into the trees and capture any avian you wanted to experiment with that night. His legs that would stomp on any fish swimming downstream during a day at the lake you suggested.

He was sculpted by the Goddesses themselves. If they hadn't meant for his body to change along with his lifestyle, they wouldn't have designed him to dough.

(He'd never be ashamed in the fact either. He was contented knowing he had someone to dote over him constantly; a sentiment he had gained after recalling a conversation with wedded soldiers.)

(Also, the prospect of defacing what the Goddesses had long since disgraced was exciting, in a way.)

Aram doesn't look at himself, already well-acquainted with his body as his brow raises in amusement. "You feed me well, My Grace," he responds with a peck on your temple, "I would hope to become more comfortable for your pleasure." He refused to stop eating as he indulged you in conversation, the leg you sat on jumping once in place of his busy hands.

You hum that sweet, quiet hum of yours that Aram has come to associate with your contentedness (he aimed to hear to several tomes every day). Removing yourself from his lap, discarding the novel to the side as you raise your hands to cup his cheeks. "It suits you. You look healthy. Happy."

"Did I look ill before?"

You don't fluster as you might have like in your younger years. He's honored to have grown alongside you, reminiscent of the older couples you've both watched and escorted when he was still an active god.

The same filling feeling your food gives him fills his heart. The lingering sense of peace that he felt since meeting you dancing through his body when your thumbs rub the apples of his cheeks, the softest and fondest gaze anyone's ever given him in your eyes.

"No," you answer in a quiet voice only he'd be able to hear. "Never. You've always looked perfect."

And Aram has never been more thankful that he separated himself from the Goddesses as he preens under your touch. Never been more thankful that he lingered after the war was done. Never been more thankful that he had readjusted his psyche to more readily accept your gifts and affection.

He frees a hand to cradle to back of your head, a threat to all that aren't you, and brings you beneath his chin in a protective gesture. "As have you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "And as you always will be."

[riniworld]

A BOND LAST FOREVER

yandere!knight oc x princess reader

warnings// mention of killing? i don't think there's anything more

reference// you,m'lady,your highness-majesty,y/n.

a/n// I'm kinda satisfied with that-

edit// okay i overthink, i didn't want to do it like that in first but then it's just hit me that if i made him just want power and starts to slowly falling for the reader it'd be better-now i guess I'm kind of regret it.

It is the third day of the death of the queen and your sister,no one knew the murderer and you didn't dare to say it was senor maybe out of fear from the look that was on his eyes that day or maybe because he's the only one who treated you right....and you still love him.

either way here he is free and became your personal knight,you can't even look at him without shivering you still see the blood on his hands, your relationship became tense or for you at least,he's acting all normal not like he killed the ruler of the kingdom herself!,he did apologize a few times to you but it wasn't a realistic apologising he don't feel guilty you can see it in his eyes.

despite all of this you have now a new anxiety,the court and privy council are discussing if you're suitable to be the next ruler, few of the servants knew about you being an Illegitimate daughter of the king and the old ones only and the council as well of course.

you never wanted the throne nor you dreamt about it,you know how hard it is to rule a whole kingdom and you don't know anything about ruling,but also The people need a ruler and the queen didn't have any relative the only one was her daughter and they two had gone..now you're the only one in the line.

the cup of tea in your hands has become cold a while ago,you're sitting in your garden lost in thought,snapping out of your thoughts when someone take the cup out of your hands,it's senor.

"what are you thinking about,m'lady?" he ask and put the cup on the table

you look at him for a minute before you replay "about everything happening now." you look at the ground not able to keep the eye contact.

he put his hand on your shoulder "don't worry too much,you're capable of it." he smile at you, a smile made your heart warm.

you exhale "i hope so." you say unsurely.

senor pause for a second before he kneel at your feet,cupping your hands in his "You were born to be a ruler,there's nothing to be anxious about you've got everything to rule a kingdom the right way....just like your father."

His words made you feel at ease knowing someone is there to support you in any time,for a second you forget what senor had did and he's the one who put you in this situation.

before you replay you two hear a footsteps coming your way and with last squeeze to your hands senor stand up to stand behind you,your relationship is still a secret after all.

a maid approach you and bows a little before speaking "your highness,the council has arrived and they're waiting for you in the guest room." right one of the benefits from the queen's death is that everyone stopped ignoring you.

you nod "I'll head to them right away,thank you for telling me."

the maid bow again before she head to her work.

you stand from your chair nearly knocking it off but luckily senor was there to catch it,as long as he's here everything going to be perfect, just keep relying on him.

you walk to the guest room million of thoughts running in your head,when you stand in front of the big door you take a deep breath and buff your chest high,making a steady face one of the things you learn from your father is that maintain a steady posture even if you're about to cry,when you try to open the door a hand stop you.

"let me,m'lady" senor opens the door for you.

all the members of the council stand up and bow,you also bow your head a bit, senor kept standing in the door and you sit down.

"good evening,your highness" one of them speak first.

"first we're really sorry for your lose,the queen was a good person to the entire kingdom be sure we all are sad to lose her and her daughter" a man seems to be old enough to have even meet your father in his young age speaks like he's really in the verge of tears.

"thank you for your kind words i appreciate it." you say politely.

senor's hand tighten around the hilt of his sword, there's no need for all the long talk is there? it's already difficult enough for him to see you give attention to another!

"yes, it is indeed a misery for the kingdom, but as you know your highness The people need someone to rule them and there is no one on the suggestion list but you...unfortunately." the last one speak in a stern tone..rude.

"yes, i understand." you try hard to not show the anxiety in your voice.

"After we discussed this several times...Due to the lack of suggestions to rule the kingdom, we unanimously decided to give you the rule as you're the only suitable person available" the one who greeted you say with a small smile and the others nod.

you stayed silent don't know what to say, is that really right? will you be capable on ruling the kingdom like the queen was? You clasp your hands together and squeeze them tight.

"don't worry,your highness we won't let you alone in this, someone will come and teach you everything you need to know about ruling a kingdom as he is an expert on the history of the kingdom and his father studied your father when he was going to become the next king so you'll be familiar with him beside he's near your age." The person who consoled you about the queen's death speak.He seemed to have noticed your anxiety.

You gathered your strength to speak, you can't seem weak now "it-s an honor for me to know that you see me as suitable for such a great position. I will do my best not to disappoint you and to rule this kingdom as my parents did before."

"we hope so too, as you know that too risky because no one ruled this kingdom except those of royal blood before, so we hope our decision not wrong" the rude one say.

another one clear his throat "if you'll excuse us now,your highness we have to go, it was an honor talking to you,we expect the tutor to arrive in the next week." when he finish everyone stand up,and you as well.

"I'll be waiting,thank you for your visit."

you shake hands with all three of them and asked some servants to escort them.

when they left,you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding "oh god that was exhausting"

"how about we go to your room to take a rest,m'lady?" senor suggest as he come to your side.

"yes,that would be good"

as soon as you enter the room you throw yourself in your bed and bury your face in your pillow,senor close the door behind him and sit on the edge of the bed.

he reaches his hand for yours,you flinch when he take it but let him anyway,he start kissing it all over,You move your head to the side fighting a giggle threatened to escape "what got into you?" you couldn't hold your smile back.

he say between the kisses "you gave-alot of attention to them-i want some too."

now you can't hold your giggles anymore "you big baby." you tease.

he moves all the way to your neck,it's ticklesh "come on now stop,i want to sleep."

senor lift his head up and look into your eyes before he sigh and sit straight "fine."

you give a final smile and close your eyes,it's not even a minute before you hear metal hit the ground when you open your eyes you see senor taking his armor off left with a plain white pajama,you sit straight nearly choking on the air.

"what are you doing?!" you whisper shouted afraid someone will come in any time.

senor look at you with innocent look and sit beside you covering you both in th blanket "isn't it obvious,m'lady? taking a nap with you." he say like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"what if-what if someone came in and saw you?!"

"no one will come in without your permission." before you can respond he covers your heads under the blanket and lie down before he pulls you in his chest. "now sleep well,m'lady." then he close his eyes pretending to sleep

you sigh not able to complain,finally you let yourself drift to dream land,not knowing that someone won't sleep staring at you.

after two days(Note: the coronation ceremony does not happen like this in reality it's just my au!!)

It's your coronation ceremony day, today you will officially become queen of the kingdom and rule it.

the maids are doing your makeup and your hair,you've never been the senter of attention,always sitting in the corner on the masquerades and balls,so you're extra anxious,especially must of the nobles will be here tonight.

the maids put the last touches,you asked them to leave you alone for a minute to prepare and they did.

when they left you hear a knock on the door and immediately knew it was senor so you give permission to enter as you need someone to calm you down.

senor enter and closed the door quickly,when he laid his eyes on you he become speechless.

oh god his heart beat quickly like it's gonna ripe through his chest...his face flush red and his breath quicken,he want to run away to not ruin you right here and there,he don't know why he's feeling like that,that's not his goal!.

when you feel like he's staring too much you panic,maybe out of nervousness "isthereanythingwrongwithmyfaceisitmyhairorismydresstoorevealing?!" you talked fast to the point you didn't understand yourself.

"no-no you're perfect-beyond perfect i don't know if I'm willing to let you set your foot out this door" senor said while he was still far away from you.

"i don't know how this supposed to make me feel" you sit down and put your head between your hands "ugh! I'm so nervous i don't know what to do!" you look at senor without lifting your head up "why are you even standing there? sit."

senor kept standing in his place "believe me it's better for the two of us,m'lady."

you look at him weirdly before you hear your name called from the other side of the door.

you walk down the aisle all the eyes on you,senor is holding you arm 'just for safety'.

you've meet people for the first time,some who was your sister friend some who knew the queen and even some who knew your father very well.

senor was glued to you side the entire time,and you swear you've seen the danger in his eyes again.

"tell me if someone made you uncomfortable so I'll have a word with them" "senor no-"

After the coronation, all the required ceremonies, and the oath of loyalty,now everyone just enjoy they're time,dancing,drinking and eating.

you were taking a drink to ease your mind when someone approaches you.

he take your hand and bow "may i,have the honor to dance with your majesty?"

he seems to be son of a duke you think you've seen him before,you were about to accept when someone snatched you hand from his....right,senor.

the man look offended "the audacity!,who do you think yourself?"

"your majesty i need to talk to you for a bit,may we go somewhere more...private?" senor whispered in your ear,but it was enough for the man to hear.

you look at senor before nodding,you excuse yourself and go with him.

giggles echo the garden as senor take you running to somewhere,you ran difficulty because of your dress and your shoes but you won't deny it was fun,the last time you ran like that was when you were a kid.

senor stopped at the end of the garden, close to the fence where no one would get there,he catch his breath and speak "have your nervousness ease a bit,m'lady?" he asked between his panting.

and you weren't any better as the garden was very large "was that your goal from all of this?"

senor shrug "part of"

"well,what is so important that you had to kidnap the queen herself from the ceremony?" you say jokingly

senor laugh but cut it shortly and look at you with serious expressions "y/n..you know that i love you" he say carefully

you look at him confused "i..do,what is your point?"

"and i'm very serious about you and I don't care if our state are completely different"

"why you say that all of a sudden?"

"well.." senor take a deep breath Before he kneels one one knee,your breath stops as you know where this is going to "I've thought about that for a long time.." He took a ring out of his pocket "will you marry me,y/n?...not as a knight but just as senor will y/n marry senor?"

for a minute you thought about it all and if it was a good choice but you couldn't contain yourself and it slipped "yes,yes i will"

senor put the ring on your finger immediately before he hold you and swing you around,he put you on the ground and hug you tightly.

"you don't know how happy i am now!" he almost shouted

you didn't say anything, just buried your face in his neck smiling like an idiot.

after some minute you lift your head up,"don't take me wrong but can we keep this a secret untill we're officially married? just because you know...the people and their gossip and i just became a queen so it's not really a smart move to reveal this all of a sudden"

"of course,anything will make you comfortable,m'lady."

you smile widely and kiss him on his cheek

Oh,you poor girl,you've fallen into his web and soon enough the throne will be his.

i hope you like it:)

have a good day/night♡

[nteyamsully]

dad!neteyam were teenage reader gets into a fight and shes like really fucking angry and only neteyam can calm her down and its just loads off comfort and cutesy shit to heal my daddy issues

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

thank you for the request anon ! instead of teenage reader, i decided to make the reader as the mom but it still focuses on neteyam and his daughter. i just think it'd be cute too to have it from the mom perspective. i hope you enjoyed this <3 a part 2 is coming !

summary they say a fathers' first daughter is a female version of him. neteyam begs to differ because his princess has way too much fire in her than he did.

pairing dad! neteyam x oc! daughter, neteyam x reader

word count 1.7k

warnings edited, neteyam just being a dad girl, suggestive content, just youngest children doing what they want, mentions of bullying, violence such as punching, blood

glossary yawntutsyìp (darling), pa'li (direhorse)

PART 1 ; PART 2 (wip)

You always had believed that having four kids that weren't too old apart would be a wonderful family balance. The second child would have someone to look up to but also have the responsibility of looking after their younger siblings, the third child would not have to rely only on one older sibling but rather two, and the youngest would be able to learn and receive different insights on things from their older siblings. 

Neteyam said that your ideas were always beautiful and well thought. He loved the idea of having a big family with you. And the two of you did. 

Nutxe, your oldest child. While he has his mother's attributes, he behaves precisely like his father. His personality always makes you think of Neteyam. Ki'täm, your second child, was a blessing from Eywa a year later. Identical to his father in every way. Your mate has always made jokes about how three Neteyams would protect you because of how each of his sons were like him. 

But you didn't stop there; two years later, you had another boy. Ateyo, your son who resembles you. Unlike his older brothers, he would rather spend his time in the deepest part of the forest. Violence had never been his thing, so becoming a warrior didn't come naturally to him. 

A year later, Lili was born. Neteyam loves his sons with his whole heart, but when he his daughter came out of your womb, a new sense of protectiveness awakened in him. It was already clear to you that your babygirl would be a daddy’s girl.  

She was constantly spoiled by Neteyam. He was always giving in to her doe eyes, which she used against him since she knew her father would never say no to her. Even as she was growing, she continued using the same tactic. 

Your now-teenage children were leaving the hut as you watched them and spoke enthusiastically about being approved to stay a litte late after eclipse. You sighed disapprovingly and looked at your partner. 

Incongruously, Neteyam smiled. He moved up to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he encircled your waist with his arms. “They have grown,” he solemnly said. 

“No, Mr. Sully,” you laughed. “You do not get to escape this by throwing the trump card. You have to learn how to say no to Lili.” 

“I cant believe she is thirteen now,” he sighs.

“Neteyam!” you exclaimed, slapping his hand that rested on your hip. 

Your mate chuckles, digging his face on your neck. “I hear you, yawntutsyìp. But know it is difficult when our daughter is exactly like you. Ateyo doesn’t use it against me, but Lili does.” 

“And she knows it. It almost feels like if our youngest child attempts murder, you would let her get away with it because she is your favourite.” 

Neteyam pouted as he took a step back, holding your shoulders gently as he turns you around. “Lili would never attempt murder.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Enough.” Neteyam pulls you closer to him by tugging the band of your loincloth. “The children wont be here soon. Let’s do something fun.” 

Your hands rested on his chest. Before a word could leave out of your mouth, he pressed his lips against yours. You didn’t realise how much you’ve missed having moments like this with Neteyam. It has been far too long.

“Cant believe that you managed to get Dad to say yes,” smiled Ki'täm.  

Because their father was aware of the risks posed in Pandora, it was occasionally challenging to win his permission. As lovely as the forest is, it is also dangerous. 

Nutxe scoffed, “That’s because this little manipulative baby sister of ours did her magic.” He playfully glared at her before pinching her cheeks. 

Lili hissed and slapped his hand away. “Be thankful that I had dad say yes because I’m about to make your life more exciting than it was when you were my age,” she says proudly. 

While rolling his eyes, Ateyo kept silent. His sister having anything she wants was never something he liked. At least when she hasn't done anything to deserve it. Never did their father treat them unfairly, though.

Neteyam promised that he would treat all of his children equally. The intense pressure from his father that he experienced as a teenager was something he didn't want with his children. While Neteyam adores his father, he can't help but admit that he was cruel at times.

Ki'täm noticed his younger brothers’ silence, observing how a frown formed on his face. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. “What is wrong? I thought you would love this.” 

Ateyo clicked his tongue. “Mom didn’t look like she was happy about it. And you,” he looked at Lili, “stop acting so spoiled.” 

Lili rolled her eyes. “This again. Jealous that I get to do whatever I want?” 

“Why would I be jealous for being a spoiled brat?” he argued. 

“What the hell is your problem?” she exclaimed. “You should thank me that you get to explore the forest around more.” 

Ateyo clenched his jaw, holding himself back from raising his voice. He could feel his anger rising by the second and he knew the choice to keep his mouth shut is better. Lili never backs down from anything she sees as a challenge, and by the looks of her face, she sees her argument with her brother as one too. 

He always had to be the bigger person between them.

Nutxe pushes his arm in between them quickly. “Stop. You are attracting other people,” he whispered harshly before looking around, making sure that his grandfather isn’t on sight to witness this.  

Jake had witnessed far too many of their disputes and had reprimanded them much too frequently when they're involved in violent tussles with other kids. He is Olo’eyktan, it is his duty to make sure there is peace and harmony within the clan. It's not simple at all, especially with his grandchildren causing problems all around. 

Just as Nutxe started to feel relieved that both of his siblings listened to him, it disappeared immediately when he heard a voice laced with venom speak up. 

“Don’t bother, Nutxe. Your baby sister loves all the attention.” 

Risei. She was the bully of the clan. When Lili was a little girl, she witnessed her wrongfully verbally abusing a young na'vi. They were ridiculed only for their personality trait and shyness. Lili reacted angrily to the Risei's audacity by confronting her, however it didn't end happily ever after. And that was how their rivalry began. 

“Do not start, Risei,” Lili snarled, her fists clenched. Ki'täm held her forearm and urged her to walk away, but she didn't budge.

Risei mockingly laughed, “Is that supposed to be a threat? You look like a baby pa’li who reacts when they don’t get what they want!” She peered over her little group, seeing them chuckle at her words which made her ego boost. 

Ki'täm begged, “Lili.” He didn’t want to get in trouble yet, not when he wanted to explore the forest after eclipse. 

“Ah, I forget,” Risei snapped her fingers in fake realization, “You get what you want. You must not know how it feels like, is it why you’re acting like this? Did daddy not give you what you want?” 

And something snapped in the youngest sibling. Lili pushed Ki'täm's hold off of her and scowled at Risei. The girl was too busy laughing with her companions to notice her menacing aura. Risei was caught off guard when she felt something hard make contact with her nose, which caused her to lose her footing and collapse to the ground. 

“I am so sick of you,” Lili seethed. She didn’t give her time to process and hovered above Risei, continuously slamming her fist on to her. 

Risei’s friends hissed and were about to grab Lili, but Ki'täm quickly wrapped his arms on one of them to stop them from getting near. “Nutxe, Ateyo, grab the other two!” he yelled. 

Ateyo groaned. Following what his older brother instructed was not the best course of action, but at this point it seemed to be the only option. If a girl attacked his sister, he would gladly be violent for her, but he knows his father and grandfather would skin him alive. As a result, he followed Ki'täm's suggestion. 

Nutxe rolled his eyes at their stupidity. He quickly stepped in front of one of Risei’s friends, preventing them from interfering. “Do not,” he ordered, which thankfully they listened. He turned back to his sister, seeing that she had completely executed her anger. 

“Lili!” yelled Nutxe. He attempted to pull his sister off her by the shoulders, however, his efforts were futile because she withheld great strength. She’s not recognised as potentially the next best warrior of their clan for no reason. 

But the calls of her name were unheard to her. All she could see is red. Truthfully, she wasn’t angry with Ateyo. Her disagreements with him were monotonous and repetitious, which irritated her. Risei had always bothered her and each time, she bottles up her anger to refrain herself from going feral. Bottling all that anger was clearly a bad idea because it still exploded violently. 

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!” A loud and authorative voice boomed. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop Lili. “Hey! That’s enough!” A pair of strong arms engulfed around her, carrying her off the ground. She growled and kicked her feet in the air. 

“Lili te Suli (Y/N)’ite. That’s enough!”  

Her eyes were still filled with rage, but she continued to breathe heavily. Jake studied Risei's features. A cut on her lip and brow, a broken and bleeding nose, and an eye that is beginning to bruise. He shook his head slowly. 

“I am fine,” Lili grumbled in his arms. 

Jake dropped her on the ground lightly, staring at his granddaughter intently. “Yeah, I could see that.”  

Lo'ak arrived on the scene, wondering as to why everyone was gathered in a circle. His father, whose hands were on his hips and who had his niece in his line of sight, caught his attention first. Then he noticed a female who was weeping with a totally messed up face. 

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, eyes wide. 

Jake rubbed his temple. “Lo’ak, call your brother and his mate to meet in the family hut,” he looked at the three boys who stood in their positions nervously, “the rest of you follow me.” 

Lili remained glued to the spot while keeping an eye on Risei. She was completely guilt-free. She had it coming to her. She deserved it after repeatedly harassing and tormenting defenceless people. 

“Lili te Suli (Y/N)’ite. Lets go!”  

The voice of the Olo’eyktan made her move. She knew she’s fucked when her parents will find out and her doe eyes wont work this time.

don't forget to reblog, like, and comment your thoughts <3

[sweetandgentlecreature]

First Light

Author’s Note: Hey, y’all! Me again! In this installation of Somethin’ Sweet, we’re back to Sy’s point of view. Grab some tissues and join me in my sad girl era. As always, thanks for stopping by! 

Summary: Sy’s up early prepping for deployment and can’t help but relive the events from the night before. 

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC 

Warnings:  sexual content; nipple play, p-in-v intercourse, descriptions of male and female anatomy, explicit language, and adult themes. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

Playlist

It never rains in Texas, but it did on the morning of Sy’s inevitable departure. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky as an early morning fog rolled in through the treeline. Bright, angry streaks of lightning raced across the sky and casted shadows through the room. A loud crash of thunder shook the old tin roof and startled him awake. In his moment of panic, Sy sat up straight and knocked the headboard into the wall behind the bed with a loud crack. It took him a second to recognize his surroundings in the dark, but once he did, he breathed a sigh of relief. A quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him made his shoulders drop. 4:45am. Sy reached out and turned it off, as not to disturb his lover tucked so sweetly beneath the quilt beside him. That girl could sleep through a hurricane. A little fall of rain wouldn’t bother her much. Leaving over, he kissed the top of her head and lingered there, but only for a moment. Long enough to memorize the way she smelled. Honeysuckle and vanilla. Fuck, he’ll miss her.

Sy moved to plant his feet on the floor and ran a hand down his tired face. The last two weeks have been…a little less than ideal. It was his fault, really. He’d gotten the orders to ship out almost a month ago, but waited a while to tell her about them. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Things were just getting good here. Things were still so fun and new, but as always, Uncle Sam had other plans for him. 

The first person he told was his mama. When he did, she barely flinched. Sy made the third generation of Syverson men who’d stormed courageously into war. His daddy served in Vietnam, his papaw in World War II. When duty called, they answered. It wasn’t easy, watching him walk out the door, never knowing if he’ll make it home again, but she’d made peace with it by now. “What good does it do fer me ta’ worry? Either you’ll come back, or ya wont. It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”  

Sy trod lightly off to the bathroom to start the shower. The room filled with steam, just enough to fog the mirror as stood beneath the steady stream and let it run over his head. Staring down at his feet, he let the water consume him. Heavy drops clung to his lashes, but he didn’t bother to blink them away. His mind was somewhere else. With someone else.  

__

Sy had always been a steak-and-potatoes kinda guy, but he’d barely touched his plate. Every bite felt too heavy in his stomach, like he’d traded out his ribeye for a hunk of lead instead. She’d spent so much time cooking for him, springing for only the best of meat and the freshest produce the grocery store had to offer. The least he could do was clear his plate. Lord knew when he’d get another meal like this again. 

Once he’d managed to choke it down, he stood and started grabbing dishes to take to the sink, but she stopped him quickly. She’d barely said a word all night, and her interjection almost startled him. “No, baby,” she whispered, taking the plate from his hands. “Let me get those.”

Merrin kept her back to him as she filled the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water. Steam fogged the window above as she drifted off in thought. She was a million miles away from here, swimming in regret and longing for just a little more time. There was so much to do, so much to say, but the words never came out right. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until the tears began to blur her vision. Closing her eyes, she gave in and let them spill down her face. She’d fought so hard to keep her distance. To brace herself for the inevitable. In the end, she’d fallen hard. Harder than she’d ever expected to; head over heels and still tumbling. She braced herself against the sink and let her head hang low, covering her mouth to muffle the sobs that bubbled up from her trembling chest.

When a hand reached out to touch her shoulder, she gasped. Looking up again, Merrin stared into the reflection of his eyes in the pane of glass before them. Calloused fingertips brushed her hair to the side, then traced along the side of her delicate throat. His voice was low and deep, a rumbling baritone pressed against her back as he broke the silence. 

“I’m not gone yet. Gimme one more night. Just one more night, alone with you.” 

Merrin sniffled softly, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. From there, Sy wasted no time. Most of the dishes made it into the sink, but a broken glass was the last thing on his mind when he placed her onto the countertop. Shoving his way between her open knees, his lips were hot and harsh as they crashed into hers. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he was angry with her. In truth, Sy was angry; angry at their situation, angry at the world, but not at her. Never at her. 

He grabbed her up, one hand on the back of the neck and the other wrapped around her thigh, squeezing with a force hard enough to leave a bruise. The pain turned into pleasure, the aggression turned to lust, and Merrin returned the favor with shared fervor. She wasn’t scared of him. On the contrary, she relished in his smothering presence, digging perfectly manicured nails into the meat of his shoulder as she drew him in just as close. Her mouth worked with his in a haphazard clash of teeth and tongue. Even in the mess, there was still beauty to be found. She was soft and sweet where he was rough and hungry. A yin to a yang, souls intertwined as one.

His shirt hit the floor first, and her sundress followed soon after. Merrin grabbed him by the belt and yanked until his hips pressed sharply into her own. They worked together to loosen the buckle and pop the button beneath it, ripping it from the loops and tossing it away to clatter to the floor. Rough hands came up to cup her breasts, bare and warm, a perfect fit for each palm. He squeezed gently and smirked against her neck, relishing in her pleads for more.

“Clay,” she whispered, clinging to him as he dropped his head to nuzzle against one hardened nipple, then the other. Always one to please, he licked his lips and welcomed one into his mouth. He took his time, gazing up through thick lashes as he moved from one breast to the other. She looked like an angel, basking in the glow of the sunset that poured in around her. But Merrin was no saint, far from it, and couldn’t stand his temptation for long. She let a hand fall between them to meet the bulge in his jeans and palmed it gently. She could almost feel the ache beneath the distressed denim; a steady, throbbing need that seeked relief that only she could provide. The words came before she could stop them. “Fuck me, Clay.”

Sy mumbled a gruff “Yes ma’am” into the flesh of her breasts and tugged himself free from his boxers. Never one to keep his lady waiting, he hooked a finger into the gusset of her panties and pulled them to the side. The sight of her wet heat made his mouth water. Any other time, he’d drop to his knees right then and there to have his fill, but it wasn’t what they needed the most right now. Right now, he needed to be inside of her, just as much as she needed to feel him there. He held the base of his erection and traced the swollen head through her folds, mouth agape and almost drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head in ecstasy. 

“Fuck, honey. So wet for me.” 

She gasped when the tip of his cock caught at her slick opening. The delicious burn from the stretch she felt as he pushed forward inside of her stole the breath from her lungs. They both watched as he crossed the threshold and buried himself deep inside of her. Breathy moans and whimpers of lust echoed through the room, and Sy took a moment to let her catch her breath again. 

“Fuck, baby…”

She met his gaze once more, eyes wide and full of fire as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. Sy tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, choosing to indulge her for a while, until he just couldn’t take it anymore. His retreat was nice and slow, but he didn’t pull out all of the way. Tugging her head back roughly, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and relished in the way she tensed around him. Nipping at her throat, he growled against her pulse and smirked. “So tight, honey. I’m not gonna last long.” 

She answered with the rake of her nails down his back, leaving tender, pink lines in their wake, then dug them into the flesh of his bare ass. Shoving herself back onto his cock, she groaned loudly. 

“Don’t tease me, Clay. I need you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a harsh thrust of his hips, he bottomed out completely. Sy held her down by the waist as he took what he wanted from her. In and out, over and over, he pounded into her with a fervor she’d never seen before. Their lust was wild and sinful as he stood there at the counter and fucked her into a mindless mess. A familiar tightness built somewhere deep in her gut, and before she could warn him, she was coming undone. Her eyes filled with tears, filled with so much emotion, then spilled down her cheeks in hot, furious streams. 

It didn’t stop there. He had her again on the couch, and again against the front door, then once more upstairs in their room. The bed creaked under their shifting weight. Sweat poured from his face as he held one of her legs over his shoulder. Merrin clung to the sheets beneath her as he approached another climax. Just when she thought she couldn’t handle any more, he proved her wrong. 

“Come on, sugar,” he begged, wiped his brow with the back of his hand and picked up the pace. “Gimme one more. Just one more.”

He’d been saying that for hours, but this time, he was telling the truth. His muscles ached and cramped, his body pleaded with him to give it up, but he was determined to make this a night to remember. He’d be gone for God knows how long; he wanted to make sure she’d had her fill before he left. Sy kept his promise and within seconds, he crashed over the edge of climax right along with her. Chests heaving and voices hoarse, they rode out their highs together and collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs. Sy stared up at the ceiling as he fought to regain composure and felt her curl up against his side.  “Shit.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Merrin held up a hand up and they smacked palms, victorious in their conquest. All qualms were forgotten, at least for a little while. 

“High five.”

“Good sex.”

__

Standing at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, Sy stared at himself in the mirror. He scratched at his chin and turned his head from side to side, then flipped the switch on the side of the clippers. The first pass up the underside of his chin took off most of the length. He dusted a tuft of fuzz from the guards and let it fall into the basin before him. Sy made quick work of taking it all off, then grabbed the shaving cream to smooth over the stubble left behind. He moved with a surgeon's precision, each drag of the razor taking away the foam and leaving baby-smooth skin behind. Once he was finished, he bent down and filled his hands with warm water to wash his face. Just as he reached for the aftershave in the medicine cabinet, two delicate arms wrapped around his middle and squeezed gently. He brought one of them up and pressed her knuckles to his lips, kissing them as he spoke.

“What’re you doin’ up?”

Merrin yawned against his back and nuzzled her face there. Her eyes were heavy with the sleep that she just couldn’t shake. He reached back to run his fingers through her hair, twirling and twisting strands of amber around calloused fingertips as they stood in a shared silence. She raked her nails through the hair on his chest and dug them into hardened flesh, putting up a weak fight to keep him there for just a little while longer. “Couldn’t sleep,” was all she said as another roll of thunder echoed somewhere off in the distance. Sy glanced back at her from over his shoulder and found her staring up at him. She traced his cheekbone and down to the line of his jaw, mesmerized by the clean-shaven stranger who stood before her now. 

“Most men grow a beard to hide their faces. You, though…” she pressed her thumb into the dimple on his chin. “You’ve got nothing to hide.” 

She left him there with a gentle pat to the chest, then turned to head back into the bedroom. He watched her as she went, wearing nothing but the cheeky little splash of ink that was tatted across the dimples on her lower back and the panties that rested beneath them. A drunken mistake from Spring Breaks of old, left to peak from beneath low-rise jeans as a reminder of wilder days. Sy chuckled to himself and shook his head. He could hardly handle her now; if they’d met back then, he could only imagine the trouble she’d get him into. She’d have eaten him alive. 

__

To his dismay, traffic was fairly light on their way to the airport. The skies above were a dusty shade of blue, vast and empty as the rising sun chased away the rain. Fields of wheat and grain blurred past on either side as they left their sleepy little town in the rear view. Sy drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting in her lap. Every now and then he’d hold her thigh, knead and squeeze, then cut his eyes from the road and over to her in silent reassurance. Every radio station from here to Houston seemed to play nothing but love songs, and each one salted the wound just a little bit more. Merrin tried to surf from station to station, genre to genre, but eventually gave up, so they rode in silence instead. 

Sy didn’t mind the quiet. It felt more honest than anything he could say now. “It’ll be alright, honey.” “We’ll write every day.” “I’ll be home before you know it.” He couldn’t guarantee anything, and they both knew that. 

Once they’d made it past security, Sy found a bench to sit on and dropped his bag at his feet. When he looked over to her, she was staring off somewhere in the distance, a million miles away again. To her, this felt like punishment. Like the universe had nothing better to do than shit on the best relationship she’d ever had. Karma had finally caught up to her, and this was how she was meant to pay for her transgressions. 

“This isn’t fair.”

Clayton sighed and took her hand into his. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Life isn’t–” She cut him off. 

“Don’t you dare tell me that life isn’t fair. I know life isn’t fair. This is…” Merrin shook her head. “This is cruel.” 

He tried to smile, to crack a joke, to lighten the mood, but one look at her shut it all down. She was right. He’d been on the verge of hanging it up, of finally giving in and taking that cushy desk job at base to be closer to his mama, but his pride had gotten in the way. He knew he had at least one more deployment in him. One more, and he’d give it up for good. He just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon. 

Everything had changed, now that he had Merrin. She was everything that he wasn’t. Gentle, but not easy to mislead; Stubborn, but only when necessary;  Kind-hearted to those in need; and so fucking sweet. Now, he fought for her. If this it took to keep her safe, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Now, he had someone worth fighting for.

Wrapping her up tightly, Sy held her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. He pressed a fierce kiss to the top of her head and let his eyes close for a moment. They held each other just like that until his flight was called. Then they walked the Green Mile all the way down to the gate, where he pulled her aside and took her hands into both of his. His eyes searched hers desperately in a last ditch effort to commit them to memory. Shades of blue and green, specks of gold around the iris, as wild as the tide and as vast as the sea. When he kissed her, it was deep and lascivious. He didn’t care who saw. Fuck ‘em. Let them look. Sy broke his kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, dug the end of his crooked nose into her cheek and breathed her in for as long as he could. 

“I love you, Merrin Paige. More than you’ll ever know.” 

His words stole the breath from her chest. Three little words she never expected to hear him say. Three little words that paralyzed her, right where she stood. He kissed her cheek one last time, grabbed his bags, and headed off to catch his flight. Merrin watched from the window as the plane taxied at the end of the runway. A light drizzle began to sputter outside, just enough to blur her vision as the plane disappeared high into the clouds. Just like that, he was gone. 

It never rains in Texas, but it did on the morning of Sy’s inevitable departure. It never rains in Texas, and today, Merrin hated the rain. 

__

Far from home, Sy checked his watch as he waited for the line to ring. Static crackled in his ear as he cradled the phone between his head and his shoulder. 2pm in Baqubah; 10pm in Houston. If he was right, she’d still be up. Probably curled up in bed with a book, one of those dirty little romances she liked so much. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched and moaned. If Texas was hot, then this was hell. 

Then, a click. The old desk chair groaned when he sat up straight. He listened for a moment, waiting for someone to answer, then checked the signal to make sure that the call had gone through. Fuck. Don’t let it be the answering machine. 

“Sy?” a sweet voice chirped over the static. He sighed, relieved, and smiled widely at the sound of his name. 

“Yeah, baby,” he breathed. “It's me. How’s it–”

She cut him off. What she had to say couldn’t wait. 

“I love you too.” 

__

Taglist: @geralts-yenn @peyton-warren @kingliam2019 @uunotheangel @deandoesthingstome @drewharrisonwriter @foxyjwls007 @melissareadsstuff @totalwool @summersong69 @caramariehurst @niallhorwen @warriormirkwoodkwood @mairablue @omgkatinka @evansabove1981 @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @enchantedbytomandhenry

[plasticfangtastic]

american royalty. ch. 2

A Homelander x F!reader fanfic.

a/n: will post ch. 3 this week but sadly my other fic will be posted next week, enjoy this slow burn dadlander fic, and thx u to all the readers. prev. chapter:

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you & the lie that tore you two apart. Now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago?

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Two

Red

It had been a very long day, business was booming nowadays and since that influencer had made a couple videos on your pizzeria, you had been more than just busy, you began to run out of ingredients.

 In the last four years, the restaurant had grown, it had been there since 2002 ran by your boss’s father and his brother, who had ran their own pizza shop since the 80’s but as the economy and other events hit, they had decided to relocate and re-brand, now managed by their son– a man you owed so much, had his heart not been filled with kindness you would most likely be in the streets. So you made sure his restaurant was the best, you had accolades, you’ve worked in some of the best restaurants, you were once a very prominent fast rising figure of the New York culinary scene– until Homelander came along.

Your talent revamped the restaurant and now your food was once again on the spotlight, for the first time since you left Vought, you were happy with yourself, even if it was pizza. Cooking made you happy, and this job needed you, you didn’t live in fear of sleeping in your car anymore, you didn’t need to worry that your daughter would sleep on somebody’s couch again, you were able to quit your third job and go casual on your second thanks to this place, right now you didn’t live in the best of places but you were saving up and in a couple months you’d have enough money saved up to move, and send your daughter to a better school, somewhere were her talents wouldn’t be wasted.

So here you were ten minutes before closing, another extra couple hours of overtime for your dream two bedroom apartment, where it would be safe for her, where you could finally feel like your life had moved on from him, that the door opened up and your cashier squealed.

It was a quaint looking restaurant, the wood seating was new and the wall decor had been changed trying to look less cluttered, with Art Deco lighting fixtures as the stand out feature. The place had been remodeled recently it seems, the kitchen and its big brick oven looked clean but ancient to Homelander, he stared at the menu board and metal boxes of accouterments by the counters, taking in that this was in fact a pizza place, that you of all people did in fact work at a pizza place. You who could whip up amazing fare, now made greasy cheap slices, but he had seen people come in and leave endlessly these past few days, people taking selfies, and recording themselves with your food, nothing he understood.

He looked back at the teenager on the counter offering his signature smile as she blubbered her script, then as you took a step closer knowing you couldn’t hide in this open kitchen you finally looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

Your throat collapsed and your whole body became prickly and tight, your heart was beating so fast you thought you might be having a heart attack, you looked at the clock cursing that it wasn’t over, you were almost done packing the kitchen and readying for tomorrow, having a customer at this hour was awful but having him here was about to take you to an early grave.

“What’s your best seller?” Homelander muttered looking straight at you with an aloof stare, then back at the cashier– is pizza night at my house, sorry for coming so late hope that’s not a problem?” he said exceedingly politely.

The teenager blushed and looked back at you as if asking you to pinch her.

“That would be our pepperoni queen– is two types of cheese, extra pepperoni, with our signature house made marinara, with a dash of vodka sauce in our sourdough thin crust… chili oil is optional” You had managed to say trying to ignore those piercing blue eyes, you moved back to your place staring at the few remaining trays of dough balls left– our second best seller is our chicken florentine pie.”

Homelander admittedly detested pizza, it was greasy, gooey and heavy, it was fattening and gross, but there was a familiar aroma in the room, something that was making his mouth water lightly. Looking back at the girl, he ordered both in their smallest size offered, he sat by one of the wooden booths for the ten minutes he was told to wait, and not once did he made a comment, maybe that’s why your heart stung so much, why it felt as if you were about to collapse– that after seven years, he had completely forgotten about you, while only now did you began to feel as if you could heal from all the suffering he’d cause you, how insignificant had you been all along, how you love never registered.

You both had talked of moving in together and buying a home, he wanted to buy you a restaurant, and you wanted to give him your life, you had never loved somebody as much as he made you love him, and now you were just some bum wearing a graphic t-shirt making him dinner.

You packed his food, your boss Kaleem had given him extras on the house, practically begging for Homelander to give them a photo for their socials and you simply stare as he did his superhero thing, you took one of the delivery bags knowing he would lose the food if he flew with them in hand.

After the photoshoot, Kaleem and your cashier had run to the back to show the picture to the only other staffer left at this hour.

You both looked at each other as he took the bag off your hands, you wanted to cry, your eyes welling up but you looked down afraid of him, no doubt he could hear your heartbeat tickling his ear.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?” 

You could’ve collapsed into tears right then and there, it was worse to be remembered.

Growing angry at the sound of his soft voice, and that concerned expression in his face.

“Yes…”

“How you been? Didn’t think I'd ever see you again.”

“Should’ve killed me back then… got fucking close to it tho.” You dropped all pleasantries, hearing him talk and not hearing the word sorry 5 seconds in, had infuriated you. His stupid face, those stupid eyes, and that clown suit was too much for you, maybe it was the poor diet and lack of sleep but right now you wanted to ban him from Lucci’s– hope you enjoy the food.”

You pushed the bag jumping from the kitchen to the front as you headed for the door, holding it open for him.

“I’m doing alright. Now leave!” 

“You don’t even want to know why I'm here?” he was taken aback by your brashness, you had always been sweet to him, tender, barely ever angry before, so why now?

“You got a little kid now, I gather like any other kid, he likes pizza… and good for him because mine is the best!”

“Not really… I actually wanted to see you. I… I just wanted to ask you something–

“Mother!!”

Your daughter emerged from the depths of the kitchen, she carried a kindle in one hand and a giftcard in the other.

“Is it okay if I use my present now? They got some books on sale and you said not to buy more books until I finished… oh…”

In the light and in front of him, your daughter truly looked like your mirror image, copy and pasted into a miniature. Her hair just past her chin, and her bangs indeed covered her eyes, peeking behind those curtains were the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen, there was no unnatural shine to them– just blue. Her lips so thin and her complexion just a tad paler than your own now that he gave it a proper look, she was so small-- too small for her age.

“Is okay honey, is your birthday you can get any books you want” Your tone shifted entirely lowering yourself to take her face and plant a quick peck on her cheek– now go back with uncle Kaleem and let mommy close shop, okay? We’ll go home in a minute.”

“Is it your birthday young lady? Congratulations.”

Homelander threw his best smile, giving the kid a cautious pet, catching the rage in your eyes as his gloved fingers touched your daughter.

“Thanks. Is not a milestone birthday so it is not worthy of congratulations… seems inane to celebrate it” she looked at her mother with a jaded expression– " I'll go get my bag, have a good night, sir.”

Homelander pressed his lip as the most deadpan voice came out of this little girl. Her oversized black sweater and the black tights made her look oddly unhappy, but the kid just stared at him with boredom, no surprise or interest when she stood next to America's favorite son.

He wondered if that was an adult or a seven year old for a second.

He worried if the kid had told his mother about that other night, but looking back at you he went with 'maybe'.

“What’s your name?” he asked, still forcing a smile– "my… you seem like a smart girl getting books for your birthday.”

“Helena.”

The kid couldn’t muster the energy to give him anything but her dead ass voice, she began to walk away not caring for manners, nor Homelander.

“She’s… cute.” he said watching that tiny figure walk away and surviving after her second nsult– great pronunciation for her age, does she even know what she’s saying?”

“Helena is not like other kids.”

“How so?” 

You looked at him more tired than anything, rubbing your temples as you made yourself waste spit to talk to him.

“She’s a Supe… by the time she was two she could speak in full sentences, by three she could read at a first and second grade level, and by five she was teaching herself calculus and piano… she’s a genius; I thought she was a normal genius until… her other powers manifested– none of this matters! Just go!” You shook your head in frustration.

“You gave her V?” He said while staring at Helena.

“... I didn’t know what V was until the news broke out, I thought Helena was chosen by God! That the world blessed her with those powers, but when that story came out I’ve been wanting to ask you– did you give her V? but… if you didn’t… who… are you lying to me, John?”

Homelander looked past the concrete walls looking back at that little girl, he didn’t know what to say or do, before you could utter another word he left.

Ryan nose picked the meal quickly, glad that it was friday and his dad would let him stay up ‘til late, Homelander just dropped the meal on their new table and the kid was quick on his feet, the food was still warm, only now did Homelander noticed the extras, couple of small containers holding chili oil and freshly made ranch, garlic knots and a lemon meringue pie, it was too much but Ryan hadn’t hesitated to dig in, before Homelander could ask him to wash his hands he had ripped a slice of pepperoni.

“This is so good!” He said so cheerfully– gosh I was starving, dad.”

“I sure hope so, bud… let’s leave the pie for tomorrow…” he looked grossed out, Ryan sat opening up the garlic knot’s containers– not gonna eat?”

Homelander sat down to join him, the thought of touching all those greasy surfaces was making his stomach hurl, but he relented, taking a slice. 

He was young again, and you were there coming back with some drinks as he ate your chicken florentine, this was the same recipe, the chicken was so juicy and the cheese wasn’t greasy. Ryan was shocked to see his father sound so happy as he took another bite.

It was the first time they both ate together where they felt completely comfortable with each other, maybe it was seeing Ryan not pick at his food that made Homelander able to just talk, Ryan told him all about his homework, and the videogame he was playing, he really liked Fifa at the moment even if he himself cared not for the sport.

Helena watched as her mother stood silently hovering above the sink, you hadn’t moved much for a couple of minutes, your daughter more annoyed than anything else regarding this display.

“How do you know Homelander?” she asked with a yawn.

“Huh?” you woke up from your trance– you should be in bed, darling.”

“You too. So… How do you know the clown?”

“Honey, don't say that!”

“He walks around wearing a onesie all day… like a clown… like the rest of those super clowns”

Your daughter always spoke with a creepy maturity, her voice didn’t belong to a kid.

“... He used to be my boss… he was a really bad boss…”

“You used to work for Vought?” She softened her stand.

“Honey… I don’t really want to talk about this… it's late and we are going to the museum tomorrow so you should get some sleep, mommy is just tired… hope you had a good birthday.”

“You should rest too, mother.”

Your daughter's eyes glowed momentarily turning th blinkers off before she made her way to bed, you stared at her door, thinking if she could see you.

No mother should think their child was creepy, Helena was just difficult and abrasive, to be a small kid with her brain must be unbearable. You could recall the moment she asked you about V so vividly, she looked angry, but you had no honest answer to give her, you had to lie, god knows if you got the details right about how these people committed these crimes. Helena simply had no ability to relate to people, and without the funds you couldn’t help her meet her potential, not while you were both stuck living in public housing, not while scraping every penny.

Her few friends forced her to dumb down and even they found her uneasy, only the old people seemed to handle her best, she loved to listen, and her teachers always thought of her as  a delight, yet she knew no other Supe beside herself, those pageants were expensive, and networking meetings were hard to get in, talent agencies were costly– having a super-abled kid and trying to make them into a Supe was locked behind a massive paywall, all you could hope was that her genius would let her enter a university early on scholarships.

There was always Godolkin, but god knows if they would let her enter at a young age.

It would be easy if her father was involved, if John was there in her life, she would have the world but he didn’t want her, he had made that clear years ago.

So why did he lie about the V? 

It had been two weeks since you seen Homelander, but he saw you a lot, he'd come back and forth-- watching you and the child with ardent curiosity, seeing you made him reminisce, of those many nights and afternoons, of the way no matter how tired you were, you always made sure to look happy when he showed up, the way you looked so at peace while cooking, of the feel of your skin against his and the taste of your precious lips as you kissed him good morning. 

He followed you, on your only day off as you took Helena around the city, watching you share a slice of overprice cake while taking notes, and ate cheap chinese for lunch, you waited for two hours as Helena played chess and checkers with some oldies at a chess shop, some russian man gave her lessons-- some of these people dressed nicely perhaps pros. Some won over her and some lost but the games were quick, your daughter seemed happier when she loss than when winning.

Something about that didn’t sit well with Homelander.

Somehow he found himself in your apartment, cracking open the window to sneak in while you headed back home– the tiny apartment felt more like a closet than a habitable space, the ceilign was run down, and the appliances ancient but well kept, your bedroom was simple, cooking books and boxes sat on top of your dressers, a single’s bed with plush comforters and pillows stuck against the wall, with a wardrobe in front of it, and a cheap fan tucked in the corner. He left for your daughter’s room just a few feet away divided by the bathroom were most of the clutter and laundry lived, her bedroom was just as plain, but the books didn’t seem fit for a small child, her desk tidy and organized, he picked up a notebook from the pile, seeing math equations that hurt his eyes within seconds. All her stuff were nice and new, she had a decent computer on top of her bed, an old dresser, but there was an absence of toys– compared to Ryan’s bedroom that was filled with anything he wanted and decorated expertly. A clock adorned her walls but not much else, the few things that looked messy was a tiny plastic chess set, the kind with magnets on the bottom, and some DIY stem kits.

He took to the bathroom, it was old and falling apart, mold was growing in the corner much to Homelander’s disgust, trolley held dozens of beauty stuff and shampoos and detergents, a shelf on the wall held towels and toilet rolls. Homelander looked at a sparkly hairbrush, picking a couple strands of lost hair knowing by their lengths and color that they weren’t yours, and cursing himself for doing this as he place them on small plastic bag he had hid in his glove.

[spideytingley]

twice in a lifetime

pairing: steve rogers x platonic child!oc

summary: shortly after getting out of the ice in 2011, Steve finds out that the descendants of one of his friends live on New York, and he decides to visit them, thinking that maybe he won’t have to be all alone anymore. thanks to this, he finds a family for him in this new time.

content warning: brief mentions of death.

word count: 1.6k

Doubt had started to creep in as Steve hesitated on the doorstep, staring at the wooden door in front of him. An elderly man had opened the building’s door for him, recognising him from the news, or maybe from a museum exhibit — he was supposed to be ancient history by now, but yet there he stood. The second World War had been almost seventy years ago, and while having lived it, Steve was barely thirty. And his friends were dead, as he should be.

That was why he was standing in front of the apartment, really. It turned out that according to SHIELD’s extensive database, a past teammate of his, Dum Dum Dugan, had family living in New York, close to where he lived in Brooklyn. It was a no-brainer that he had to visit, at least drop in to see what had become of something he’d known. Something that wasn’t a grave. (Or Peggy Carter, of whom he didn’t want to think about too much, for the sake of his heavy heart.)

He would be intruding in their life, he knew that. It was probable that none of them ever wanted a super soldier in their house, stirring up memories from long ago, which was why he decided that, in reality, it was a bad idea from the start. He heaved a sigh and turned around. Maybe next time he would have the courage to go in. Third time’s the charm, isn’t that how that goes?

The sound of a lock turning made him stop on his tracks. The door to apartment 9B creaked, and Steve had to look down to see a head peeking from the small opened space left by the door. It was one of the kids he’d seen on the files, barely ten years old and grinning up at him like she knew something he didn’t.

“Hi,” breathed Steve, tripping on air as he made his way back to the door.

The girl giggled, sharing a look with someone still hiding behind the door. “Hi. You’ve been standing there a whole lotta time, Mr. Steve. Are you tired?”

He blinked. Maybe she did know something he didn’t.

“You know who I am?”

“Yeah! It’s the second time you’ve been to our house, but you never go in. Daddy says to give you time, but I think you need a little push,” she said, big green eyes looking up at him. “So this is me pushing you. Come on in, Dom even had time to bake some cookies while you were there!”

She made a motion of inviting him in, but as she walked towards what he guessed must be the kitchen, he stayed on the doorway. He knew her name was Flora, she was ten and a half, and barely four feet tall, which was short for her age. She was in fifth grade in a primary school in Brooklyn, and she already knew she wanted to be a doctor. Steve knew all these things about her, and he was a stranger to her — yet she was so trusting.

She turned around to look at him, a cheeky grin on her face as she said, “We have star sprinkles for you, Mr. Steve. Dad said maybe you wouldn’t like them, but Dom and I thought it would be so funny. Do you like red, white and blue sprinkles, Mr. Steve?”

It had been a while since he’d been around children, so he was unsure if Flora was some special case, or if all kids talked that much in so little time.

He managed to smile at her, about to answer—

“Flora!” a man’s voice chided, and Steve looked the other way to see who couldn’t be other than Ronan Dugan, her father, and Dum Dum’s grandkid. Ronan’s gaze settled on him, and he could see the apology swimming in his eyes. “Mr. Rogers, I’m so sorry about my daughter’s enthusiasm. They’ve just been excited to finally meet you.”

“They have?” he asked Ronan, startled. “I don’t mind it, it’s… refreshing, actually. And call me Steve, please.”

His eyes lingered on the girl running into the other room, her giggle echoing off the walls, and he was reminded of little Rebecca Barnes, who had just turned twenty the last time he’d seen her, which had been… a long time ago. She was probably dead, too.

“Director Fury told me you’d been asking around about us,” Ronan said, “and if there’s something my kids are, is nosy, so they found out about it.”

Steve had almost forgotten that detail. Most of the family had or was currently working for SHIELD both as agents on the field or offices, ever since Dum Dum had become one of the founding members of the organization—it was their legacy, and they clearly treated it like it.

Ronan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If you think this is too much, I totally understand. You’re not obligated to be here, Steve. I can tell the kids you were called aw–”

“Nonsense,” he rapidly said. He didn’t know if he would have the courage to try again otherwise. “I’d love to meet all of you, if it’s alright with you.”

“I’m afraid Flora and Dominic would kick me out of my house if I kicked you out,” he joked, bringing an easy smile to Steve’s face. “You can leave your jacket on that hanger, by the way. The kids are in the kitchen, when Flora sensed you coming they started baking, as I’m sure she told you.”

Steve hesitated at the strange choice of words, but thought nothing of it and closed the front door behind him, hanging his aviator jacket. Soon he was being met with the smell of freshly baked cookies coming from the kitchen, where he could see Flora and a much taller boy, Dominic—who liked to be called Dom, as his file said.

As soon as he saw him, the teenager perked up, stretching a hand toward him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ro– Sir… Captain America,” he rushed the words out endearingly in a nervous manner.

Steve shook his hand, briefly surprised by the strength of his grip. “Call me Steve, Dominic.”

“Then you can call me Dom,” he replied, with a grin.

He glanced at the countertop, where Flora was working very hard in concentrating on handling the sprinkles she had told him about by the door. In the time he’d been deciding on whether he would enter or not, they had baked cookies that looked very appetizing—all with the color of his uniform, the flag of the United States.

The kitchen was bigger that the one he had at his apartment, which made sense given that it was for a family of three. It was cozy, and lived in, noticeable on the way the fridge was filled with stickers and photos stuck to it with magnets of places they’d visited—he felt a sudden sensation of longing in the way this house screamed home, a stark contrast to the cold place that awaited him just two blocks away.

“Can you eat cookies?” asked Flora, bringing him out of his evaluation of their home. “Dad isn’t really allowed to, he’s supposed to be on a diet.”

“I can eat pretty much anything,” he confessed, with a smile. “And however much I want, thanks to being a supersoldier.”

“Great, because we made too many cookies!”

“Come on, Flora, there’s no such thing as too many cookies,” said Ronan, bringing one to his mouth. “Especially when they taste this good. I might have to ban you two from the kitchen, eh? Not all of us can eat without getting fat.”

Steve laughed at the dig, and took the cookie that Dom was offering. His eyes widened. “This is really good.”

The kids high-fived each other, bright smiles on their faces for a job well-done.

“What’s that?” asked Dominic, lazily pointing with his index finger to the leather notebook in Steve’s hands.

They had brought the trays to the living room and had turned on the television, and Steve had gotten it out of his pocket when something interesting had shown up on the News, ready to write it down for later.

“It’s where I write general knowledge events that I missed, so I can learn about them,” he said, handing it to him. “Director Fury gave me some of those, but I’ve been collecting them ever since I woke up.”

Flora stood behind the couch, reading the notebook from over her brother’s shoulder. “Steve, you’re missing a lot of stuff! I can’t believe Mamma Mia isn’t there,” she whispered in shock.

He hummed, recognizing the name. “That’s a song from ABBA, right?”

“And only the best musical of all time!”

“Says a ten-year-old,” laughed Ronan, sharing an amused look with Steve.

“Whoever recommended just Star Wars has clearly never watched Star Trek,” said Dom, a frown on his face as he read.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” breathed Steve, brows knitted together. “I tell you what, you both can write whatever you think I’m missing from this century—“

“—and the previous one,” piped in Ronan.

“And the previous one,” he agreed, and hesitantly looked at the kids. “And maybe you could show me some of it?”

Their eyes lit up, excitement shining in them.

“You are so watching Mamma Mia!” squealed Flora, running out of the living room.

Steve’s eyes followed her as she left, Ronan’s laugh filling the room. “You have a problem in your hands, she’s getting her CDs from her room.”

A beat passed.

“What’s a CD?”

[sofasoap]

Lastochka AU - Strange encounter

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: You just can't get a break, can you?

AU to my Lastochka series

WARNING: Mature Theme. Crack Fic. I repeat. Crack fic. don’t take it so seriously. Swearing, violence, death, innuendos.

A/N : The meaningless crack plot continues. Thanks to @siilvan for listening to my weird blabbering on Nik, and @gamergirlbones, here is the crack I promised. Not proof read. I am half asleep. I'll check it again later. * zzz *

masterlist

You crouch behind a dumpster bin, arms wrapping around your messenger bag tightly, panting away, listening to the shouts of foreign languages and footsteps running past your hiding spot. 

For countless times. You wonder why every strange thing has been happening to you, since you moved to this city. Getting picked up by a strange man, who turns out to be your brother’s work associate (with questionable background ), being set up by your best friend with the said dodgy person (well, you have to admit, it turns out to be a decent date. Ok. Pretty good date, you admit.) 

Now you are being chased by mobsters, who want to kill you. 

For reasons unknown. 

“Fucken bitch, think you can get away from us? Hand over the package!!” You made yourself even smaller as you heard the assailant yell out between the alleyways, voice getting closer and closer. 

What package?  You look at the manila envelope inside your bag, is this what they are after? Some business analytic report and boring colour samples your boss requested for the office renovation project? 

Wait. Now you remember. You walked out from the designer’s office, you ran into someone. Both of you dropped whatever was in your hand, apologising to each other as the other person scrambled to pick up the package on the ground, mumbling something incoherent before they scurried away in a hurry. 

The two packages look exactly the same. 

hell damn it. You picked up the wrong envelope. No wonder it weighs heavier than you thought.

Thinking back to your workmate’s joking words when you complain about all the bad luck and strange occurrences you had since you moved here ; 

“ The stars aren’t aligned right, or your chi isn’t matching with this city. Chaos is ruling the universe!” 

Or the goddess of fortune just playing jokes on you.

Banging noises and bins getting overturned snapped you out of self-deprecating musing. Gotta think something fast, you tell yourself, if you don’t want to end up on the news being a dead body floating down the city river, discovered days later. You would rather die from falling out of the helicopter, piloted by Nikolai. 

With a shaky hand and suppressing that fear slowly rising from your stomach,  you fumbled as you dug out the mobile phone from your bag, scrolling through the list of contacts and hoping Johnny isn’t on a black OP mission or middle of nowhere. 

Your thumb came to a stop when you saw a name on the list. Should You? Or should you not? 

Fuck this. Maybe luck will be on your side this time round, you press on the name of the contact, hoping for the best. 

One ring, two rings, three rings. “Come on.. Come on.. Please…” Praying in your mind as you hold your breath while biting your nail,waiting anxiously. 

“Hellllo, my Lastochka, have you finally decided on our third date?” Nikolai purred as he picked up the call. 

Rolling your eyes ,you whispered into the phone harshly, holding back the tears and panic. “There is NO third date if I am gonna die in this dumpster in the next ten minutes!!” 

“Where are you?” You can sense his immediate tone change. He speaks up again before you can notify you of location. “Nevermind, I will just track your phone. Stay where…”  Before he could finish you saw a shadow looming over you, with gun in hand. Letting out a scream and out of instinct, you dropped the phone and deflected the gun split second before the person pulled the trigger, bullet grazing your cheek. Swinging your bag into the person’s groin with all your might, you quickly crawl away as the attacker collapses onto the floor with pain. 

As you scurried away from the danger, you nearly forgot to pick up the phone. Ducking back to retrieve it, you notice the attacker slowly getting up, ready to fight again. Before they had the chance, you gave them another kick in the stomach and harder kick in the head, grab the phone and ran as fast as you could away from the alleyway. 

You didn’t get too far when you heard the sound of gunshots ringing between the buildings, people screaming, followed by a hand pulling you into a broad chest.

Very familiar warm chest and scent. Feeling of safety. Nikolai. 

“Seems I got here in the nick of time.” You feel his chest vibrating as he laughs at his own pun. “But I see you manage to defend yourself with no problem, little bird. Soap had taught you well.”

You would have collapsed on the ground with relief if he wasn’t holding you up with his strong arms. Turning yourself around to lean into his chest, “How did you get here so fast?” you asked. “Did you stalk me again?! Wait, you did, didn’t you? You mention something about tracking..” you looked up at him suspiciously. 

“That is another subject to discuss when your brother gets here next time.” he dismisses you lightly. “So, Are you ok? Why are the local mafia chasing you down??” Pulling you away from him, your body heats up as he cupped your face gently, scanning up and down your body, checking for signs of injury. He frowned as he saw the bullet burnt mark on your cheek, from the bullet barely dodged minutes ago. 

Closing your eyes as let out an exasperated sigh. You quickly recount all the events from earlier on the day. 

“So, here I am, nearly got gunned down, and have something in my possession which I shouldn’t have.” you concluded, fishing out the package from your bag. “I don’t even know what’s in there.

“Well, open it then.” Nikolai nodded towards the envelope, encouraging you to open the mystery package. 

Opening up the seal flap of the package, you took a good look inside. 

“Well, this is definitely not the colour swatch and carpet samples my boss asked for.” you closed the flap again, sighing. “You can have it. I can’t exactly have… that.. Things with me. I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Passing the envelope over to Nikolai, he opened it, eyebrow raised and said nothing. 

“What do I do now??” You muttered as you stood there, totally lost. “They know I had the package.. They are going to try to track me down.” You bit your lip, thinking hard. Should you go back to work? No, that will only bring trouble to more innocent people. Hotel? Out of option too. 

“I’ll sleep with you tonight.”

Did you hear him right?

“What????” you took a step back.  “Wait, wow, hold up! We are not up to that stage in our relationship yet!“ 

“Does that mean we will eventually get there?” He asked with a sly smile on his face, “should I be prepared? Get stuff ready? What would you like?” 

You are mortified, you are just digging a hole for yourself here. “Get your mind out of the gutter! We are talking about serious business here!” you berated him. “So what do you mean by sl.. Sleeping with.. With me tonight?”  you stuttered, face burning. 

“I’ll stay with you, until the situation resolves.” Patting you on the head. “I’ll contact Price later. See what he can do and organise. But in the meantime,  you are stuck with me.”

Honesetly? You don’t know if that is a good idea or not. 

But part of you can’t deny maybe it’s not such a bad idea as you sat on your bed, watch him changing out of his shirt into comfortable loungewear, you secretly gawked at his broad back and the corded muscle, how it flexes when he put one arm through the sleeves, and into another… 

“Should I take my pants off in front of you too?” Nikolai turned around suddenly, a devious smile on his face. 

Caught red handed. Well, not your fault when he decided to change in your room, with you in here. He claims he isn't leaving your side, “Just in case. They might break in any minute.” 

You had to kick him out of the bathroom when he tried to follow you in. “There’s no window in here!!! I will be alright!!” you half screamed and slammed the door into his face. 

“It’s not like I haven’t seen a dick before.” You retorted, giving him a nonchalant shrug, but in fact, you were nervous as hell. 

Nikolai hummed, his expression not giving anything away, and proceeded to remove his pants. You tried to look away, but you couldn’t. Oh, that’s a nice bulge. You noticed as he turned slightly, facing you side on.  You clamp your thighs tight subconsciously, a pool of warmth growing down there. Fuck. should have told him to sleep on the couch, so you could relief your self in private. 

A dip in the bed snapped you out of your daydream. You looked up, his beautiful dark eyes stares back at you. “Cm’ere  Lastochka. Sleep on this side.” he commanded. Leaving no room for argument. He is trying to shield you from the window and door.

Forever a protector. You feel both annoyed and touched by his action. Sick of being treated as a damsel in distress, but you know well that the situation is way out of your control, you would have died if he didn’t come to your rescue earlier this afternoon. 

Switching the bedside table light off, he tucked both of you in, kissing you lightly on the head. 

Not tonight. You are not going to give into your desire tonight. You are still in danger. It’s not time to think about how nice he smells, his large hand cradling your head, how well it will cup your pussy and it is ALSO not the time to think how his dick is gonna stretch you wide….

“You alright there?” he whispered.

“Why do you ask?” you replied, words slightly slurred, eyes half closed from exhaustion from the day’s event. 

“Because you are grabbing onto my shirt. Quite tightly too.” he mused. 

You let the shirt go immediately. Embarrassed, you flip your body away from him, ignoring his chuckle and force yourself to try to fall back to sleep. 

Your eyes shot open to the sound of glass breaking in the living room. Nikolai was already standing by the edge of the bed, back towards you, gun ready in hand. 

“Just as I predicted.” You can hear a gleefulness laced with malice in his voice. A hunter waiting for his prey to show up, ready to toy with them. 

The other side of Nikolai you have never seen before. It sends shivers down your spine. Note to self, you thought, never get onto his bad side. 

Shooting you a brief glance before turning back to face the door, he pointed to the pillow he was sleeping on, “There’s another gun under there. Grab it and stay behind me.” he commanded in a hushed tone. From your previous observation, how your brother and the boys behave, you know better not to disobey him when he is in full commander mode. 

Nikolai yanks the bedroom door open and throws a knife you didn’t notice he was holding into the first intruder’s throat, killing him instantly. You barely suppressed a scream as you saw the body collapsed onto the floor, blood flowing onto the carpet. 

Your landlord is going to kill you. Was your initial thought. How are you going to get rid of the blood stain?!!

The intruders were clearly caught by surprise. They were only expecting you inside the apartment. The other two immediately trained their guns at the two of you, but faltered when they saw who they were up against. 

Nikolai growled at them in a language you couldn’t quite understand, the two stunned assassins nodded quickly, dragging their dead team mate’s body with them as they hastily retreated from the broken window. 

You sighed as you looked at the damaged window. Now how are you going to explain that to the landlord too? Shaking your head, you moved behind Nikolai,avoiding the broken glass on the ground as you joined him peeking out the window, making sure the enemies were true to their word in retreat without causing further problems.

“What did you say to them????” you gaped in wonder, amazed how fast they came, and how fast they went. 

“Easy. I told them you are my wife. And if they lay a finger on you, they will have me to deal with.” You snapped your head towards him,  brain freezed for a second at what he has just told you.  

“This is what I propose, just in case they go and check the marriage registry. We should head to the registry office tomorrow to get married. So what do you say, Lastochka, will you marry me?” 

WHAT. DID .HE .JUST. SAY.

“..... get someone to clean up the carpet first before we discuss marriage please. I am going to lose my bond money because of that.” 

Tag list:

@homicidal-slvt @nrdmssgs @siilvan @roosterr

@preciouslittlecreature @jynxmirage @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

@glitterypirateduck

@whydoilikewhump

@alypink

@liyanahelena

@caramlizedtomatos

@ashwasherelol

@okayyadriana

[foxymoxynoona]

After the Applause (Ch. 6)

Header and linebreaks by @awrkives

Single Dad Jimin x Female OC

SUMMARY: Jimin doesn't know how he would have made it this far after the shattering of his world without the support of his thoughtful, generous, helpful neighbor. Hanbyul has lived next to hottie Jimin and his adorable daughter for years now, long enough to remember the wife he was so devoted to and lost far too young. With each safely ensconced on their side of the brick wall of the Parks' grief, it will take an enterprising little scientist to set the stage for a second chance at love.

CW/tags: grief, prior loss of spouse/parent, comfort, explicit sex, secondhand embarrassment, sort of love triangle/web/rat's nest, fluff, cursing, dating apps, fuckboy friends, dancer Jimin, stubborn dad Jimin, stubborn pre-teen daughter, miscommunication, pining

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Hanbyul stared at the website confirmation page and felt certain she’d fucked something up. She hated this feeling, like she’d done something wrong. She’d probably attached the wrong thing, or missed some egregious typo, or maybe she sounded annoying in the cover letter. Maybe her headshot wasn’t actually a good likeness.

Thank you for submitting your resume and application. One of our recruiters will be in touch with you shortly.

She belatedly felt stupid to have done this on a Friday afternoon. Now the soonest someone would contact her would be Monday, which gave her at least forty-eight hours to convince herself that applying was the most embarrassing thing she’d ever done and that they were going to laugh at her application and print it out just so they could chuck it in the trash.

Enough of that. She steeled her resolve (to do the thing she had in fact already done) and closed her laptop and crossed her arms in an attempt to look as confident as she wanted to feel. She deserved that job. Some parts were outside of her skillset or experience but most of it was familiar. A man wouldn’t let some pieces hold him back from applying. A man would apply and convince the interviewer why he was still the best candidate for the job, and so that’s exactly what Hanbyul was going to do. 

Because only about 20% of boardrooms in the country consisted of women and while Hanbyul wasn’t applying for a board position, that’s where she was reaching. Someday she was going to get there, and she’d take Sun-young –maybe by then a successful young scientist– out for coffee and say Thank you. Thank you for reminding me that we face extra challenges in the workplace and it’s our responsibility not to hold ourselves back because others will gladly do that for us.

Hanbyul would not be held back! She’d give it her all to get this new position with its better pay and improved benefits. If it didn’t work out, she’d apply for others. She’d call her parents more. She’d clean her apartment this weekend. She’d stop putting Namjoon off and finally have a truthful conversation with him –her responses had been vague and she was certain he could tell. Right now, she could do anything! Even with her trembling hands!

Because a nine-year-old had convinced her she could. Sun-young had inspired her, it was true. Her determination and serious efforts to convince her father that she ought to do science club had shamed Hanbyul into applying because she refused to be a woman who let her childhood confidence fade away. Not that she had ever been as confident as Sun-young, but it wasn’t too late to catch up! She wanted to be the kind of woman Sun-young apparently thought she was.

So she needed to do that other thing, even though she’d been dreading it: she took Hudu on a walk and called Namjoon. 

He picked up on the third ring, a little breathless but cheerful sounding. Not for the first time she wished she could just text him about this but he deserved more than that. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset. Hopefully he wasn’t that invested. He couldn’t be, right?

“Hanbyul? Hey, I was just thinking of messaging you–”

“Hi Namjoon. I, um… I’m sorry, I have sort of disappointing, um…”

“Bad news? Are you ok?”

She cursed how sweet he sounded. The confidence after submitting her resume began to drain away. Why was she doing all these exhausting things in the same day? She had foolishly overestimated herself. 

“I’m ok but… I know I haven’t been very responsive lately and I wanted to just be direct because you’re really great and you deserve that.”

“Ah.”

“I’m really sorry but I’m just…”

There was silence on the line. She appreciated that he seemed to understand without her saying much. Or maybe he was just shocked. Stunned. Heartbroken?! Oh god, she’d never broken anyone’s heart before.

“Look if you’re just really busy right now or something, I get it. I know I’m traveling for work a lot too, so…”

“It’s not that. I mean, I am busy, and I just applied for a better job so maybe I’ll get even busier but–”

“Oh congratulations, I hope it goes well–”

“Aish, don’t be so nice,” she complained. “I feel awful, Namjoon. You’re such a great guy and–”

“You don’t have to do that. I mean you don’t have to comfort me. I mean, it sucks, because you’re… but…”

She tugged Hudu to the side of the path so she could stop and squeezed her eyes shut. Why couldn’t he be an asshole about this? She’d feel so much better. She was aware that she was stupid, that this was stupid, that she was ending what could become something good with a great guy for no reason. Or at least not a good reason. 

“I feel like shit.”

“It’s ok.”

“No, don’t you comfort me!”

“Can I just ask… it’s ok if you don’t feel comfortable, but I just…”

She waited, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted and her face flushed and the blood rushed in her ears. This was awful. She didn’t have much experience calling things off with men and when she did, the guy had usually seen it coming and not cared that much anyway.

“Did I do something? Is there some… feedback you can give me or…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong at all,” she quickly insisted. And then because she felt too miserable and clung to a piece of driftwood she thought might make it better: “You’re such a great guy. To be honest, I kind of have feelings for someone else and I thought I could get over it but I can’t and you deserve better than that.”

For a moment he was silent again. She could hear his breathing; he always seemed to hold the phone so close to his mouth when he spoke. 

“I get it,” he said. “That really sucks. Sorry you’re in that situation, and I hope he figures it out quick.”

“I don’t think he will but… um… thanks. And I’m really sorry, Namjoon.”

“Don’t be sorry. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“And uh, give me a call or something if you’re ever not… not feeling things for someone else, I guess.”

“I will,” she blurted out because she couldn’t think quickly enough on her feet. She ended the call before she could say anything else stupid and pressed it to her forehead. Had that gone well or not well? She couldn’t tell. She supposed it could have been worse… but she felt like she shouldn’t have mentioned having feelings for someone else. What if he somehow figured out she meant Jimin?! And it was a cop out anyway because that wasn’t the only reason. She was emotionally compromised, but she didn’t break off with Namjoon for Jimin. Jimin wasn’t an option! She just didn’t see a future right now with anyone who wasn’t… Jimin.

She felt punchy in a different way now. She practically jogged home with Hudu, which she never did and clearly confused him; he kept looking up at her like he expected someone else might be holding the leash. Once home, she dug through her cabinets looking for anything to soothe or distract but her cupboards were practically bare. Why did she have so many ingredients but no food or alcohol?

It was in this state of desperation that she received a message from Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook: hey re hitting up hongdae club aura and youre coming

Hanbyul: ok I’m in

Jeon Jungkook: wait really???

Hanbyul: did you mean to invite someone else? 😅

Jeon Jungkook: you but you never take me up on it!

Hanbyul: I don’t want to sit at home tonight

Jeon Jungkook: ok ouch didn’t need to make an excuse

Jeon Jungkook: whatever, you can’t bring me down, see you at 10

Hanbyul: TEN?! 

Jeon Jungkook: why are all my friends grandpas? 10 is early! Don’t you bail on me too

Hanbyul: I’ll see you at 10 if you can actually get us in…

Jeon Jungkook: you’re cute, you’ll get us in

Hanbyul laughed. Hard. She knew she ought to be giddy for a man who looked like Jungkook to say that kind of thing, but he said that kind of thing all the time in a way that didn’t actually feel very specific anymore. Only after the date was set did she have a rush of terror realizing she had just agreed to go out clubbing with Jungkook… but it was true that she felt jittery and didn’t want to be home this evening. She felt like she could do anything! Even stay awake until 10pm to go clubbing on a Friday night! 

She had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly which of Jungkook’s friends had insisted ten was too late at night. Though he’d obviously be the hottest one there, she didn’t think Jimin was into the scene –certainly not in the time she’d known him. She had absolutely no concern that Jimin would be at the club. She also felt like this might be a good chance to really establish a platonic friendship with Jungkook and quiet her slight fear that she was leading Jimin’s close friend on. You know, since she’d already slept with and ghosted then dumped another… 

Her dress was short. It was the shortest dress she owned. She didn’t really own revealing clothing, nothing sexy for hitting the clubs, but she’d bought this dress that was a little too small and so that would have to do. She’d just have to remember not to raise her arms or… disaster! 

She kept tugging it down as she made her way inside with no issue –Jungkook had put her “on the list” and texted her to come on in, which seemed really suspicious. He was easy to find, practically spot-lighted under a round table in a distant corner, animated and laughing with another guy and two girls.

She carried herself bravely forward, nerves instantly frazzled by the loud music, pulsing lights, and close bodies she had to weave her way through to reach them.

“Hey you didn’t bail!” Jungkook cheered when she reached his elbow. “My only true friend.”

The use of friend instantly set her at ease, though she wasn’t prepared for the names lobbied instantly at her amidst their shouts of protest at his remark: Jung Hoseok, Park Andi, and Han Chun. Years and connections were shared and she tried to keep up over the noise of the club, answering the questions as formally as a job interview. She had hoped no one noticed how nervous she was to be out with people she didn’t know, but Jungkook seemed to because he insisted on buying her a drink, which she was overwhelmed into agreeing to. Only when he returned with her cucumber something in hand did she realize there were two men and two women and Jungkook had just bought her a drink and maybe calling her his friend was all part of his plan. Even though that seemed absolutely ridiculous when both those women looked–

Oh. Hanbyul realized she had miscounted. 

“I can’t even count!” she groaned and let her face fall against her hand, not even caring that the slump might smudge her makeup or transfer oil to her chin and give her acne. Who cared what a girl who couldn’t even count looked like!

“Who’s counting? You don’t need to count anything right now,” Jungkook laughed. “You want me to do some math for you?”

“He can’t do math,” Hoseok immediately ratted him out. “Don’t ask him to do math, he just picks a number.”

“That’s not true!”

Andi giggled and leaned in close to agree, “He acts like he’s thinking really hard and then confidently gives a very wrong answer.”

“He doesn’t need math, he’s so pretty,” Chun suggested, though Hanbyul couldn’t tell if her smirk at Jungkook was predatory or just teasing. She didn’t know these people, and clearly her day was beginning to take a toll, so she really shouldn’t have come out. 

“Shut up, don’t blow my cover. Hanbyul’s a smarty, don’t make me look stupid,” Jungkook laughed.

Hoseok nodded and agreed, “I’ve heard about it.”

“About… me?” Hanbyul clarified, tilting her head.

“Neighbor Hanbyul,” Hoseok confirmed, which made more sense, even if it made her a little sad to be still Neighbor Hanbyul. “Sunnie talks about you a lot too.”

“Ahhh that girl.” Hanbyul grinned as a warmth blossomed in her chest. That was better, at least. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

Jungkook’s stare and slow grin made her nervous as he nodded, the others confirming. It was quickly made clear they all knew Jimin and Sun-young –Hoseok was a teacher at Jimin’s studio, Hanbyul was quickly educated on, and Chun and Andi both danced with him and Jimin. When asked if she’d ever seen Jimin dance she admitted that she hadn’t and chose not to disclose her YouTube history. There weren’t many videos on there but there were a few! Anyway, they clearly meant seen him dance live, so it wasn’t a total lie.

“We hear a lot about your son, too,” Hoseok added. Hanbyul, mid-sip of her cucumber something, promptly choked. Jungkook seemed to take great glee in pounding her on the back.

“My what?”

“Hudu?”

“He’s a dog!”

“A dog can be a son!” Hoseok laughed with the rest of the table. He smiled with his whole face and it reminded her so much of Jimin she could almost believe they were related.

“Honestly a dog is the best son,” Andi insisted. “Like, I love Sunnie with my whole heart, but I don’t want kids of my own. I’ve got a cat and I want a dog too but I don’t think I’m tough enough to walk one in the winter.”

“You’re not tough enough,” Jungkook agreed; Andi dipped her fingers into her glass and flicked the droplets his direction.

“I would die for my dog,” Chun announced. “I can never have kids while he’s alive, it wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Hoseok sighed and admitted, “My dog still lives with my parents.”

“It’s their dog,” Jungkook snorted.

“It was my dog but I couldn’t have him with me at university housing when I was younger, and they were all so attached by the time I moved out on my own so– but we could get a dog,” he said, pouting his lips in Jungkook’s direction as if it all came down to his choice.

“I want a dog,” Jungkook agreed.

“Well fuck, let’s get a dog! Woah, but is it a betrayal of Mickey, that’s what I’m worried about…” Hoseok sighed and slumped.

Hanbyul murmured sympathetically and sipped her drink faster. She did not understand what was happening. On the surface she appeared to have joined a group of very fun, down to earth people who just happened to look insanely gorgeous and not of this world in shiny button-up shirts and sequined dresses. It was a complete injustice for these people to be both fun and look like that, and Hanbyul the boring dowager in her plain dress. 

Yet at the same time it made perfect sense because these were Jimin’s friends, and he was like that too! Hanbyul felt utterly stupid for having agreed to come out and yet simultaneously, selfishly fascinated. She felt like Jungkook had opened a door for her that Jimin had not, letting her see this adult social aspect of Jimin’s life –arguably without his permission. Not that he owned these people or anything… but if part of her reason for being here was to learn more about Jimin and get closer to him in that way… fuck, she was a creep! Would she have ever even talked to Jungkook if he wasn’t Jimin’s friend? She doubted herself now. 

“I’m getting another, do you want one?” Andi asked, nudging Hanbyul in a friendly, familiar way that she was flattered to have somehow already earned .She didn’t want another one, but she also did.

“I can buy you something back,” she offered Jungkook before following Andi.

“It’s fine.”

“I insist.”

“Ok, whatever you get.”

“Even if it’s girly?” she checked.

He gave her a horrified look and clarified, “It’s a drink, there’s no gender.”

Hanbyul too was horrified and insisted, “No, I know! But sometimes men are so–”

“I’m just fucking with you. Girly is fine, I don’t discriminate.”

Hanbyul did not know what to make of him, especially since Hoseok was now leaning to the side laughing into the final sips of his beer.

“Forget this, I’m coming too,” Chun decided. “They just want to stand around and drink.”

“We’re going to get more drinks…” Andi pointed out.

“But we can dance on the way and back!”

In that way Hanbyul found herself boxed onto the dance floor for a period of time that could have been ten minutes or an hour, she couldn’t have said. The music was high energy and heavy-bass and she couldn’t tell when one song ended and another began. Her movements felt painfully clumsy next to the graceful way Andi and Chun twisted and swayed. It would be obvious to anyone observing that she was no dancer –but everyone was packed too tightly for anyone to really observe. Hopefully. 

She was glad when it ended, and that relief led her to agree to the round of shots Andi bought. Chun missed her mouth slightly, the rum dribbling down the cleavage of her dress, which Andi dramatically helped her wipe. Then they leaned in close with Hanbyul and scouted out the hotties along the bar, of which they considered there to be very few. 

Hanbyul kept waiting for one of them to ask her something pressing or private –maybe why Jungkook had suddenly invited her along, or why she’d come, or why she thought she should delve further into Jimin’s life when she was just his neighbor– but they didn’t. 

The closest was Chun asking, “What do you think, Hanbyul? Anyone at this bar catch your eye? What’s your type?” But she didn’t have any malicious twinkle in her eye or bullying smirk, it really seemed like just a sincere question! And Hanbyul began to realize that maybe she was getting too used to workplace politics and competitiveness and it was interfering with her ability to just make friends. Was that what was happening here?

Maybe it was that hope, or maybe it was the alcohol starting to do numbers in her blood, but she admitted, “I don’t think I have a type… at least not one that has worked out for me.”

“Oh no. Something recent?”

“Oh… I did end something recently… but it wasn’t his fault, it was…” Oops. Just in time she realized she couldn’t say more about this without revealing way too much –not only because all roads led to their friend Jimin but also because she’d only just met these girls! “It didn’t work out,” she summarized.

“Another shot?” Andi asked, already signaling for the bartender.

“No, wait–”

“Yes!” Chun agreed. “You can feel sad about it tomorrow if you really want to, but tonight there’s dancing!”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Hanbyul found herself confessing. They were overwhelming, both of these women, pressing another shot into her hand. It was bitter this time and made all three grimace and smack their lips.

She thought they’d missed what she said anyway but Andi insisted, “There’s no such thing as a terrible dancer. Technique? Sure. But dancing is just… feeling! It’s just moving! It’s just breathing.”

“You have clearly not seen me.”

“I was dancing with you five minutes ago!” Andi laughed. “And now I’ll dance with you again, let’s go!”

Hanbyul had Jungkook’s and her drinks in her hand, but did her best to shimmy and sway adequately along with Chun and Andi in the direction of the table. She felt ridiculous but their acceptance was a balm on her self-conscious soul. Jungkook and Hoseok leapt up at their approach and began dancing as well. It was just such a completely different club experience than Hanbyul was used to when she would go out with work peers, or longer ago when it was college friends rotation around her, drinking too much, picking at each other’s appearances and achievements to feel better about themselves in what felt like a hunting grounds for sex.

This didn’t feel that way at all! Hanbyul found her nerves dissolving with each sip, with each song (assuming it wasn’t just one long song playing which she thought entirely possible), with each moment of shared laughter. It was impossible but she began to feel as though she had known these people for a very long time.

Also the alcohol helped. 

Hoseok spun her around –vaguely she recalled making some comment about ballerinas– which led to her promptly over-balancing against him, or it was possible Jungkook had bumped into her, and possibly on purpose because they were dancing near their table and the space was tight and everyone was very close together. She felt barely on her feet and slid around to lean against the table instead and catch her breath so she didn’t accidentally drag Hoseok down. Their empties were gone and she hesitated over the waters, which had now sat unguarded for some period of time. She ought to get water fresh–

“Hey hey! You came out after all!”

Hanbyul didn’t know how she even heard Jungkook’s shout over the noise other than her sixth sense suddenly shooting an alarm up her spine. She turned, not even bothering to hope it was literally any other friend of Jungkook’s than Jimin.

No, worse. 

There was Jimin, an eyebrow lifted and his mouth open in surprise aimed clearly, undeniably in her direction.

And there beside him, both eyebrows lifted and mouth open in surprise aimed clearly, undeniably in her direction, was Namjoon.

“Fuck!” she choked out.

Jungkook gasped and grabbed her arm, asking, “Did I step on your foot?”

“No but I suddenly need to go home– I mean yes, I need to go home.”

“Shit, how bad–?” Jungkook dropped to a crouch, reaching for her foot. Which was a very bad look, she thought. She leapt away from him, but teetered again because the alcohol. The alcohol! Shit, she could not be drunk at a club like this in the presence of either Jimin or Namjoon and most definitely not together!

“I’m fine, but I’m heading out. Goodnight!” Would they believe that she hadn’t seen them and that’s why she wasn’t greeting either one of them? All of this had happened in the span of four seconds.

No, it wouldn’t make sense, even her alcohol-riddled brain knew they were directly in front of her.

“You really don’t have to leave on my account–” Namjoon said.

“Why do you have to go, just because I’m here–” Jimin said at the exact same time.

They stopped and looked at each other and Hanbyul lost at least three years off her life. 

And then mercifully, before they could say anything, Andi flung her arms around their shoulders and cheered, “You sad sacks came out after all? Let’s get you some motherfucking drinks!”

“Wait, you’re both really here? You never come out!”

“I have a kid,” Jimin defended, suddenly all smiles as Chun descended, pinching his arm and brushing something off his shoulder. 

“I, uh,” Namjoon coughed and looked over their heads. “I just don’t like places like this.”

“Oh sorry it’s not refined enough for you,” Andi tittered. “Too busy at art galas and restaurant openings to consort with club scum, huh?”

“Andi,” he complained, dimples flashing, all the charm Hanbyul had initially liked about him. And yet she felt so closed off from it now, like she could recognize but not really connect with that charm. How could she when Jimin was there beside him, glowing like her north star?  

Hanbyul saw her chance and took it. She ducked around them all and tried to flee for the door. She could call an Uber and be speeding away, looking back through the rear window, before anyone even noticed she was gone.

Unfortunately, the club was a confusing place and after weaving across the throng of dancers, she’d been carried by the current upstream to the bathrooms. 

“Shit-shit,” she mumbled to herself and darted inside because she really did need to pee too and better to do that now. Maybe they’d think she was already gone and stop looking for her and she could still escape. She took her time, braced every time the door opened for it to be Andi or Chun ruining her escape. But as some amount of minutes (uncountable because alcohol) ticked by, she steeled herself and found her confidence. She could get out of here. Whatever Namjoon and Jimin talked about in her absence, at least she wouldn’t be here to face it. That was a Tomorrow Hanbyul problem. Today Hanbyul needed to get the hell out of here.

She stepped boldly from the bathroom in the direction she was certain was the front door –and ran boldly into Namjoon.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey, Namjoon,” she said, thinking as she said it how casual and cool she sounded. Might as well tack on hey, wow, I didn’t see you, didn’t know you were here!

“Hey look, I– sorry, I guess I surprised you… I didn’t know that you uh… knew these people… or would be out at a club… tonight. This club. With these people.”

“Oh, yeah, it was sort of a… a spur of the moment thing. Jungkook invited me along and I didn’t want to just sit at home so…” Her words caught up to her and she realized how terrible that sounded. I dumped you but I also didn’t want to be bored so I just went clubbing.

“Ah. So Jungkook uh… is the guy…? I didn’t even know you knew him…”

“What guy?”

“That you said…” He leaned in close as the music took a turn, and the warm scent of his cologne was unkind as he said closer to be heard, “You said you had feelings for–”

“Oh! NO THAT’S NOT HIM!” she shouted, stiff-arming him away. A little too roughly, she realized, and quickly grabbed his arm and apologized, “Sorry, I– I forgot I told you that. No, it’s not him. He’s just a friend. Sort of. And I– sorry, I’m a little drunk right now kind of?”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t just break things off with you and go party, I was feeling pretty bummed so I thought I’d do something out of the ordinary…I mean, it was the right thing to do but like I said, um… but now you’re here and…” And Jimin is here…

“Hey, it’s fine,” Namjoon assured her. “If you aren’t comfortable with me here, I can leave but if it’s ok, I can be cool.”

“You’re very cool,” she agreed.

He smiled, a handsome dimpled smirk like she hadn’t answered his question correctly, and corrected, “I just mean, I’m only going to be here for a drink and then I’ll go. This isn’t really my scene so don’t let me chase you away.”

“Ok.” 

“And uh, just so it’s out there, if you… ha, nevermind. I’m just going to get my drink, don’t mind me.” He held his hands up and backed away and Hanbyul hated not knowing what he’d been about to say. Maybe: if you want to be friends, that’s cool, I can refrain from ever letting anyone know we had sex and a few dates. She hated that he was probably not saying that.

Almost as much as she hated seeing Jimin standing not too far off, having clearly watched their interaction.

She couldn’t go talk to him. Not while Namjoon would see her and she would probably say or do something that would make it immediately obvious who Jimin was to her because damn he looked so good! He’d gelled his hair back and rolled the sleeves of his dark button-up to his elbows. The club lights flickered off his earring, as if he needed any help from a spotlight to draw eyes to him. Hanbyul felt like the crowd dramatically parted, like the lights shone specifically for him, from him. 

She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell if he was confused or annoyed to see her invading his friend group, or if he had a guess as to what had happened between her and Namjoon. For all she knew, Namjoon had told him everything before they came tonight, or in the time since she’d fled the table, and Jimin had come to demand what the fuck was wrong with her.

But Namjoon was a class act, maybe he hadn’t said anything. Maybe Jimin was only curious about why she and Namjoon had been speaking so closely. If she left now, all Jimin would know was whatever Namjoon said about it. If she stayed and everything seemed cool, maybe Jimin wouldn’t think anything weird was happening. She’d mentioned before she spoke to Jungkook through the app, so it couldn’t be a total surprise she was here.

It made sense in her mind, and was a better excuse than that other thought: I just want to hang out at a club with Jimin. 

Who was she kidding, she couldn’t stay here!

He was walking towards her and she couldn’t move. 

“Hey,” he greeted when he reached her and she wondered if he ever used that line on women at the club because it would totally work, looking like that.

“Jungkook invited me and I had a really long day so I thought it would be good to get out of my apartment,” she blurted out in an attempt to distance herself from Namjoon in one sweep.

“It is a good idea,” Jimin said. “I didn’t know you went clubbing.”

“Rarely.”

“Me neither.”

“You look like a natural,” she assured him.

“Clubber?”

“Huh?”

Jimin shook his head and laughed, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Me?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Yes,” she said, despite knowing she really shouldn’t. More alcohol was the last thing she needed but Jimin had offered! Jimin twisted his hand behind his back so she could hold onto it and trail him through the club to the bar. Jimin asked her what she wanted and paid and she felt bad to let him pay but he’d bought her a drink!

Drink in hand, she was the one to lead them back to the table, though it had been abandoned; all Jimin’s friends were dancing. She thought to join, but Jimin leaned against the wall and she felt anchored to his side.

He nudged her arm and asked, “So how do you know Namjoon?”

“Dating app,” she answered quickly. “And Jungkook. I think all your friends are on there… I make a lot of friends on there… it’s not just for dating!” What was she even saying? She thought maybe if she said “friend” enough it would be enough to save her.

“Friends, huh?” He was practically shouting to be heard, not leaning in as close as Namjoon had. She wished he would; she felt like the distance meant something. “I don’t know anything about apps but I started an account today. Guess I’ll see you on there, huh?”

Hanbyul didn’t know what to do with that information. Why had he made an account on a dating app?!

Same reason as you, moron. Park Jimin was ready to start dating again, that’s what it told her. He’d come to the club looking like that, so maybe he’d been hoping to meet someone here. He must be, to come out when he didn’t normally. The thought of watching him pick up a woman made her break out in a cold sweat. What if she ran into her leaving Jimin’s apartment in the morning–no, probably he wouldn’t take someone there with Sun-young at home, but maybe she was spending the night somewhere else? 

“I hear it’s tough though,” Jimin said, still shouting. “Namjoon had a thing going I guess and it ended today so I made him come out too.”

Oh god, he knows.

“I’d rather meet people the traditional way,” he continued.

“Here?” she asked, face twisting into a grimace. “I guess it depends on what you’re looking for.” 

“Ah… I don’t know…”

“Not all of us meet people as easily as you but I don’t think you’ll have a hard time,” she shouted back.

He pressed his hand over his eyes and then laughed, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Do you need a pep talk before you go hit on someone?” she asked, drawing on all of her strength to be what he needed in this moment and not do what her drunk brain was encouraging her to (lean in and kiss.) “You are brave and smart and funny and–”

“Are you giving me the same speech you gave my daughter?”

“Maybe!” she laughed because he was laughing and because it all felt briefly very funny, having this shouted conversation in the club with Jimin. Encouraging him to go meet a woman “the traditional way” (drunk in a bar) to take home and do the things she wanted to do with him and hope he didn’t find out she’d done those things with his friend already… but different things! Similar in theme but different!

He finally did lean in and begin, “You know what she told me today? She– hey, maybe we should go somewhere we can hear–”

“HEY!” Chun suddenly appeared, followed in short order by Hoseok. “The fuck are you wallflowers doing?”

“Come dance,” Hoseok agreed. “You can talk at home!”

There wasn’t room left to argue. She and Jimin were dragged out, downing their drinks on the way to abandon on a table, and then pressed into the dancing mob. Hanbyul had hoped to position herself so she could at least dance near Jimin, but her hesitation when faced with Namjoon and what he might realize about her feelings towards his friend was just enough time for Andi and Chun to slide in between. Instead Hanbyul found herself on the fringe with Jungkook and Hoseok.

Maybe that was for the best. She was like a baby: without Namjoon or Jimin in sight she was able to forget them, aided by alcohol and loud music and the antics of these two of Jimin’s friends. Despite being physically graceful men, they were clearly just having fun with dancing; both grinned and laughed and didn’t take themselves too seriously which helped her feel less self conscious about what her less-drunk brain would have termed “awkward motions at best.” Maybe she was getting the hang of dancing in the club! Maybe she’d be confident enough now to dance over closer to Jimin! 

Abort abort abort!! Hanbyul froze at the familiar way a random woman danced with Jimin, her hands trailing over his body. Maybe she wasn’t random? Jimin did not seem put off by it, just laughed and lifted her hands but kept her close. Hanbyul wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was Jimin really that bold or did he already know that woman? Hanbyul couldn’t imagine dancing with a man like that. The envy flooded her.

She tried not to look again but it was hard not to. She felt suddenly like a switch had flipped and all the fun she’d been having abruptly turned off. She was being stupid jealous. Hadn’t she just encouraged Jimin to go meet someone? And they were just dancing. And even if it went somewhere, it wasn’t any of her business.

“I need water,” she announced to no one in particular and disappeared again, responsibly leading herself to the bar. It tasted weird and unpleasant in her mouth, and at the first sip she had the urgent need to pee, which meant another swim upstream through the crowds to reach the restrooms. The club was becoming less fun by the minute.

She didn’t think that much time had passed but when she tried to find the group again, they’d scattered. Trying to locate them was a fool’s errand; she’d think she saw one only to squeeze her way there and find it to be someone else. She was all twisted around. The room felt overly loud, the music too loud, the lights too bright. 

There, Jimin!

At the bar, nodding as the woman from earlier leaned in close to say something in his ear. He said something back, right in her ear, then appeared to look around before shaking his head. The woman touched his arm.

Hanbyul knew her night was over. She couldn’t stay here and watch him pick up a woman. She shouldn’t have been here in the first place. She could still see Namjoon out of the corner of her eye, that good guy she’d dumped for no reason other than that it was casual fun when she wanted something serious with someone who was not available, only for him to immediately find her out at the club. She couldn’t find Jungkook. She barely knew Andi and Chun. Her feet hurt and her head was swimming and she felt like she kept getting drunker even though she hadn’t had anything to drink in a while.

Oh no, she realized with a longing for sobriety. I drank too much. Control of her arms and legs felt exaggerated, and the music felt like it was leaking into her skull, and she had the impulse to take off her clothes because it was so hot in here.

Don’t do it! The last tendril of her rational self pleaded with her to behave. She shushed it gently with a finger to her lips.

“You!” a voice at her elbow called. She spun, expecting Jimin, finding Jungkook.

“You were lost!” she cried.

He glared and wagged his finger, “You disappeared! I’ll be in deep shit if I lose you!”

“With the proper authorities?”

“Wha?”

Someone bumped into her and she edged closer to Jungkook with a pout. She didn’t want to be here anymore. She wished Jimin would take her home –no, Jimin wouldn’t take her home, even though they lived right now to each other. Jimin might be taking someone else home.

“He’s still talking to her,” she realized, her eyes landing on Jimin despite the crowd. She couldn’t tell if it was the same woman but it didn’t matter. Jimin was going to take home whatever woman he wanted and meet more women on the dating app and Hanbyul was going to have to just sit back and cheer him on. She wanted to cry.

“Hey, you ok? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I want to go home,” she said in a small voice. “I’m too drunk…”

“Ah, damn. No, don’t cry.”

“I won’t cry,” she vowed, though didn’t quite believe it herself.

“What? I can’t hear you… let’s just get you home,” he said, as best she could tell. When he nudged her towards the door, she let him guide her out. It had cooled off considerably outside and she shivered. The sudden shift in volume left her feeling teetery, as if she’d been leaning on the noise and body heat.

“How drunk are you?” he asked, hand gripping her arm.

“Um, just a little bit… I can get a cab…” she pulled her phone out of her purse and promptly dropped it on the ground. “Oops.” It was embarrassing for Jungkook to see her like this. She didn’t know how she’d gotten this far, just one drink leading to another, and it was all fine until suddenly she fully understood she was watching the love of her life–

“He’s not the love of my life,” she insisted.

“What now?”

“I don’t know, where’s my phone?”

Jungkook held it up, but promptly overbalanced and fell on his ass. Only when he started laughing did Hanbyul consider she wasn’t the only drunk one, and it was overwhelmingly comforting in that moment. A few tears did leak out then.

“Shit, you’re crying. Let me go get Jimin, he’s better with that kind of–”

“NO!”

“No… Jimin?”

“Can I sleep at your place?”

“Uh…” Jungkook looked up at her from the curb. “Yes… but–”

“Not to have sex!”

“Ok geez.”

“No, I have to get home to Hudu… where’s my phone…” 

“It’s dead,” Jungkook told her.

Hanbyul promptly sat down beside him on the curb and sighed, “Well shit.”

“I’ll get you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No? I should just wave and let you walk off? Jimin would shred my balls and peel the skin off my body.”

“Ew,” she gasped.

“Oh he can take you home, he lives right by you.” Jungkook began to rise but Hanbyul knocked against him to send him sprawling again. “What the–”

“No!” she cried on a delay. “Anyone but him.”

“Anyone?”

“It can’t be him. He’s… busy.”

“Busy…?”

“Like… flirting. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Nah, he won’t mind.”

“I can’t! He can’t see me like this! Who knows what I’ll say?!”

“What’s the worst you can say?” Jungkook laughed. “‘I’m in love with you’?���

Hanbyul grabbed his arm, eyes going wide, and demanded, “Did I say that?!”

“Wha?”

“How did you know that?!”

“The… fucking… wait… do you?”

“Did Namjoon tell you that?!”

“What does Namjoon have to do with anything?”

“I didn’t tell him who but I didn’t think he would show up today and why is Jimin friends with everyone in this city–”

“He’s a friendly guy.”

“I know and I know I’m just a friend so you don’t have to tell me but I still didn’t mean to…” She trailed off, unable to bring herself to admit she’d fallen in love with him, or unknowingly slept with his friend, or that her jealousy over him even talking to other women in the bar right now was going to consume her.

“Hey.” Jungkook nudged her arm with his. She gave him a miserable look. “I don’t think you’re just a friend.”

“Thanks, Jungkook. That’s sweet of you… I think…”

“No, I mean–” A car interrupted him, pulling to a stop so close that they both scrambled backwards. “Oh that’s our car.” She thought it was too soon for a car to have arrived. How had he even ordered one on his phone without her seeing? They scrambled into the car like a pair of street rats.

“Oh my god I’m too drunk I shouldn’t have been saying any of this! Stop making me talk!”

“It thinks it’s the alcohol.”

“Too much,” she sighed. “Why did I come out with you?”

“To have fun. Admit it, you were having fun.”

“I was, until…”

“So you’re like… in love with–”

“Stop saying it! I didn’t say that.”

“You pretty much did,” he tittered.

“You can’t tell him. Promise me. Promise me, Jungkook, not a word!”

“Why would I tell him your business?” Jungkook snickered. “I think you should tell him. And let me watch.”

“Jungkook. Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook–”

“Hanbyul, what.”

“We can never tell him,” she said with utmost sincerity, grabbing his hand and squeezing as tightly as she could. “He can never know.”

“Why not?”

“He and Sun-young are too important to me. Do you understand?”

“Yeah but what if you’re important to him too?”

“I am. I get to take care of Sun-young sometimes and he likes my cooking…” She closed her eyes because the car ride was making her dizzy. At least thinking of Jimin helped settle her head just enough she didn’t think she was going to puke in the backseat of the Uber. Probably. 

“Yeah but what if he thinks you’re more important than your cooking?”

She smiled and wished she could move enough to pat his head as she explained, “He doesn’t but I can be happy with being neighbor Hanbyul, but not less than that if I make him uncomfortable and he stops talking to me.”

“I don’t really know you a lot but I don’t think you should settle.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, I’m sweet,” he agreed. “I think it matters, love and romance and… and thinking someone is the best part of your day…”

“Are you a romantic?” she gasped.

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“I thought you were a…”

“A what?!”

“A flirt…” Fuckboy.

“I am a flirt. I can be both. And I’m not setting for anything less than… I’m waiting to meet someone who gets all red faced talking about me like you do about Jimin.”

“I do not! I’m just drunk!”

“It’s cute.”

“I wish I could fall out of this car and have it run me over.”

Jungkook laughed hard and Hanbyul actually felt all right for him to know her secret. At least for right now. Even though he was one of Jimin’s best friends, at least right now her drunk mind did not perceive a threat that he would run and tell. Right now he felt like her friend too, like they were just two drunk girls in the bathroom sharing secrets. Except it was the back of a cab and his only secret was that he wanted to be in consuming love someday. To be honest, Hanbyul did not think being in love agreed with her so far.

Because yes, she was a little bit in love with Jimin and so far it was nothing but stomachaches.

They walked together up to her apartment. She thought he was just being a gentleman, but when she got back from the quickest pee she’d ever taken Hudu on, she found Jungkook puking in her bathroom.

“Mixed my alcohols,” he groaned. 

Well, Hanbyul was drunk enough to spill her secrets but not enough to puke. With any luck, Jungkook wouldn’t even remember these conversations tomorrow; she hadn’t realized he was as or even more drunk than she was.

“You can sleep on the couch,” she told him.

“The couch? Come on, let me share your bed.”

“Jungkook!”

“We don’t have to fuck! Jimin would never forgive me–”

“Stop talking about it!”

“About fucking? Or Jimin? Or fucking Jimin–”

“Jungkook!”

“Come on, you’re practically my sister in law at this point, just let me sleep in your–”

“I am not! What are you talking about?!” She covered her face and leaned against the wall. And refused to admit that she felt some secret little thrill in this teasing, in someone else making her connection to Jimin seem real and acceptable and possible. Even though she knew it wasn’t and that Jungkook was just a brat who was enjoying teasing her –which was sweet in its own way but she was definitely going to die of embarrassment tomorrow if he remembered any of this.

When she uncovered her face, Jungkook was holding Hudu, swaying slowly with the pup under his chin, and humming. 

Until he suddenly set Hudu down and sprinted to the bathroom again. At that point he decided he wanted the couch after all, since it was closer to the toilet. Hanbyul brought him a trash can too and a glass of water, by which point he was already asleep. Not that she was far behind. The room spun as she lay in bed, the events of the day sliding and jostling over each other.

Jimin was so handsome. And sweet. And charming. And kind. And handsome.

It didn’t matter what Jungkook said. Jimin wasn’t interested in her like that, as evidenced by his attention to other women, as evidenced by his mentioning dating other people to her several times now, as evidenced by his joining of a dating app when there was a perfectly ok Hanbyul down the hall.

Plus… Namjoon.

Well. This had been fun. But Hanbyul was never going to drink again and never going to go out with Jungkook and their friends again.

But first she made sure Jungkook was asleep with traitor Hudu curled up on his legs, and closed her bedroom door, and let her vibrator walk her through the memories of the way Jimin had looked and danced, except this time around her, kissing the lingering taste of his drink into her mouth…

Jimin slept like shit. Every time he’d start to doze, he’d grab his phone again, squinting at the blinding brightness to see if there was a message back. Occasionally he’d manage to fall asleep only to bolt up, certain he’d heard his phone ring –that obnoxious awful ring he’d put on ever since that one time Sunnie’s school hadn’t been able to get hold of him because he always kept his phone on silent and they’d called Hoseok, the second emergency contact, to go get Sunnie and she’d thought it meant her dad died too.

There was never an obnoxious ring going off. Instead he drifted in and out of sleep until Sun-young was awake, enough of an excuse to get out of bed and go through the motions of making them both breakfast and rattling off their plans for the day. Not that there was much for this one blessed weekend. Jimin wasn’t teaching any classes or partaking of any workshops or attending any performances by fellow dancers. Sun-young wanted to see her friends but there was nothing planned yet, and she had no weekend dance since there was no reason for her to take on extra. It wasn’t time for dress rehearsals yet. For her final recital.

“We need to grocery shop,” Jimin suggested, because their fridge was empty and that made him think of cooking and food and Hanbyul, which was better than thinking of Sunnie quitting dance. Hanbyul who had not answered his phone call or either of his texts asking if she got home all right. That wasn’t excessive, was it? But she’d been very drunk, and every time he’d tried to make his way over to her, Kim Hayoon kept catching hold of him again –and he couldn’t exactly just shove her off because she sat on the board of a scholarship that aided many of his students, which in turn kept his lights on and doors open.

Hanbyul must be ok. Just hung over. Hoseok said he’d seen Jungkook getting her an Uber and while Jimin would have greatly preferred that someone let him know Hanbyul was heading out so he could catch a ride home with her, he knew he could trust Jungkook. The fact she was drunk was both obvious and endearing, he could see it in the way she danced without her usual reserve, and the exaggerated way she responded when anyone talked to her. She just had a different look in the club when they’d talked that he couldn’t quite explain but it had just felt… different. He hadn’t understood she was drunk at first when they spoke, and maybe she wasn’t yet then, maybe that came later. He didn’t know, she just seemed happy. He had gotten painfully little actual time with her and the injustice of that was palpable. She’d looked amazing and he had never in his life expected to be at a club with her and he would have liked to dance together. Preferably just the two of them… and what the fuck was wrong with him that he hadn’t managed to make it happen?!

“I’m not hungry,” Sun-young said, possibly related to his comment about grocery shopping. He closed the refrigerator, now several degrees warmer, and looked over where Sunnie poked at her gyeran bap, cheek resting on her hand.

“You want cereal instead? We have…” He trailed off, realizing they had none. Hanbyul might have some he could bum off her…

“No,” Sun-young sighed. “Can I watch TV?”

“Sure, but we should go grocery shopping today and figure out what else we need to do… laundry… do you have homework?” Even as he said these things, he frowned. He did need to do these tasks, but he also wanted to just have fun with his daughter. Maybe Hanbyul could come along? He could tease her about last night, make sure she understood he had wanted to dance with her–

But to what end? He’d dance with her and maybe she’d humor him and only think to herself a little why is this old dad wanting to dance with me at the club? Why is he even here? He didn’t usually go to clubs –not because he didn’t enjoy them but because he didn’t usually have the time or energy. But Namjoon was bummed because that girl he’d been dating had called things off and it wasn’t serious but it kinda sucked and so Jimin had called in a favor with Yoongi and put himself together and gone to the clubs.

And there was Hanbyul, for no reason he could comprehend at the time, long hair pulled back to show off her neck, wearing a cute very short dress he’d never seen her in before… vibing with Jungkook. For a moment he’d lit up like a holiday tree with surprise and envy and relief, because here was an opportunity to spend time with Hanbyul in an adult setting except she was already spending that time with Jungkook! 

And then there was whatever Namjoon and Hanbyul had been talking about by the bathroom. He didn’t realize she’d gotten to know so many of his friends around him and now he felt even more like an idiot not to have invited her into his circle long ago. They clearly got along with her, she seemed happy –except for that moment she spoke with Namjoon, and looked so distressed it was hard to hold himself back from running in to save her. Maybe he should have. At the time he’d hesitated because Hanbyul wasn’t his to save and whatever they were talking about wasn’t his business. He’d been anchored by that twist of displeasure that she was young and single and pretty and so were his friends. 

Sun-young curled up on the couch with a blanket and watched some kid drama with an unblinking, disconnected stare. It dragged Jimin from his thoughts of Hanbyul.

“You ok, Sunnie?”

“I’m tired.”

That was wildly unlike her. Jimin perched on the edge of her couch and touched her forehead but couldn’t decide whether it was unusually warm or not. 

“Does anything hurt?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Your head? Your stomach? Your throat?”

“I don’t know, I just feel…”

“Yes?” he prodded, waiting for the revelation.

“Tired.”

Illness in Sun-young always raised a panic in him on par with what he’d experienced when she was only an infant and he and Subin young, inexperienced parents convinced every sniffle could be the first sign of something fatal. Most parents learned over time through proof of the contrary that colds were common and their child was healthy, though the fear always lurked in the shadows. But when Subin was suddenly very sick, and only a short time later died, it broke that security in Jimin. Any illness could be the last one. 

The doctor’s office was used to his overreactions at this point. He didn’t care, though he tried to reign it in once Sun-young made clear she found the coddling overbearing. He tried to trust her assessment of her own body, but she was a child! She gave him nothing to go on this time anyway, just tired, so Jimin checked ears and nose and throat, took her temperature, pressed on her belly, took her temperature again.

“A small fever,” he murmured.

“I think it’s just a cold,” she said, drooping to the couch again. She nudged his leg. “I can’t see.”

“Your vision is hazy?!”

“You’re blocking the TV.”

“Oh…” 

“My throat hurts a little,” she conceded, as if throwing him a bone in his worry. He had thought it looked a little red, her lymph nodes a bit swollen to touch.

This called for an aggressive offense of yuzu jelly tea, popsicles, and Sunnie’s favorite stew samgyetang. But they were out of popsicles, there was only a scrape of yuzu jelly left in the jar to make tea with, and of course he had no samgyetang readily on hand.

He glanced at the clock. It was nearing ten now. Surely Hanbyul would be waking up –even if she’d slept in with a hangover. In fact, he had some Easy Tomorrow she could drink! He should have taken it over last night and regretted his thoughtlessness now. She might be having a rotten morning and it would be shitty of him to show up and ask if she had any yuzu jelly or could make samgyetang for his sick daughter.

But she might be already making it for herself, and she might not mind sharing the jelly, and she might appreciate the Easy Tomorrow later than never. Plus he could confirm with his own eyes she’d gotten home safe.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just to see if Hanbyul has yuzu jelly.”

“Tell her to come watch TV with me,” Sun-young said from her blanket burrito. “You can say I’m sick if it makes her come.”

“I think you are sick, kiddo.”

“I’m just a little tired.”

She coughed immediately afterwards, as if even her body couldn’t stand by the dismissal of her symptoms. Jimin would never. Already he was evaluating just how far he’d let her symptoms get before he’d take her to the doctor. The answer: not very far.

He felt a twinge of guilt as he knocked on Hanbyul’s door. She might have a headache so he started quietly but when he didn’t hear anything, graduated to the buzzer.

He tracked footsteps to the door and then a pause during which he assumed Hanbyul was peeking through the peephole to see who was bothering her on a Saturday morning. He ran his hand through his hair, hoping he didn’t look too rough.

The door swung open to reveal Jungkook wearing yesterday’s clothes and looking puffy-eyed and crusty. He yawned and scratched at his cheek and gave Jimin a sleepy grin.

“Hey, Easy Tomorrow, thanks,” he said, reaching for the bottle. “I was just heading out. Hanbyul’s still asleep if that’s who you’re looking for.”

Jimin was so completely stunned to be confronted by Jungkook answering Hanbyul’s door that he could only stammer out, “Who else would I be looking for at Hanbyul’s apartment?”

“Yeah, good point.” Jungkook unscrewed the cap from the bottle and downed it in one long chug while Jimin just stood there, waiting for an answer to any of the questions he couldn’t find his voice for: why are you waking up inside Hanbyul’s apartment wearing yesterday’s clothes? Why did you go home with her? Why did you invite her out in the first place? Are you two dating now? Did you fuck?

Bottle empty, Jungkook handed it back to Jimin and clapped him on the shoulder as he said, “It was good you came out last night. I think everyone had a lot of fun.”

“Uh… yeah, uh…”

“Fuck. Think I’ll get some more sleep at home… see ya later. Tell Sunnie I said hey.”

Jungkook did not seem to realize that Jimin was stunned speechless. He set off down the hall, leaving Hanbyul’s door open as if Jimin was going to just waltz right in. She wasn’t even out of bed yet! Had she slept naked after Jungkook…

Jimin pulled the door shut, making sure he heard the click of the lock before sprinting back to the safety of his own apartment. There he snuggled down beside Sun-young and pulled out his phone to order yuzu jelly tea and stew and anything else he could think of that they wanted for delivery, cost be damned. 

What the fuck?! Had Jungkook really gone home with and slept with Hanbyul?

Jimin couldn’t even process it. Jungkook ought to know she was off limits! But also, of course Jungkook wouldn’t think she was off limits, because Jimin never said so, because she wasn’t off limits. Even if it felt wrong for her to not be off limits. Even if Jimin and Hanbyul weren’t dating, she shouldn’t be dating any of his friends either, right?? Because… because there was still an emotional connection there…

Jimin flat out didn’t know what to do. Everything in him warred between marching right over, coming out with it and seeing what she said… and doing anything in the world except that.

But coming out with what? What did Jimin have to offer Hanbyul? Absolutely nothing in some areas and too much in others. A single father, a dead wife, a heart still trying to adjust to the idea of letting someone else in. If Hanbyul was interested in Jungkook, then Jimin was not the guy for her. Jimin should be looking for someone older and settled or something anyway, right? Maybe someone with a kid too, so they could mutually burden each other –not that he thought Sun-young was in any way a burden, but it was a lot to ask someone who wasn’t a parent to suddenly become one!

“Is unnie coming?” Sunnie asked, sitting up and leveling a pink-faced pout in his direction. 

“Oh uh, I don’t know, she wasn’t awake yet.”

“Can you call her? I really want her to come over.”

Jimin stroked Sun-young’s hair and took her acceptance of this touch as proof she was very sick. 

Would it be such a bad thing if Hanbyul wound up with Jungkook? He could use someone to look after him, and she could use someone who could be fun and free with her. And she’d still be in Sunnie’s life, just as an aunt instead of…

Was he really thinking of Hanbyul like this? It wasn’t in any explicit way, words still seemed impossible and ill-fitting and heavy. He didn’t know what he wanted, he doubted Hanbyul wanted this nameless space, he was too afraid to look directly at this thing taking hazy shape in his mind, this future starting to come into focus. Did the future have to be big and scary? Wouldn’t it be the easiest thing in the world right now for Hanbyul to walk in from the other room and settle on the couch with them, legs folded beneath her, Jimin’s arm around her shoulder and Sun-young draped across their laps? Hanbyul’s head settling onto his shoulder…

The physical closeness was the only thing that would be new, and he wanted it. He craved it in such a sudden, overwhelming rush that it almost drove him from the couch to take a lap around the apartment to work out this restless energy. He wanted Hanbyul here and it wasn’t fair that she wasn’t. Sunnie wanted her here too! Couldn’t they just have what they wanted this time? The scene was playing out in his mind, the casual affection, Hanbyul’s hand stroking Sunnie’s hair, Jimin’s fond smile, maybe a soft shared kiss once Sun-young drifted off to sleep halfway through the movie. God, to kiss Hanbyul, to share a warm, close embrace that he’d been deprived of for years! And for the first time in as long, the longing for it didn’t bring him to his knees in grief. Subin was there in his heart, forever and always, but there was space for Hanbyul too, space he desperately wanted her to fill. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stared at the empty space on the couch as if she was really there, as if they were sharing the phantom first kiss. His flush was as real as if they had.

God, he was pathetic. Lonely, and latching on to a fantasy of his neighbor. He tried to push the thoughts from his head with limited success and turned to narrating the TV show to Sun-young instead until she insisted he stop. 

“Is this what you want to watch? Here, let me get you socks and your stuffie. Maybe you need some medicine too? I think delivery will be here soon–”

“Appa just stay still with me.”

He immediately froze, still as a statue as Sun-young adjusted in his arms, her little warm body curled up with his in a way he’d feared she had outgrown. 

Well he sure fucking wasn’t moving now.

“Ok. I’ll stay,” he assured her. 

“Did you message unnie?”

“Yes,” he partially lied. “But she has something else going on. It’s just going to be us, ok?”

“Ok,” Sunnie sighed and he felt her head getting heavier against his chest. 

There. There, if she could accept it, he could too. They didn’t need Hanbyul or anyone else in their lives. The two of them and the memory of Subin were a whole-enough family. Things were already getting better between them since he’d budged on the dance and science, and the future would be ok. 

He’d let Jungkook know to take care because Hanbyul was a good woman, and then he’d let go of that silly dream he’d almost fallen into.

He had Sunnie and Sunnie had him and they didn’t need anyone else in the world.

Except maybe someone to get the delivery at the door so he didn’t have to unsettle his sleeping daughter. Shit! 

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[shion-yu]

Wait for Tomorrow

My entry for the spot “Hospital” for @hurtcomfort-bingo. 2,271 words, TW for hospital, chronic illness, discussion about potential death of a parent. Ft. OCs Cliff (toyhouse) and Al (toyhouse), plus their respective partners Elliot and Theo. 

The organ transplant unit reeks of hope and loss. There’s always someone who has just received something new and life changing, a very tangible second chance which is only thanks to someone else’s great sacrifice. There’s a little room that always has coffee and snacks, a room for meditating, a little gym, and a room that’s just for crying in. A huge window stretches across the entire end of the unit looking over the city providing sprawling views of the outside world: a world that people like Cliff needs to stay away from because it’s full of germs that could kill him.

Cliff’s thirty-one. He hoped he’d have more time to delay this, but he’d contracted aspergillosis at Christmas, right before Mia’s third birthday. Instead of celebrating his happy and healthy little girl on her special day, Cliff had been unconscious in the ICU, intubated. He’s only gotten to see her in person twice since waking up and it’s March now. Kids aren’t usually allowed on the unit because of the risk of infection. The doctor had let them break that rule twice, and Cliff knows he should be more grateful for it but he isn’t. He wants more, always more.

He misses his daughter more than he can stand. Elliot visits nearly every day and calls at least twice per day. He sends Cliff plenty of videos but it isn’t the same as being there. He watches Mia say new words only second hand through recordings and he’s not there to clap for her as soon as it happens. He’s not there to read to her and kiss her pudgy little cheeks goodnight. He wants to be there for everything, but instead he’s stuck here in this negative-pressure hallway. It’s a beautiful new unit, nicer and sunnier than any Cliff's ever been on before, and yet it feels like a prison.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels the couch he’s sitting on dip and Al silently hands him a tissue. Cliff mumbles a thank you and removes his oxygen to blow his nose, coughing into the tissue afterwards.

“Ugh. I hate crying,” he sniffles to Al. Al pats his back to try and comfort him, but doesn’t tell him it will all be okay. They’re both realistic enough to know that’s not always the case. 

“Me too,” Al says. “Hate getting snot in my oxygen.” He smiles knowingly with a humor that only someone experiencing the same thing as Cliff could really muster. Cliff laughs wetly, dries his eyes and puts his nasal cannula back in. He clears his throat and tries to remind himself that things could always be worse.

Al is waiting for his second set of lungs while Cliff waits for his first. Al got new lungs fifteen years ago, he says, which was a pretty good run of it. They’re not doing so well anymore, but he tells Cliff that he believes the medications are so much better these days. Al never had any kids, but Cliff can see that Al’s wistful about that fact. He acts almost like a father figure to Cliff while they’re stuck on this ward together, although age wise he’d be more like Cliff’s older brother. Cliff thinks it’s funny - when he was nineteen he did a summer internship with Al’s partner, Theo, at Theo’s law firm. He vaguely remembers seeing pictures of Al back then and Theo mentioning his partner was on the transplant list, but it hadn’t really meant anything to him at the time. He’d just said sorry and never thought about it again. He hadn’t known back then how privileged he was to have that mean nothing to him.

Theo recognized him when he came to visit Al, shortly after Cliff had left the ICU and was moved to this floor. Cliff was being pushed down the hall by Elliot when they heard a voice say, “Cliff Barrows?!” It was then that they made the connection that the new patient Al had made friends with was the same person Theo had once been a mentor to. Cliff mostly remembers Theo as unabashedly gay, something he didn’t think was possible for a lawyer at that time. He looks the same now, Cliff thinks, just a bit older and his hair’s starting to go gray. 

Theo asked Cliff if he ever became a lawyer. Cliff laughed and said, “No, I got sick and became a stay at home dad instead.”

Theo grinned at him the same way he had back when he was a teenager. “A dad!” He exclaimed. “Even better than a lawyer.”

Being a dad was better than being a lawyer, Cliff thought to himself. Being a lawyer was his dream and losing it had been incredibly painful at the time. Now, though, he can see it made way for other things in his life. He got back together with Elliot, they got married, and they had their beautiful daughter. Cliff wouldn’t have it any other way - except for the part where he’s stuck here, now. There’s no silver lining to this part, he thinks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Al asks him gently. He has a way of saying this that makes it easy to confess everything, but also easy to say no if Cliff wanted to. He’s so calming and impartial. Cliff thinks he feels far better after his chats with Al than he ever did after therapy.

“Mia is going to pre-school in the fall. Elliot’s out visiting a few right now to see which one fits her. Both of us should be there, but it’s only him.” Cliff’s voice breaks sadly at the end of the sentence and he can’t say anything more.

Al nods. “That must be really hard,” he says gently. “I’m sorry you can’t be there too. I’m sure Elliot will make a great choice though.”

“Oh, definitely,” Cliff says. “I know that. But it’s not fair that he has to do it alone.”

“I understand,” Al says. He doesn’t have kids, but Cliff thinks he’s probably the closest person to actually understanding so he nods.

They stay there a bit longer just watching the sunset until they know they have to be back in their rooms at 7pm-8pm for shift change. Cliff doesn’t see the point, because every nurse on the unit already knows them and their details intimately, but nevertheless they insist on bedside report every twelve hours. Sometimes Cliff pretends he’s sleeping just so they’ll do it in the hallway so he doesn't have to hear all the depressing details one more time. He feels like nothing ever really happens, anyways. Sometimes he has good days, sometimes bad. He doesn’t feel the need to summarize further. Either way, he’s been here for months and won’t be going anywhere until they find him a pair of new lungs.

The idea that some poor stranger has to die for him to live bothers Cliff immensely, but since he’s had Mia he no longer questions if it’s the right thing to do. It’s not that he’s no longer morally confused, he is. But he’ll do anything to see his little girl grow up now, his role as a husband and a father the most important things to him in the world.

When Mia was born, that was the first time Cliff was actually happy to be in the hospital. She was so tiny, Cliff asked if something was wrong with her. No, they told him, she was perfect. He agreed. She was absolutely perfect.

Fatherhood suited Cliff far more than he had expected it would, considering his own parents had never been good examples. But as the stay-at-home parent and a perfectionist, Cliff naturally made it his job to do everything right. And in the process, he found he loved every moment with Mia, even the difficult ones. He kept her close to him and was always hyper vigilant about her wellbeing. He read many, many books. And every afternoon he’d tie up Rosie, their rescue dog, to the stroller and take a slow walk down the street. While their home was located in a nice neighborhood in Brooklyn, Cliff didn’t think New York City pollution was very good for either his own or his child’s lungs. However the socialization was important (for both of them) and more importantly, he wanted Mia to grow up to love people. He never wanted her to hide away from society like he had. And he never wanted her to doubt that her fathers didn’t love her and wanted to spend time with her.

He’s nursing a bad headache in bed when Elliot calls him to say goodnight. Cliff answers because he always answers Elliot no matter what. Back when they were younger Elliot barely left Cliff’s side when he had to spend long stretches in the hospital, but with their daughter it had to be different. She’s their priority, not Cliff, and they had promised to give her as normal of an upbringing as possible. Even with a chronically ill dad and famous papa. They had been doing a pretty good job of it, Cliff thinks. Sure she’d spent a lot of her early childhood in recording studios and doctors offices thanks to her dads, but she was happy and loved. That’s what mattered. It’s still what matters, but it’s so much harder when she doesn’t understand why one of them is suddenly nearly missing from their home, only available through video calls each night.

Elliot’s face pops onto the screen of Cliff’s phone. His black curly hair looks long and messy. He has dark circles under his eyes and Cliff’s heart aches knowing it’s his fault that he has to be a single parent right now. Still, his tone is cheerful and he smiles when Cliff answers. Mia is sitting in her chair at the dinner table behind him. “Hey babe,” he says. “It’s all dark, do you have the lights off?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Cliff says. He reaches over to turn on the lights even though they’re way too bright for his aching head. He squints at his family and puts on his reading glasses.

“Headache?” Elliot asks automatically. They’ve been married - been dealing with Cliff’s illness - for way too long for him not to know exactly what to expect. Cliff nods. “Aww, that sucks,” Elliot says. “Here, Mia will make you feel better.” 

Elliot moves around so that Mia is in full view and can see Cliff on the camera. Her face is messy with grains of rice stuck to her cheeks. Cliff chuckles. “Hi baby girl. Dinner’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

“Daddy!” Mia squeals happily. “Rice and chicken and peas.” Cliff assumes that’s what was on the menu for tonight. It’s what looks like is stuck to her hands, anyways.

“I got home late,” Elliot explains, “Haven’t even showered yet. God bless Paula.” Their nanny, always willing to stay later than planned when she needed to. She was brilliant, but Cliff felt sad every time he remembered she was doing the job he was supposed to be doing.

“Lion!”

“Yes, Mia, good girl,” Elliot says, poking the lion on her bib that she was wearing. She laughs. God Cliff misses that laugh. It sounds entirely different in person - in person it’s like he can feel it with his whole body. “Cliff? Hello? Anything new?”

Cliff realizes he’s been zoning out for several seconds and shakes his head. “No. Nothing new. Same old boring hospital.”

“Boring’s not a bad thing,” Elliot reminds him. Yeah, Cliff thinks. He could be in a coma still, that’s true. But he’d rather be at home fostering Mia’s newfound love for lions this week. They talk for a few more minutes but Cliff’s head hurts a lot and Elliot can tell, even though Cliff doesn’t say anything. He and Mia blow kisses to Cliff through the screen. Cliff closes his eyes and pretends he can feel them hugging him.

Elliot moves to the living room for a moment to ask Cliff privately, “Are you okay?”

“I just really miss you guys,” Cliff said. He takes a shaky breath. He doesn’t want to cry again.

“I know,” Elliot says. “We really miss you too. But we never know what might happen tomorrow! Or the next day.”

Cliff nods. He’s not an optimist like Elliot is, but he listens to his husband. It’s the only way he can continue on here when there’s so much waiting for him at home. “I love you,” Cliff says. “Thank you for everything.”

Elliot’s brow furrows in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Why are you thanking me?”

“No special reason,” Cliff says, forcing a tired smile. “I just want you to know it.”

“Okay,” Elliot says slowly, a bit puzzled. “Well... thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for thanking you. Then I have to double thank you.”

Elliot laughs. Cliff’s relieved he took that worried expression off Elliot’s face. He doesn’t want to make Elliot worry about him more just because Cliff’s missing home while Elliot is working so hard to hold everything in their family together. “Goodnight, Cliffy. Go to sleep. I love you and so does Mia. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you too.” Cliff hangs up and he thinks about tomorrow. Another day of phone calls and the hospital and being far away from his family. He doesn’t know how long he can keep doing this, but he has no other choice. He’s never been so determined to stay alive. Mia’s growing up with two dads, not one, he tells himself. So he’ll keep waiting, forever if he has to. 

[catohphm]

Weekend With The Grays 2023 Day 2 Prompt - Welcome Ball III

Once again, thanks, @endlessly-cursed for a fantastic event! Prim belongs to her. I also have mentions of Malcolm by @gaygryffindorgal and Roxie by @mjs-oc-corner, who also owns Bella, Danny's ship partner. This short piece of content reveals a brief fashion emergency the couple has before the third Welcome Ball that becomes a funny story for later.

On the day before the Welcome Ball, Danny and Bella spent the hour before the 6 PM deadline re-exploring the spacious expanse of Winbourne. They found their usual guest room in the course of that. An attendant had been there to receive Danny's broom and the couple's rucksacks when they first landed down near the gates. Their belongings were left where they'd be staying during the solstice celebrations. 

Warm laughter and mingling took place that night and the morning before the ball. Friends took the time to catch up with each other and reminisce about the passing year. One friend in particular Danny and Bella hung out with was Roxie, a fellow auror-in-training of his. It was in part due to Roxie’s camaraderie and friendship that made the intense regimen a small part easier for her and Danny. She was best friends with him and even helped foster his romantic relationship with Bella. The former Ravenclaws were like siblings and were inseparable in their bond.

However, a small rush of panic took place for Danny and Bella before the ball. The necklace for her dress was missing before Lady Primrose and Lord Malcolm were to assemble everyone together in the hall.

She realized she had forgotten her necklace. Bella felt around for it and wasn't wearing it.

“Where did my necklace go, love? I had it when I showed it to Prim a few minutes ago.”

“I mean, we can wait until after the ball to find it.” offered Danny.

Bella immediately started for the small seating area where they chatted with Prim. It was adjacent to the dance floor. “Not that, I'd rather have it now so I don't have to worry later.”

He caught up to her. “Relax.” He checked his pocket watch. “Still five minutes until the ball starts. Let's relax, not get hasty. Can you remember where we sat.”

Bella took a deep breath. Alright, okay. Prim… was in the armchair there. We were on the sofa to the left.” Danny pointed to it. “So that's where you think the necklace should be?”

“Yes.” confirmed Bella. “I know Prim couldn’t have saw it because she left right after giving it back to me.”

They approached their sofa. There was no necklace, but Danny had a hunch.

“This is silly, but I think it sunk into the sofa. We should look between the cushions.”

“It's on me, Danny. I heard the announcement for everyone to gather on the dance floor and got up right away without a second. I never thought to look. 

He sent her a reassuring smile before they started digging in the couch. “All's well once we find it.”

Within a few seconds, Danny felt the neck loop and Bella’s hand! They looked up at each other with wide eyes. Both uttered “wa-lah!” They pulled it up together. It flew out of their grip into the hair and into her cupped hands. 

She looked at her love and giggled. “Now that's a new meaning to we found it together.”

Danny grinned. “Bravo, Bella. I'm glad for two, that's us.”

She was adamant now to get back to the dance floor. “That’s enough, silly Danny.” she joked as she ran her arm through his and motioned forward with him. “We got a short window, Let’s leg it back now, love.

After the Welcome Ball commenced, the couple expressed relief at their quick save.

“I dunno,  I would've probably ransacked the chairs and sofa if you hadn't helped me, Danny. Prim wouldn't-

“Worry not.” he finished. “I'm just happy we got your necklace back. You're splendid with it.”

Bella put her hand on her partner’s shoulder and remarked “Thank you, Danny. It's a special one-of-a-kind. Honestly I wouldn't know I'd react if it was truly lost.”

“You're quite welcome. Of course, you got to think differently when the belonging can't exactly be replaced.” he replied.

“I'm glad you understand. Now enough worrying about the past. Let's see what you got this great night.”

Danny reached his hand to Bella’s shoulder, and they began their dance moves. With nothing else clouding their thoughts, they took in the sight of seeing each other's beautiful face. No matter where and how fast they twirled, the blur was at bay, and the sights between them were clear. In a grand collage of music, sweet swaying souls in the arms of the festive hearth, Danny and Bella were at peace.

[invinciblerodent]

1) Will your OC get married and with who? 2) Will they have any children? What are their names?

OC Ask Game!

I think I’m gonna go on for a long (long, long, LONG) time about Iona, and mention the others kind of as a footnote, because I think Iona’s answers to these are just… the ones that are most interesting to me, lol

(fair warning looking back, this got PROFOUNDLY away from me- the TL; DR of it is that for Iona marriage is "yes, eventually" and kids are "no, never", for Arvid marriage is a "yes, of course, sure" and kids are "well if you want it", and for Petyr both are "hah! no. nope. no.")

So, this whole “what now” issue in Iona’s case, it’s… all a bit muddled.

As a little background to it, in 3e, it’s said that courtships between elves often take a very long time, sometimes decades, before a commitment is reached- which is understandable, especially considering that elves are also said to seldom fall out of love with one another, and don’t typically remarry after the death of one spouse. A commitment that’s meant to span a lifetime of centuries (whether the life of one has a natural endpoint or not is irrelevant), it makes sense that they’d take it seriously, and not jump into soul-bonds willy-nilly. (An albatross is definitely going onto her moodboard now, lol.)

I think both Iona and Astarion would still be kind of... feeling themselves out, by the end of the game, and neither of them would be drawn to the thought of “blissful mutual domesticity” just yet.

I mean, on top of being a quite young elf, she’s spent a good 80% of her life among humans: her experience with life is colored by the perceptions of a people who are constantly trying to outrun the rushing of a clock that might as well be standing still for her. So exploring what time even means to her, that’d be a very exciting prospect. While Astarion, he was even younger than she is now when he had the “elven” part of his identity taken away from him, only to be made into someone that’s seen as a tool first, monster second, and person a distant third. He’s eager to re-learn personhood and live again, so they’re both sort of… (re-?)discovering themselves and their “feyness” together, and in each other. 

My little idea is that after the Brain’s defeat, they’re going to spend one or two decades on solo adventuring: primarily looking for a way to allow him to walk in the sun again, but that… proves itself to be something of a wild goose chase. The travel itself is annoyingly cumbersome (either they have to shelter during the day and cover no ground, or he has to be polymorphed and be both unable to communicate and practically defenseless [can’t risk fighting, if his form is dismissed he’s dead]). But also, there are just… too many disappointments. Too many dead ends. Too many times they’ve gotten too close only to find out that they were either late, or misled, or just plain wrong about something.

I think he’d grow frustrated with it first, and grow reckless: strain against his limits, start pushing his luck with the Sun, start making dangerous mistakes, and it’d be her who’d start gently encouraging (cajoling, bargaining, eventually pleading with-) him that maybe they should return to the Gate. To regroup, try to find other avenues, head off in a different direction. And while he'd know she's right, agreeing… it'd still feel like he’s admitting defeat.

Of course, he’d try to put on an unbothered face, but she would still obviously be able to tell that he’s upset: primarily with himself, but also a little bit with… everything. Of feeling both free and trapped, both bursting with the desire to DO something, but also being… powerless.

Which (stay with me, we're a third of the way!) is the context in which the thought of kids and “marital bliss” would rear its ugly head.

Because I headcanon that vampire spawn are naturally sterile. (I know full vampires can sire mortal offspring, but since spawn can’t create new vampires via bite and the bite is almost always a penetration-allegory, I like to think that translates to them being just… unable to reproduce, period.) And elves in general already have far lower fertility rates, so even if he wasn’t sterile because of the vampirism but just maybe less fertile than usual, the chances of conception between the two of them would still be infinitesimally small.

And I mean, the topic really wouldn’t come up naturally, so I think Astarion would likely think that she’d eventually want children. I mean, he knows very well that she had been previously married to a human- humans usually want kids, so it’d be a natural assumption that she’d be on the same page as her ex-husband, and the fact that she doesn’t have kids now wouldn't be for a lack of wanting. (It is. It is for a lack of wanting. But both of them being ~excellent~ [pejorative] at communicating, he definitely wouldn’t ask- if only for fear of the answer he thinks he'd get.)

So it'd kind of… eat at him, for a while, the thought that at some point, she might grow to resent him. There'd be a small, niggling part of his mind that'd worry that at some point, the limitations would all prove too much, and she’d grow frustrated, tired of always having to work with and around his… shall we say, conditions. Beyond his partial reliance on her pain and literal body for sustenance, the physical differences between them, and the messiness of healing (the times he startles awake screaming, the times he can’t bear even the thought of being touched, the times he’s frustrated with himself and takes it out on her), this is just one more thing.

He can’t take her out for a nice day in the city. He can’t warm her body at night, wine and dine her (or just share a meal like a regular person), or love her as brazenly as he did starting out, out on the street for all to see because… well, he can’t go out into the streets. Can’t even travel with her during the day, not without taking the shape of a stupid animal that can’t communicate with her, joke with her, or even delight her with the looks he had thought for so long were the only thing he was good for.

Though secure in her love of him, he’s not stupid, or an idealist who’d think that love alone is enough for a happily ever after. While enjoying the time while it lasts, naturally there’d be sort of a running tally in his head of all the ways their lives chafe against one another.

Watching her face grow paler and paler as she’s deprived of the sun and has her blood drained, he’d never quite stop wondering at what point is the scale going to tip, at what point she’d finally realize that she had bet on the wrong undead horse by choosing to love the vampire who asks her to sacrifice so much, and not only doesn’t want to, but isn’t even able to give her what (he thinks) she wants.

Which, she doesn’t want it, of course. She has not even one maternal bone in her body.

Iona is well aware that she would make a terrible mother, and she absolutely does not want to be one. So it wouldn’t even occur to her that this would be something on his mind on top of all else. When he’d be having his little personal crisis about this, she’d be busy trying to make the impossible happen and circumventing the need to find a way to give him back the Sun by inventing one herself. That’d be why she'd lock herself into her study alone for longer and longer periods of time, why she sometimes wouldn’t come out for days, why she'd sometimes steer the conversation away from certain things- she wouldn’t want to give him false hope in a project that’d quickly prove so far beyond her abilities.

But, she'd still obviously recognize his occasional bouts of melancholy- I mean, it’s very unusual for someone to look at another so fondly and happily one moment, and then get quiet and forlorn the next. That distance she'd see behind his eyes sometimes when she'd tell him she loves him, that’d be rather worrying to anyone.

It’ll take a while for this particular cat to work its way out of the bag, but it would happen eventually, of course.

In reality, none of that would bother her.

She delights in being the sole person deciding what, when, and how she wants to eat. She loves the coolness of his touch- it soothes the heat of the draconic blood running through her veins better than any balm. Sure, going to markets and doing all that domestic pish can be fun, but... well, she’s always been an indoorsy person. Being bitten is no burden (she wouldn’t offer if it was), and there being no risk of a pregnancy, even after the tadpole’s death? At the risk of sounding crass, that’s an incredible perk, with no downsides. Feeling him find his pleasure while buried deep inside her, with no pang of fear or worry? It’s absurd how perfect that is, how happy she is with the fact that with the man she loves, that fear of being impregnated against her will can be put completely to rest.

And the rest, the messiness, the less “pretty” parts of it all, the evenings spent soothing his pain that’s either real or real only to him, that’s… just what happens if you love someone. Sure, she worries of course, but even when it’s inconvenient, when it’s ugly, when the old scars feel like they’re on fire and she can’t even being to think of a way to help… she still loves him just the same.

So no, no children necessary. It’s not in the cards for them, and even if it was, I don’t think either of them would really want it, or be good at it.

... She’d probably like to overwrite the memories of her first marriage (and speak the word “husband” without rancor) though, but only eventually.

And I like to think that that’ll have to happen with an item I’m tentatively calling “Taran Tal’hondnor” (The Gift of True Love), and it’s an enchanted ring that she will finally be able to create after many years of study, and even more miserably failed attempts at creating an enchantment that’ll let a vampire walk in the sun.

I like to imagine her proposing to him, on her own terms this time, with one such gift.

Because she loves him to the point of invention.

Quickly on the others, Arvid… might like fatherhood, if he were so inclined. He’s a very caring, kind, nurturing person, and if he were to be in that position, he would probably be a very good dad. He’s generally in a nurturing role already, and Gale being in a teaching role, they could prove to be excellent parents, if that were what they wanted.

But they… probably wouldn’t want that. Gale being the age that he is (“canon” says 35, I see ~38-40, minor difference) and a human, yet saying that he’s “not ready”, I personally interpret that as a rather telling thing. His past of having spent such a long time in a "monogamous" (I'm fairly sure that part's one-sided, no time to go into that now) relationship with a goddess who had no intention of having kids with him, and his present willingness to be with an illithid who can’t, that to me is implying that it’s not something that’d be that important to him. Like I personally see that as him not actively preferring to have kids if it’s up to him (he likes peace, and quiet, and downtime, and a nice glass of wine with a quietly romantic evening meal- very much the quintessential childless millennial, 100% part of the appeal to me lol), but he’d be happily willing to do it if his partner wanted it themselves.

But in my world, his husband (I like how I skated by the first part of the question, I mean they already ARE married lol)… doesn’t really have such strong feelings about it either. So, since two "maybes" don’t make a "yes" (and for this kind of thing, you need two enthusiastic "yes"-es for it to no longer be a no), it’s a "no".

But I think their marriage is going to be very happy and fulfilling to both of them nevertheless. <3

And since I don't yet have any kissy-shots of them (☹️), have an "are you seeing this shit" silent exchange for these two <3

Honestly? I would sooner give a baby to a pack of feral wolves and hope for the best than have Petyr become a father. He'd absolutely be the kind of dad whose kids become DnD characters. He's someone's tragically emotionally distant boomer dad just waiting to happen. (I mean, come on. My guy felt inadequate once, and coped with it by fucking off to the woods for 20 years? Yeah, sure, father of the year.)

And Shadowheart, she basically didn't have parents growing up, she has a TON of cult indoctrination to process and unlearn as an adult, and -let's be real- likely has no fucking clue how motherhood would even really work. Like the woman whom she used to call "mother" pretty much straight-up tortured her. C'mon now.

I like to think that, though they are the only two in my lineup who are physically able to have kids by accident, they (with their 8 and 10 INT scores respectively) would still be smart enough to smell that particular disaster before they'd barrel into it head first, and either actively decide not to have kids, or put it off so far into the future as for it to be meaningless. Maybe the discussion can be tabled in a few decades' time, but since by then their home will be surrounded by, god, so many animals to take care of (including a barely not feral, adult owlbear) (and their mutual boyfriend who sometimes shows up for like a month to fuck nasty on every available surface of the house and surrounding wilds), I doubt it'll result in a resounding "yes".

In the same vein of things, if a big, beautiful, traditional wedding is something that she wants (which I... kinda doubt would be super important to her), she definitely bet on the wrong horse, because this guy is not one for pomp and circumstance.

I like to imagine that after their departure from the Gate (and their bidding of not exactly "farewell", but "see you later" to Halsin), he'll just... take her "home" to his little shack in his corner of the forest, and then, sitting under the canopy of his favorite woods, enjoying the balmy evening breeze and the undisturbed night sky with his favorite person, he'll look up at the moon, take her hand, and silently, in his head, give his thanks to the Moonmaiden for this peace.

And... that'll be it. From that point forward, it'll be easy to fall into a kind of sweet, quiet domesticity that is essentially a marriage in all but name.

I definitely like- and relate to the idea of them foregoing the "2.5 kids, white picket fence" idea of a happily ever after not out of a conscious rejection, but rather just by... being themselves. Together.

[kayrllylikesblitzwing]

OLD AND NEW ART DUMP featuring ocs and canons

HI WELCOME back to my page thanks for coming anyway here’s what’s going on

First video is something I finished tonight on a whim bcuz I thought it would be funny the blue one and yellow one are mirage and hot shot respectively and the red one is my oc Cynder!!! I’m writing a tf story and they’re kinda like the main three YOUNG AND SPRY Autobots that get up to absolute bullshit

the context is Cynder was a racer back on velocitron during the start up of the Great War and one day while she was racing the planet got bombed by a Decepticon raid. Cynder survived the bombing thanks to a totally not evil medic who I will post about later bcuz I love (HATE) her, but in the process lost her legs. She has little fakey prosthetic legs that look like the legs real amputees use to like run and stuff which are cool but she constantly loses them and they at all like her old legs so she can’t race like she used to :(

Okay the SECOND picture is my cast for the transformers story I mentioned but the ISSUE IS it’s old and outdated and some characters have been replaced or removed or redesigned I drew all of those little shitpost things one night and I couldn’t fit them all onto the drawing so I just started stacking them on one another and now it’s an amalgamation of sadness

THIRD PICTURE is just strobe. Hi Strob

FOURTH is mirage with a clown license when I rped him he was kinda a jerkass and messed with people constantly sooooo drew that started spamming it to people when mirage PUNK’D them

FIFTH!!! AND I LIKE THIS DEAWING!!! So a long long long time ago I posted my oc leviathan/fluffy and Y’know HES cool and all but I thought the visor made him look too sophisticated so I changed up his face I gave him FOUR EYES big teef and a HUGE LIP I like his redesign!!! I decided that when he’s outta water he wears his little visor to protect his many many eyes but when he’s IN the water the visor is off and all of the eyes are out!!!!

Anyway!!!! Thank you!!!!! For taking time out of your day!!!!!!! To listen to my ramblings!!!!! I appreciate everyone who looks at my blog and likes my posts and reblogs I REACHED 50 REBLOGS THE OTHER DAY THATS SO COOL!!!?!!??!! Anyway thank you for coming have awonderful morning or evening or even NIGHT 💪❤️❤️💪💪💔❤️❤️❤️❤️

[laikaflash]

4, 11, and 30 for the 'yet another writing ask' prompt

4. Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

I made a bunch of OCs for "The Harlot and her Son" because going far back enough pre-canon (starting around the time Siegfried's parents met) left me with a sparse cast to work with. Keeping the number of OCs to a minimum was a losing battle, so I'll just name a few. Two of them were inspired by this line in Siegfried's profile on the old Soul Archive site (the bolding is mine):

帝国辺境に本拠を置く騎士の3男・フレデリックもそんな騎士の一人である。 Frederick, the third son of a knight based in the imperial borderland, is one such knight [who fought to protect the peasants].

That's the only hint I'm aware of that Siegfried has uncles and I ran with that, so... The eldest Schtauffen brother is Manfred, who is (to put it lightly) not thrilled about his new sister-in-law to the point where he's initially suspicious that Siegfried might not be Frederick's kid. The middle brother is the mild-mannered Wilfried, who takes over Siegfried's training while Frederick is away. There's also Manfred's son Kurt (Konrad when he's in trouble) who's kind of a bully to Siegfried because he overheard his dad grumbling about the "whoreson" more often than anyone likes to think. He's a teenager for most of the fic, so he still has some growing up to do.

11. Three tropes that are fine but overrated?

In general? On some level I get the appeal of soulmate AUs, but the concept just isn't my bag. I'm not too crazy about love triangles, but sometimes the multishipper in me sees possibilities. Miscommunication (romantic or not), depending on execution (it can get annoying, though).

30. Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

It was about Rothion's attempts at finding Sophitia, Pyrrha, and Cassandra. Well, technically, I started that one a long time ago with him telling little Patroklos the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. After, much to the boy's dismay, it ends with Orpheus leaving the underworld without his wife, all Rothion can bring himself to tell him is that Hades kept his word. It's cold comfort for them both in their grief.

Now here's the part I didn't write. Years later, Rothion absconds with Patroklos (who is not quite yet in his teens) on an ill-advised cross-country trip with the express purpose of finding the three. Patroklos is by far the more optimistic (his mother and aunt are heroes, after all), but Rothion has a lot of second thoughts before they get anywhere near the border. I'm pretty sure this part of the timeline coincides with the Long Turkish War, so they get stopped by Ottoman soldiers, who don't let them go any farther. Suffice it to say that Rothion returns to Athens feeling utterly crushed, but Patroklos isn't quite ready to give up...

Let's just say I was going through something at the time.