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inklores · 1 year

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐒.

pairing: henry!sherlock holmes x fem!oc

summary: sherlock holmes needs to find his intrepid little sister. clara bedi wants to keep his sharp nose off her trail. (word count: 3.1k)

content contains: fluff, sherlock being bad with women, slight strangers to lovers but they're both smart idiots

author's note: made originally for a class assignment but i'm too proud of it to keep it hidden away in my google docs!! enjoy

FUMES OF SMOKE lifting from the corners of his lips, he thumbed the lapis silk tie the pamphlet was bound by. The rhythmic movement was a rehearsed habit of his, charting keen thoughts that were falling into place.

Tea in the Parlor

Magazine of Modern Womanhood

25 April 1884

“A Problem With No Name. I’ve first heard that uttered so solemnly beneath the breath of a mother amid other mothers over the scent of teacakes and the English brew that her hands had surely processed the week before. Another cried. As your humble magazine writer, there have been women beyond our teatime who had answers to my questions. Those who sort matchsticks in factories, who raise children, who nurse other children. Those who live in the fine estates of Westminster, lodging houses along Greater London, and flats bordering Whitechapel, all have the same problem. The groping truths to their lamentations, brought into light when the children were away and their husbands attended to important business over a glass of sherry at their gentleman’s clubs,—”

Something more than a scoff and less than a laugh escaped Holmes.

“—were provoking. Just what was this nameless problem? A whisper that refuses to be said. The bond of pain, of womanhood, of the searing feeling that something great shall arrive to our fair England.”

— C.E. Babbington.

“Mr. Holmes, I hope you’re not mistaking me as someone with whom you are at odds with.”

Clara wore burgundy today.

Or indigo to a sharp eye, moreso if she sat in the dusky shade rather than by the window where sunlight was allowed to stream through the frosted glass tiles. The heat of the afternoon, Clara could tolerate. The brisk cold, the musk of tobacco, pomade, and fine English leather that filled her office—all mingling together to create one scent that floated around the man who stood in front of her— she virtually could not.

Well, “office” may have been a playful nudge to her ego. It was more of a closet with a pen, a hook to hang her coat when there was a chill, a canister of her favorite tea matched with her precious teapot, and a small sideboard that she used to stash her extra paper. Clara had spent enough time in that little closet to learn its quirks and commodities. The shutters would not close in blustery weather unless they were bound by a scarf. The gentleman who would take his Saturday morning coffee and eggs always found something to guffaw about in the newspaper. Clara knew because she could hear the fervor of his chortles from one story up. The fifth floorboard from the door creaked with the slightest movement and she had garnered the will to purchase a rug that softened footsteps over the parquet.

Now if only she could purchase a rug to wrap around the man filling her tiny corner with the fumes of… man.

A tall man. Haughty by the way he stood. He looked strong and sturdy, weaned on the finest food money could buy. Clara wondered if he teethed on crumpets and caviar as a baby. His clothing may have been picked to feign oneness with the people of England, but she noticed a grain on his breasted black coat. His crisp white shirt boasted no wrinkle, cinched around his neck by a silk ascot the color of charcoal. Chestnut curls spilled across his head—sharing no unified form—and fighting to be free of the pomade that gleamed in the dimness of the lamplight. She imagined an artless tumble of locks when he was nose-deep in a case. An errant strand fell over his brow, softening his countenance where his tone failed to.

“Have you anticipated me, Miss Bedi?”

It was Clara’s mistake for stopping short of her movements. Her fingers froze on the handle of her teapot and it was then she realized the incriminating ink stains that blotched her bronzed fingers.

She did not. He knew that. He likely knew what she had for breakfast as well. Hence the cloying pride that laced his query.

A tickle caught in her throat and she swallowed tightly to preserve her pride as she arched a dark brow. “No, I have not, but I applaud your effort. Nobody contemplates and makes a theater out of their face quite like you.”

Looking up from the tea she was pouring, Clara barely caught the indignant twitch in his face, even as his mountainous posture was unrelenting. For a man who was presumed to be discreet, he was quite eye-catching.

He dropped his gaze down to the lonely armchair and side table Clara would enjoy her tea in. It was the one perpetually surrounded by her basket of stained pen tips and folded newspapers— Clara had the habit of saving old prints—bits of thread, scraps of silk in cooler hues, linen from occasional embroiders, and stacks of books from Edith that never make it back to the shelf, being moved around constantly on the empty promise of being read to completion.

It was a detective’s heaven.

“The name ‘Holmes’ is beginning to mean quite a deal in this country,” her eyebrows slanted, copper eyes filled with constellations, “and do you think I would be in my position if I did not know?”

“Precisely why you flinched when I used your name and not your pen name.” His voice was rich as a fine velvet she let her hands graze over at a textile stand, but detached. “Deceit. To hide the plain truth, just as frills and elegant coifs do. Yes, it may dress you like a powder puff—” she parted her lips in protest but his eyes glimmered like opals, he was clearly not done—“but the man holding the pen is entirely different. In that…”

Her grip on her teacup could not get any tighter, for one tremor to rattle the porcelain would have him arriving quicker to the deduction he savored for last.

“He is not a man at all, is he?”

She watched in bated, almost nonexistent, breath—wondering how quickly she could get her hands on the cake spade lying unfashionably by the crumbs of a Dundee cake she had scarfed down the night before—as he fished a blue silk tie that bookmarked the yellowed book she just realized he held.

“How does a C.E. Babbington become… the elusive Clara Eashwar Bedi?”

A wave of cold took her from head to toe. If Clara wasn’t gripping the edge of her desk, knuckles quickly whitening, she was sure her knees would’ve given out. She stared down at the pretty silk tie, and then at the folded pamphlet he slid over the varnished surface, the black ink script almost snickering at her in mockery.

His words came as fluidly as water, uttered with a stone-cold expression she figured was his mask for his famous deductions.

“Four separate purchases of pens and paper from three different vendors.”

Spreading her tracks. No writer who desired anonymity would so foolishly expose herself by making a reputation with one seller.

He was studying her closet-office now. A satin kerchief protected his hand as he chose a stained pen to scrutinize. “Bills from Whitechapel. Cheaper ink—a shadowy writer such as yourself would not earn her dues to spend carelessly on finer supplies than supper for the night. Or silk ties to make her mark. To create a name.”

Cheaper ink bleeds easier. Her fingers, a blatant victim.

“Bedi.” He tasted her last name on his tongue for a moment, eyebrows pinched as if he was trying to paint a map in his acute mind. “When did your father leave India?”

Her throat was dry but she swallowed down her apprehension and managed out, “Fifteen years ago.”

“Does he work on the docks?”

“Worked.”

A flash of humanity lightened his eyes and the man of a chilly, pragmatic acumen faltered. “Apologies.”

The sound that tumbled from Clara’s lips could only be described as something between a shaking sigh and an aggravated grumble. “What is it you want, Mr. Holmes?”

“You write for the Magazine of Modern Womanhood,” he continued, making Clara bite back an exhausted groan. “Yet you affect a pseudonym. Why?”

“I don’t write for the magazine, I write alongside it,” Clara mumbled. Why was she entertaining him? “I don’t have the means to print my pieces independently— as you so cleverly deduced by my purchases of ink.”

“Your pieces… and other submissions, I’d bet.”

“Are you a betting man?” She lifted a brow curiously, daring him to stop this frivolous quadrille of tongues and get to the point.

“A cipher with the fingerprints of my sister was published in the personal advertisements column of your magazine, The Pall Mall Gazette, and The Journal of Dress Reform. It’s our mother’s interest she hopes to attract and with the choice of your publication, she has a good start.”

“God, there’s more of you?” she asked, feigning horror. “Is the world ready for that?”

(But where the name Mycroft Holmes was etched in cold stone and proud, old money, she had the sense the name Sherlock meant something else. Something whisper quiet like a dusty novel on crumpled velvet. Elegant with solitude.)

Sherlock took a step forward, his fingers still thumbing the fraying corner of the book. “Have you any idea where she might be?” He tilted his head. “I’m afraid our mutual acquaintance Edith had more to say of my “ostrich-like” nature than my sister.”

Clara couldn’t help the kick in her voice as she responded, “Appropriate.”

He smiled at her, a Private Investigator brand of Smile that Clara knew well enough from the numerous times a constable had approached the magazine for its inflammatory words, and which only deserved a Young Journalist Smile.

But what he said snagged her attention as well as a good story. Eudoria’s daughter. Little Enola.

Edith had mentioned her once or twice. Clara might have seen a glimpse of a little brown-headed girl with quick feet, dashing about Ferndell Hall when ladies of a particular ilk huddled around a table, bearing swords on their tongues and determination in their hearts. Clara typically stood behind her bolder friend, Edith, clutching a pen that barely made a scratch against her worn pocketbook. She knew little for the illustrious Sherlock Holmes to knock on her door… but little was more than enough to be cunningly dissected and deduced by him.

“Enola’s missing?” she asked slowly, hoping to stall but Sherlock Holmes was not a man for idle chatter. Her head shook in a disappointing, deceiving refusal. “I’m sorry, but I have the faintest idea as to where she’s gone and why.”

“I find that highly improbable,” said Holmes in a tone that suggested he too was done with this waltz. “You’re protective of your name, or, names —”

“And what will you do if I use your name, Mr. Holmes?” Clara countered rigidly, her heart leaping into her throat. “Loudly? With proper dictation? Letting everyone know your business more than you’d like?”

“Then you’d also find yourself and Edith in a very difficult position, one that I’ve made clear to her and will to you if I must,” Sherlock warned, dropping his voice to a decibel that made a chill rattle her spine. A hint of vague frustration was tangled within his dull humor.

Clara stilled, watching as he turned over the book and leafed through toward the back cover. Stuffed in the spine was a folded napkin and he paired it with the newspaper clipping for her viewing displeasure. Wrinkled and white and stamped with the crumbs of a pastry, her eyes were naturally drawn to the hasty scrawl in ink:

“C.E.B.

Matter of Bill —

Tea Rooms”

The same dismayed expression from when he dissected her alter ego took ahold of her face once more, even if she tried to disguise it by a clench of her jaw.

“Macaroons could do with some attention but Edith has enough to worry about,” said Holmes. “She’ll notice the missing book from her seditious collection but not the message hidden inside— a message written to Babbington, who I understand is an intrepid young woman, so I’m sure you’re aware of what the proper connections can do for a man.” The distant, icy blue of his eyes warmed. “I asked of your father— a man who likely worked too hard for too little a reward and you, his daughter, silently fighting in favor of a bill that will help the men and women like him.”

“My,” Clara gasped, “Mr. Holmes, I didn’t take you for a man of politics.”

The stray little curl swished across his brow as he shook his head. “Oh, I’m far from it.”

She hummed curiously. “Then, what do you fancy? People? Poetry? Probably not. It’s your cases that keep you warm at night, which is why you hunt your own sister in blind circles like a dog chasing his tail.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, “If Edith tells you nothing, I will say even less. Trust your sister… and the future. Good day, Mr. Holmes.”

She made to go around him, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered as she did, until a bleak and dare she say, concerned mutter caught her ear.

“She’s a child.”

“By my understanding, you’ve abandoned her once, Mr. Holmes. In the pursuit of where your mind takes you and little of your heart,” Clara said, more sharply than was her wont.

“I beg your pardon.”

The anger in his voice flared like a bleeding heart. A man who was a fire next to gunpowder, ready to speak his mind and snatch the rug beneath a pair of unsuspecting feet. She could loathe him for being so perceptive and intelligent, yet plainly missing the changes of the world. But that tone… He was no longer a brilliant mind or a pleasantly distant man. He was a brother who wanted to know where his sister was.

And if there was ever a case that Sherlock Holmes would encounter, it would leave no secrets he could not crack.

Clara turned around, stained fingers toying with each other, teeth worrying her lower lip to a reddening bruise. Amusement danced in her eyes, quenching the frustration that twisted his sharply cut features.

“You have it,” she admitted after a pause, cheeks growing warm. “Because I’m a woman who believes in second chances… and the calling of her heart rather than her mind. And a desolate, hopeless bachelor tugs at that heart, I’m afraid.”

Sherlock’s face contorted incrementally, the corners of his lips curling up just a tad. It was not a smile. Another part of her would have thought so but not the smart part. Still, it was an odd expression that made Clara think it was gracious.

“I’m not aware of such a reputation.” Fond.

“Figures,” she sighed, eliciting a huff of laughter from him. The sound was enough to make her face crack with a smile. “Enola’s sixteen. And if she’s anything like her mother and brother, she won’t go down with a fight nor will she be drawn away from it. And the real fight is coming. I advise you to start there.”

He squinted at her. Then at the napkin. Then at the clipping signed by C.E. Babbington. The fight.

“A problem with no name,” he murmured.

“It has a name, Mr. Holmes. Whether it will be spoken is decided by men like you and your older brother,” she added, rightly hopeful. “Perhaps that will change.”

Silence settled comfortably between them until the pounding of her heart became too loud for her ears to bear. She cleared her throat and pulled the knob to her door, returning her gaze to Sherlock.

“Until next time, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled. “I hope your game finds its feet. My best to your sister.”

He tilted his chin in an understanding nod, hand pressing against the curly blue tie that still sat next to his evidence, her pamphlet. To her surprise, he waited. One hand disappeared in the flap of his jacket and came out holding a fine black pen shot with gold trimming. To a man like Holmes, it was a pen to write some very useful reckonings of the mind but to Clara, it looked more valuable than what she earned in a week. It clinked as he set it on her desk, accompanied by that slight, mysterious smile.

“Trust a bill won’t be made,” Sherlock assured, amused as he approached her. He extended the blue ribbon to her.

“And a secret will be kept,” she enforced, fixing him with a look as she curled her fingers over the forbidden silk tie, folding it into his palm.

His hand was cold, callused like the reward of cracking cases. Yet it managed to send a surge of heat swirling in her chest, akin to lightning crossing a black sky.

(And did she intend the other thing she did too? The split-second brush of her fingertips over his palm and the way the ball of his throat was disturbed by a tight swallow. Savoring the softness of the lapis silk strand against his pale flesh and her copper skin.)

He lingered by the doorframe for more than a second. Sherlock looked at her— perhaps a more bewitching case with the narrowest twists and the sharpest of turns. A shadow of a smile graced his prim lips and he let out a delectable, ruminative hum. “Is that a promise I would be foolish to break, Miss Babbington?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Holmes.” She watched him depart, a puzzling black figure who had more to his voice than what he decided to speak.

“Oh, on the subject of hearts…”

Sherlock paused and turned around. He studied the meticulous way she swept her indigo skirt behind her and made him wait until she finally, painstakingly met his gaze. Only then she made him realize how beholden he was to her unfinished prose.

“While surely hopeless for a… perspicacious man with such a baffling pigheadedness,” Clara murmured, smiling lopsidedly, “do keep yours open.”

Before he left with another curt, reserved nod, Sherlock ruminated on her words. Her tone— he barely noticed the way he wondered how all of her other pretty, printed words would sound if they were turned from ink to… to… that voice.

No… she was not a case. She was a quandary. An unsolved riddle that he cracked with the full assumption that the winning hand was in his, only to turn over his cards and see that it was she who had the royal flush.

What fresh hell was this?

#sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock holmes #enola holmes #henry cavill #henry!sherlock #cavill!holmes #one-shots #ao3 #sherlock holmes x fem!oc

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violetvenom · 1 year

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Just a few screenshots of my Dragonborn Tav Xeranah, which got very often a (very fitting) resting bitch face.

She is based on my very first D&D character and I tried to recreate her but sadly there aren't that many ingame options to actually recreate her original look which was this:

So she kinda got a makeover and turned into some kind of gothic lizard while playing the game? XD Funny how that happens.

Anyway, she is still a druid, primarily using ice and fire attacks and very font of rats. In particular of her best buddie Squeak (who is a rat. duh).

But since she is als kinda naive in some sort of way, she fell for the tricks of the damn vampire while still trying her best to do good deeds. (In particular if it's revolved around nature and animals.)

Despite looking mean, she is more of a snarky cinnamon roll and she gives beautiful supportive hugs!

This is her backstory I wrote over a year ago:

In the cold North, in a small village called Drapocopolus lives the clan of the Damaris. A rather peaceful but very proud clan where without an exception every dragonborn is born with white scales. Not many people even know this peaceful clan even exist and thus for a reason. They are the protectors of a mighty artefact. The scrolls of Spoliasus. In the wrong hands those scrolls can do terrifying damage to the world.

One day the leader and his wife were expecting their first hatchlings. A clutter of three white eggs, with some subtle scales on them. The first hatchling was a female with bright red feather fluff on her head and was given the name Xeranah. She was a joyful and lively kid and took quickly an interest in the animals around her village. She often would disable hunter traps and rescue catched animals. Something she never grew out of and was a reason why she got scolded for from her father. Her habit to wander around in the tundra rescuing animals for hours was often the reason why she occasionally forgot her important duties as the oldest daugther. In her opinion the scrolls were safe enough and the daily validating of traps and security spells unneccessary but she usually would do it if she came back from her roaming.

On a very cold evening she rescued a white stoat out of a trap and realized she needed to head home to check the traps before her parents would worry. Quickly she ran towards home but stopped at a rock formation not too far from the village. Nothing about this place looked special except a small symbol in the middle of the rock formation. Looking around to make sure no one followed her, she put the rescued stoat on her shoulder, put her hand on the middle of the rocks right where the small symbol was and a glow started to appear. It grew brighter until a rumbling sound occured and an entrance appeared. This was indeed the hidden entrance to a small cave the scrolls were kept. After she went in and made sure everything worked as supposed to, Xeranah deferentially walked towards a small pedestal, on top an even smaller glass casket. Those scrolls looked so innocent sealed in there, and just in that moment the white stoat jumped from her shoulder and everything went dark.

Some hours passed and Xeranah awoke with horrible headache and fussy voices. Slowly blinking she started to recognize the face in front of her. It was her mother, shouting and looking worried. Confused and not knowing what exactly had happened stood the young dragonborn up from the ground. Her gaze wandered trough the small cave-room and her eyes widened as she saw the broken glas on the ground. Suddenly she remembered. That stoat jumped from her shoulder and transformed into a person!

Before she could have had done something she went unconsious. But clearly that small filthy animal wasn't an animal at all but a druid! And now one of the scrolls was gone! She failed to protect them! She failed to protect the honor of her clan..her family...

The punishment was hard but fair. She had to leave the village. She was no longer a part of it. She now was an exile.

But this young dragonborn swore she would find the thief and bring their loose head back... together with the stolen scroll!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #d&d #d&d character #dragonborn #dragonborn tav #pen and paper #pen & paper

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salami-dono · 2 years

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DR. JESTER

I recreated a Sonic OC I made when I was 10. The layout of the model sheet is based on the IDW ones. :) They were very helpful. This reference took a long time to complete. I’m finally ready to introduce the evil Dr. Jester! (Most of what I write here will not be things I thought of when I was 10-12 years old.)

Here is a description of his appearance:

Dr. Jester is a robot hedgehog with a grey face and pastel pink quills. He stands at a rather tall 4 ft or 123 cm. The three quills adorning his head are tri-colored. The three colors are pink, white and pale turquoise. Peridot-colored eyes light up on a black screen. The color and shape of his eyes sometimes change depending on his mood. His original stumpy tail was replaced with a crocodile tail. It is the same pale turquoise as one of his jester quills and has magenta scutes. (There is no explanation for the new tail’s existence. It just looks cool.) His hands are black with grey palms. The joints of the fingers and thumbs are magenta.

He wears a white lab coat and white pants. An asymmetrical panel with three large buttons is connected to the collar with a magenta strip. He wears black safety boots with magenta accents. The soles are grey. The sides have screws, and the top part is white.

The most time-consuming part of his design by far was choosing the color palette. The second and third things would be his quills and limbs. From the beginning, I wanted to use a light color for his body to match the greyscale of my old art. There isn’t a single drawing of Dr. Jester with color, nor did I leave any clues in my writing. I wanted pastel pink to work because it’s a nostalgic color. It reminds me of my pink baby blanket, my old room, pink pigs (my favorite animal when I was very young), and a pink dress—very early childhood memories.

Like all of my Sonic OCs, Dr. Jester hails from another universe. It’s more of a “perpendicular” universe to Sonic’s universe than a parallel one. Their universes interact in a way that doesn’t affect spacetime. Traveling there is as easy as entering a Special Stage. No one you know is there (and neither are you), but familiar personalities do exist in that universe. Similar locations also appear. Sonic’s Green Hill is their Emerald Hill. The idea of an alternate universe was based on a very early issue of the Archie comics that introduced the “Anti-Sonic.”

Dr. Jester is a villain of the same caliber as Dr. Eggman, or so he thinks. How did those two meet? That’s what I’d like to know… Dr. Jester referred to him as Dr. Robotnik the first time they were seen together before he learned he was going by the name “Eggman,” and Eggman called him an old friend. Eggman’s robots thought Dr. Jester was mean and unpleasant, but his robot underlings were much more friendly. They’re right.

Dr. Jester earned his name the same way Eggman did. The only difference is that Dr. Jester was called a jester since he was a kid. After a lifetime of torment, he made it his own! He’s proud of it, alright? It doesn’t matter what his real name is.

Just because he’s a robot, that doesn’t make him unemotional. Far from it! Dr. Jester is animated. He’s spiteful and cynical. Things like love and romance disgust him. He’s easily provoked and reacts strongly to insults. If his favorite robot left him, he’d be upset. Still, he smiles and laughs a lot. He’s jolly when things go his way. He enjoys puns, especially of the egg variety. Dr. Jester does not share Eggman’s short-sightedness regarding Sonic the Hedgehog with his own nemesis. When there is a plan, he sticks to it. He loves to trick others and dish out revenge whenever he can with a cold and calculated fury. Eggman is not exempt.

Of course, he also has an uglier, more dangerous side. He doesn’t care for the basic needs of living things: clean air, clean water, food and shelter. His operations threaten the health of the planet, and that endangers everyone. He’s been a robot for some time; he’s detached. It would be better if organic beings gave in and became robots. They could live forever, free from all biological constraints.

Before his mechanical transformation, Dr. Jester was once a living, breathing hedgehog. The process included a mind transfer, also called a soul/consciousness transfer, and therefore irreversible. It’s an alternate method of Robotization. (I can’t say Roboticization. lol) The power source of his robot body is a mystical gem I call the Fluorite Brain, the new home of his consciousness. A robot with a soul, that’s what he is.

For some reason, it is difficult to replicate his level of awareness in other machines. That’s just a risk you’ll have to take when becoming a robot. What kind of person wants to become a robot anyway?

One of the most bizarre abilities of Dr. Jester’s mechanical body that I came across was that he could consume food and drink. I assume he had a habit of drinking coffee when he was alive. He could probably keep up with specific tasks for long periods, but he would get bored doing so. He sleeps to pass the time.

Surprisingly, he has some basic combat skills. He’s a slugger! His main attacks are paralyzing electric-shock punches and sweeps from his metal tail. The tail may be organic because I mentioned that it “turned into steel” before he used it. It’s a magical crocodile tail! Dr. Jester can wield the Chaos Emeralds as well. He used a pink one from his universe to hover in the air and deflect beams and missiles fired by the G.U.N. military.

I was ecstatic to see him in action. I thought he was a wimp! He even defeated his nemesis in a one-on-one battle. I believe his true strengths are his elemental resistance and highly durable body. He does his best to avoid damage to his body. He will run away if he has to. He’s actually better at fleeing than fighting.

Dr. Jester is strong, but he has weaknesses. He is weak to the type of magic that controls electrical signals. It’s possible to take control of his mechanical body, but he is immune to mind control. He fears that magic. In the Archie comics, it’s called Magitek.

He’s also weak to kindness. He couldn’t understand why anyone would show him mercy, let alone his nemesis. In this specific scene, he was completely silent but I wonder what was going through his mind. What did they see in him? Humanity? Laughable. Is there goodness in that metal carapace? All of their problems could have been solved if they had just let him be destroyed with the Egg Carrier.

It was meant to be a humorous scene, but I noticed how strangely Dr. Jester acted during it.

Here is the line that seemingly ended Dr. Jester’s story—without context:

“Dr. Jester is long gone...”

He’s good at running away.

By the way, if you’re familiar with the character Dr. 0 (voiced by James Urbaniak) from Fallout: New Vegas, that’s the voice I think Dr. Jester would have. They have similar personalities, and he’s sort of a think tank himself.

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #archie sonic #sonic oc #Dr. Jester #my artwork #I love the T poses

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chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct · 9 months

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who are all of Abigail’s romantic interests and how are their relationships/dynamics?

why would she care to press her claim for the throne and who’d support her over dany? (with Abbie being a ‘mere’ blackfyre through her maternal line and Dany being a targ with dragons? (not hate!! I’m just super curious!!)

Abigail has quite a few love interest, some are canon characters and some are OCs. When Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa, Cersei decided to pair up Abigail and Tommen and they get married after Tommen is crowned. She has a rather manipulative relationship with Joffrey, they've been close their whole lives but when he becomes king she feels like she needs to up the antics to keep a leash on him and for the most part it's effective. Not sure if i would count them as romantic interests but when Abigail visits Myrcella in Dorne, she kinda walks the line around Oberyn and Ellaria, but their flirting has more passive-aggressive undertones than anything else and she's in Dorne for a few months. I would say her first real healthy relationship comes about with Podric Payne, her initial interest comes from wanting to know how he got his nickname but then they become friends with minor puppy crushes. She has a sort of friends with benefits relationship with her lady in waiting, Efina Swyft, but they don't hook up often. Abigail takes a second husband a couple years after taking the throne, Osferth Hill, her cousin and lifelong friend and sworn protector.

Now onto Abigail's claim to the throne, after the 6th Blackfyre rebellion i want to say there are still those who support house Blackfyre despite the house being "extinct" because really if you can manage to keep support after 5 failed rebellions, is a 6th really going to waver the die hards? No. With Daenerys growing her forces in Essos, Tommen being considered a bit weak, and Abigail's known ties to house Blackfyre, i think Blackfyre supporters would start pushing and spreading propaganda if you will. Abigail is also very proud of her Blackfyre roots, her personal account with the iron bank, where she keeps finances brought in by The White Lion Company, has been saved under the Blackfyre name for years. As for the dragon bit, i did give Abigail a dragon, Verther, it was a bit of a guilty pleasure detail but when she was little for her name day, Stannis had gifted her a fossilized egg he had found on Dragonstone. Through some of that dragon magic that hatched Dany's dragons, Abigail's did as well, literally at the exact same moment. I'm no political or magical expert, i just do this for fun, so it is a bit difficult to work some details for me but i hope this helps!

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bells-of-black-sunday · 1 year

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Rambling like I said I would about Tarhos's league verse and Egg wanting me to

So first iteration of Tarhos's league verse was something I didn't really think about it was a few lines so my friends could still interact with him outside of a modern verse, but as I started researching more for Aatrox and Egg wanting to make a league verse for Haru I realized the themes of Darkin really fit him. Ptsd, the feeling of being a prisoner in your own body, etc. etc. I knew I could do a lot of it in terms of his themes I like to explore with him in general.

Then from there I thought about animals I could use for horn designs again not really thinking about what his host would be like at all. I was just thinking about what he might've been pre-corruption. I went through scarabs, various beetles, thorned lizards, and horny toads. And my first sketches weren't great, one I scrapped after like 5 mins and one that was way too jester-like even if I did enjoy it. It just didn't feel like Tarhos. Someone whose big, bulky and very traditionally knight-like.

And then Egg reminded me that Darkin take after their hosts and force their hosts to conform to them and that's what I really needed to start playing with ideas. I poured through the Ionian and Darkin cards in Legends of Runeterra, making a full board of all the darkin cards themselves for color reference and picking cards from the Ionian pool to make inspo boards arounds.

I settled on Windfarer Hatchling, Jeweled Protector, The Empyrean, and Herald of Spring, but ultimately after sketching and revising for a while I landed on the Empyrean not really trying any of the others even if I did enjoy the concepts I had for them. (I'm using the Herald of Spring one still just for something different) From there I sketched out things that I liked from my inspo mainly his ridges and beak while knowing I wanted to give him smoke that'd look like his hair. Because Tarhos's hair is what mainly differentiates him from a generic knight design as goofy as it looks sticking out of his helmet.

And then the more I sketched, the more he looked like something out of a medieval bestiary so I pushed that more while pulling elements from the card itself. His design came together rather quick after a lot of help (and by that I mean the main dragon body sketch) from Egg, because legit I was struggling so bad. And from there- the hardest part came to fruition his color palette.

Let me tell you when I studied these cards arts and splashes for darkin champs. (this is before Naafiri even out she was still in testing) As far as I could tell and still can tell, the darkin with the deep blood red and black color palettes are those with human hosts and most darkin only have 3-5 colors max in their palettes. I played with so many colors- reds and blacks, purples, ice tones, pinks and still couldn't settle on something I liked and this was before his smoke was even colored.

Then I played with many, many, many, gradation maps. Egg imputing a here and there and a little more before I found the base colors he has now. Mostly inspired by Naafiri's color palette with her stark whites that balance it out and Jorraals. And from there I started adding highlights to break up the dark patches of empty colors with golds like Jorraal's aegis and it really makes him pop. While he doesn't look like a traditional darkin you see on the rift, he'd still fit in the established of what darkin can look like and I'm proud of myself for that.

It also helps that Taarosh exists to show what dragon hosts can look like and the name similarity is very funny. But that's my journey with making him.

#ooc #a path of destruction (knight)#verse; league

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taterswithranch · 2 years

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Breakfast Gone Wrong

Another Jasmine and Dexter oneshot that I’ve had sitting in my docs for a long time hdjsksk

I actually made a doodle for this awhile back hdjsk

Jasmine was usually the first one awake. The owl lady didn’t need as much sleep as the average person. She was always up way before Dexter was, since three in the morning when he asked her.

So it was rather unusual when Dexter woke up at seven and saw that she wasn’t in the kitchen making breakfast like she usually was. He looked around the house, checking the pantry, the bathroom, and the living room. Stella, Jasmine’s pit bull, watched him curiously as he did so.

No Jasmine anywhere.

“Is… is she not here?” he asked Stella. The dog only tilted her head at him. A tangle of nerves settled in the pit of his stomach. Where is she?

He ran up and down the hall, his long tail swishing nervously. Jasmine was always up before he was. Even if she “slept in,” she would still be up a good two to three hours before Dexter.

He bit his lip as he made another round down the hall. Except, this time he noticed the door to Jasmine’s bedroom was open a small crack. He carefully squeezed his head through. Relief flushed through his system as he saw the bulk of Jasmine’s form gently rise and fall with every breath in the darkness of the room.

Okay. She’s still asleep.

…

She’s… still asleep?

His eyes darted over to the desk in the corner of her room. He could vaguely make out stacks of papers scattered across the surface. Dexter carefully shut the door and returned to the living room.

“Must’ve been a rough night,” he mumbled to no one in particular. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot on the floor. “Guess I could make cereal?”

He spared a glance towards the kitchen. Living on the streets his entire life left no opportunity for Dexter to use any kitchen appliances, let alone see many of them. He knew the obvious things like a microwave and frying pan, but other than those he could only name a few of the items in Jasmine’s kitchen: big spoon, bigger spoon, teeny tiny spoon, really flat spoon, and clippy things. But he’d seen Jasmine use all of them so many times with such ease. How hard could it be? Jasmine would be so proud of him. And now he was really craving bacon and eggs…

Dexter grinned to himself and rolled up his sleeves. “Yeah, how hard can it be?”

———

“So, uh, how much does she put in here?” Dexter asked Stella who was standing in the doorway. He had retrieved a package of bacon strips, four eggs, and two pieces of bread, racking his memory on how to prepare them. Stella blinked back at him, but otherwise showed no sign of an answer. He sighed, eyeing the bottle of oil in his padded hand. He had set up a pan on one of the burners.

Dexter recalled Jasmine holding the same bottle and drizzling it over the pan. “Ah, screw it,” he muttered, coating the entire base of the pan in a hearty layer of cooking oil. “The more the better, right?” he said enthusiastically. Stella whined and pawed at her nose. Dexter rolled his white eyes. “What do you know? I don’t ever see you in the kitchen whenever she’s cooking.” Stella huffed at him and returned to her bed in the living room. Dexter gawked at the dog’s audacity before returning his attention to the stove. He turned the dial between the letters “M” and “H.” Whatever those mean, he thought to himself.

He set the bottle down and took out two slices of bacon, nestling them next to each other on the pan. They immediately started to hiss. Dexter flinched back, his eyes wide. Why did it sound so… aggressive?

Doesn’t matter. It’s all good, right? Dexter nodded triumphantly and took the two pieces of bread. Surely he could use a toaster. He’s never actually touched the thing, but Jasmine made it look easy enough. Just stick the bread in the thing and- and… There was a knob near the base of the toaster. “What does that do?” he mumbled. He twisted it a few times to the left, then back to the right some more. Nothing seemed to happen. He shrugged and fitted the bread in each of the two slits, pressing down on the handle on the front. From inside, he could see the metal wiring inside turn a vibrant red. He grinned.

“Ha! See! I can use a toaster!” he declared, confidently turning in Stella’s general direction. He looked back at the bacon and saw the oil bubbling around the strips. Jasmine once told him that bacon didn’t take too long to cook. He grabbed a pair of clippy things from a drawer and carefully pried the bacon off the pan.

Suddenly, something hot singed his arm. Dexter yelped and dropped the clippy things on the counter, grabbing at the spot that burned. But it was gone. Just as it had come, it disappeared just as fast. There was a loud crackle then a pop from the pan, and something hot spat on his arm once more. Dexter inhaled sharply and rubbed at the spot. What? He looked back at the bacon. It bubbled and hissed angrily. “Is- Is this what Jazzy means when she says ‘this bacon is spittin’?” he asked aloud. The bacon was spitting hot oil on him. Great. Just great.

Dexter swallowed hard. This just made things a thousand times harder. He picked up the clippy things and cautiously approached the hissy pan from the side, carefully slipping the clippy things under a bacon strip. He quickly flipped the bacon over and immediately backed away from the pan as a string of loud hissing and crackling gave way. He held his breath, waiting for it to die down. A sigh of relief passed his lips. Man…

Now for the other one. Dexter took a deep breath, reaching for the other strip while leaning back as far as he could. In one swift motion, he quickly flipped the bacon over onto the pan, jumping away as it fizzed and bubbled. The top was entirely blackened. Dexter’s heart dropped. He cursed under his breath at the sight of the charred meat. And just when I was doing so good.

Along with the smell of burned bacon, a new scent lingered in the air, making Dexter wrinkle his nose. He followed the scent and felt adrenaline rush through his veins as he saw a thick stream of smoke curling around the toaster.

“No no no no no,” he murmured as he ran over. He tried to examine the damage, but the smoke burned his eyes too much to see anything. Taking a deep breath, Dexter lifted the collar of his shirt above his mouth and nose, reaching around the toaster and unplugging it. The reddened wiring inside dimmed, gradually fading back to a dull grey. He sighed.

A round of aggressive hissing and popping returned his attention to the bacon on the stove. Dexter jumped and skidded over, grabbing the clippy things and trying to turn the bacon over. His hands were shaky and unsteady, and the strip he had picked up dropped back on the pan, splashing oil in every direction.

And right into Dexter’s face.

The digidevil yelped and tried to wipe where the oil had touched him, trying to grab the counter for support. His hand landed on something hot and scorching, the nerves singing in pain. A loud and anguished scream ripped from his throat as he immediately cradled his injured hand to his chest, falling back onto the floor. Tears collected at the corners of his eyes. His chest tightened as he felt heavy sobs trying to escape. Why was everything going so wrong?

He heard footsteps quickly approaching, a familiar voice calling his name. “Dex?! Where are you? What’s wrong?”

Jasmine.

Dexter could see her entering the kitchen. She gasped at the sight of the burning food and Dexter huddled on the floor. She rushed over and quickly turned off the stove, moving the pan to an inactive burner. “Dex!” She knelt down and brought him close to her chest. “Dex, are you okay?” Her voice was concerned yet calm.

Dexter whimpered and curled into her warmth, unable to stop the flow of tears. Jasmine gently rubbed his back and murmured words of assurance.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again. “You alright?”

Dexter flinched and stiffened. Well, she’s gonna notice sooner or later, he thought. As humiliating as it was, he hesitantly showed her the burn on his hand. A mark of his failure. Jasmine inhaled sharply. Dexter refused to make eye contact, too ashamed to look at her.

She carefully took the back of his hand in hers and looked it over. “It doesn’t look too bad,” she concluded. Dexter looked up at her with large round eyes. Jasmine smiled softly and patted his back. “C’mon. It’ll help if we run it under cold water.” She helped him stand and led him over to the sink. She turned it on and adjusted it so the pressure was gentle.

Dexter flinched and let out a strangled yelp as the water made contact with the burn. But the effect was instantaneous. The water was cool to the touch and eased the angry heat in his hand.

Jasmine rubbed his shoulder. “Just keep it under there. I’ll get you an ice pack,” she said. Dexter nodded and watched as she retrieved the dinosaur-shaped pack from the freezer. She wrapped it in a thin towel and brought it back over, turning off the sink. “Try this,” she instructed, handing the ice pack to him.

Dexter winced as he cautiously pressed it against his palm, but the cold seeped into his hand, settling the aggravated injury. He sighed and looked up at the owl lady. “Thanks,” he said with a grateful smile.

Jasmine returned the gesture and playfully ruffled the thin layer of fur on his head. “It’s no problem at all!” She turned around and surveyed the mess in the kitchen. Dexter tensed, shrinking into himself. “What happened here?” she asked. Her tone held no anger or malice. It was simply a question.

A dark blue blush crept along Dexter’s cheeks. “I, um, I tried to- tried to make breakfast,” he stuttered quietly, shifting his weight in embarrassment.

Jasmine’s expression softened. “Aww sweet pea!” she laughed, hugging him to her side. “Sorry for sleeping in. You should’ve woken me up!”

With his uninjured hand, Dexter fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I didn’t want to. You looked tired,” he replied sheepishly. “And I wanted to surprise you.”

Jasmine cooed and hugged him tighter. “Aren’t you just a sweet little thing!” She cupped his face in her hands and planted a small kiss on his forehead, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. Dexter hummed and felt a stupid smile tug at the corners of his mouth, his tail wagging and a warm feeling blossoming in his chest.

Jasmine released his face, and a part of Dexter was tempted to grab her hands and put them back. “I’ll clean up here. You can go sit. Then I’ll make breakfast!” Dexter nodded eagerly and plopped himself down on one of the chairs at the kitchen island, watching as she cleaned up his mess. He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about it.

Jasmine first looked at the pan on the stove, using the clippy things to peel the ruined strips of bacon off. She wrinkled her nose. “How much oil did you use?” she asked.

Dexter shrugged. “Dunno. Just covered the entire pan.” Jasmine suddenly burst out laughing, and Dexter felt another flush crawl up his neck.

“Sweet pea, you’re just supposed to drizzle a little bit on there. The bacon’s already got a lot of grease on it,” she explained, placing his attempts in a paper towel and throwing them away.

Then, she shifted her focus to the toaster. The smoke had already cleared, allowing her to peer inside. Jasmine tilted her head and grabbed another paper towel, turning the toaster upside down directly above it. Ash poured out of it like black sand. There was no bread left. Dexter could see Jasmine’s shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. She coughed into her fist and put the toaster back down. “You put it on the highest setting,” she stated, unable to contain the stray giggles that bubbled in her chest. She pointed to the dial which was set to a number eight, setting it to a three. “I usually keep it around three or four. Gives it that nice crunch.” Dexter nodded, desperately trying to will the blush on his face to settle back down.

Jasmine leaned on the edge of the counter to face him. “Tell ya what. If you want, when your hand is feeling better, maybe I can show you everything I know about cooking,” she suggested. “Then you can start helping me in the kitchen!”

Dexter straightened up in his seat. “Really?!” he asked excitedly.

Jasmine nodded. “Yeah! Just you and me!” She noticed the eggs left untouched near the stove and grabbed them. She took out a clean pan and turned on the burner, cracking an egg over the pan and letting it sizzle. She pulled out a really flat spoon from the drawer and carefully poked the egg around. “Oh, and you set the burner almost at high. I try to keep it around medium low so it doesn’t burn as fast.”

Dexter hummed and made another mental note in his head.

———

The rest of the morning was relatively calmer now that the disaster Dexter had caused had been dealt with and resolved. Now Dexter lay curled up on Jasmine’s lap in the living room, warm and full of not-burned-and-absolutely-ruined bacon, eggs, and toast. He positioned himself so that his injured hand was cradled to his chest with the ice pack settled on it without aggravating it any further.

He watched as Jasmine had pulled up cooking videos on the TV for them to watch, occasionally asking the owl lady of the different materials and techniques used. She happily answered his questions as best she could (so apparently the really flat spoon is called a spatula and the clippy things are called tongs. Huh).

At some point, Jasmine started to rub small circles on his back. Dexter couldn’t help the purr that vibrated in his chest, but he made no attempts to stop it. He snuggled up closer to Jasmine with a content sigh.

Life was good.

#writing thing #ocs #oc: dexter #oc: jasmine

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anthonybialy · 1 year

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Woke Nonsense Defined

Arguing about how to classify decline will surely make agony more bearable. Getting hung up on definitions is the closest those who spurred widespread woe come to caring. Debate whether fire safety measures are adequate to distract from flames.

Anyone regrettably interested in politics is used to silly arguments based on preposterous boundaries. Debating what synonym to use to describe the plunge defines our time a bit too well. Events are uncooperative to the side imposing them.

The only thing more tiresome than woke beliefs is pretending we don’t know what they are. Look at contemporary stringent intolerance for examples; you won’t have to search for long.

You’d think practitioners might be proud of normal humans noticing the results of the society they engineered. Anyone who says they don’t know is as oblivious as the seething ideology itself. I wish they were being disingenuous. Things are surely going sweetly if that scenario constitutes the best case.

Particularly intolerant leftism is as easy to define as it is hard to presently profit. The very tethered and loving members of the clan will read from their bibles to tell you it means they are really into helping their fellow humans. Believing everyone else also needs to be coerced into caring is merely one telling sign.

Everyone’s angry while nobody’s laughing. Being too scared to experience joy that’s gone missing was their goal. Woke aligns with results in the same sense communism means collective assistance. Adherents believe that adorable claim, as well.

All it takes to be anti-fascist is claiming so. That’s such a relief, since the rather bossy mentality’s loudest foes sure seem to be fervent practitioners. Irony is tough to detect while dodging muggers during sifting through trash cans for dinner.

Intimidating to shutter dissent sure sounds like what they claim to fight. You’ll have to trust them that their foes are awful meanies who merely need to be subjected to their own tactics in order to let anyone allowed to speak be tolerant. The only way to fight fascism is with the same, apparently.

They must be helping if they claim, as such kind experts know exactly what they’re doing aside from the things. It’s illegal for your government to lie to you. Officials only tell the truth, which is the benevolent burden of holding office. It's not that someone as caring as Joe Biden could even conceive of uttering a word that went against absolute truth. Claim it’s so even as the precise opposite occurs, which offers a good summation of liberalism.

Smugness surely distracts from outcomes. Cruel conservatives don’t care about children after they’re born, claim those who were born and use what they consider a privilege to spread the curious view that society is obligated to take care of your kids. The answer to stopping diabolical humans is inevitably gun control as guns are out of control where Democrats get what they want.

The most unscientific behavior involves claiming to believe in it. Any objective experiment would detect irony. Waging battles on behalf of experiments has not affected conclusions. Stupid indifference is immune to influence. Sucking up to test tubes doesn’t alter what science is, namely a process that disproves those who make a show of believing in it.

Semantics equal results. At least, they better. Otherwise, we’d all be broke without the opportunity to buy rare chicken eggs. Other than the fact they technically inflicting the opposite of what’s claimed, the truth is real.

Everything’s going super as long as the words themselves count. Don’t you believe in positive thinking? It’s no wonder you’re so negative with your needless focus on things that are happening. The sticky problem of how nothing they make others do creates pleasantness and in fact spreads woe like inflation hurts good vibes.

Reality doesn’t match up. The stubborn refusal to align with what the White House claims stresses staffers, and they’re the real victims these days. You say you like money, but then your dear president gives you all that you want and you ungratefully say that’s enough. Next, you’ll stop requesting ice cream dinners.

Being told how rotten you are is a form of debating. Connotations are not yours to set. It resembles how you can’t control getting robbed on every block or how many tubs of gruel we can ration ourselves for the week.

Shrilly squealing about how evil foes are isn’t applied to menacing villains stalking pedestrians or free countries. Democrats would prefer not to draw attention to their outcomes. Instead, the most compassionate vilify enemies who commit the crime of noticing.

Reversing progress doesn’t count as it. Obsolete concepts like earning a living while strolling around cities are regressive. We’re all in this together, I’m afraid. Everyone’s poor, but at least they're unsafe.

Failure needs branding, which is why liberals are always bitching about what to call their ideas. I didn’t say the answer was satisfactory. Pretending they can change things with rephrasing is at liberalism’s core. The unfulfilling philosophy dictates why they must argue about terms so vociferously.

The emptily cynical distrust advertising because out of the reflexive suspicion that everyone else lies about their products, too. Practitioners are too busy shouting down enemies to start an enterprise. It’s for the best, as shrieking is their only skill.

#woke #anti-woke #big government

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3d10fire-damage · 2 years

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Colors That Run Highlights 37

where beast?

Back in Kiran! Preparations for the Harvest Festival were in full swing, with people of all ages bustling around. As the group made their way through town toward the temple, some of the local farm animals seemed unnerved by Fea, while Slim and Calypso seemed to make them feel a bit more at ease.

Eva considered splitting off from the group to get started on her teleportation circle, but was convinced to put it off until later. Bree made a joke about the teleportation circle being like the DMV, which makes it seem much worse than it probably is. And jury’s still out on whether or not Kattie and Eva slept together in Aegis...

Once at Kiran’s temple, the group was greeted by Calypso’s mom Zoroe. Calypso asked if it was cool to smoke inside the temple, Zoroe said no, so Calypso nudged Slim and told him not to smoke in there. The priestess brought out some snacks and drinks for the party, and was quite proud and excited to learn that Calypso had taken some levels in cleric and could heal now. Calypso even demonstrated some of her spells, namely that she’s able to heal Fea. Slim was rather amused/endeared that Calypso had another mother figure that he hadn’t known of previously.

Zoroe mentioned that she and Andraya had taken bets on whether Calypso would stick exclusively to monk training; she also mentioned that she and Andraya had been writing to each other on a monthly basis since Zoroe left the monastery (like 20 years ago). 👀 (Kattie privately discerns that those two are mostly likely in fact 👀.)

Calypso referred to Zoroe as a “square” much to the confusion of the rest of the group. See, a square is like a nerd, but not necessarily in an intellectual way--

There was more discussion about how Calypso made out with Leawei to obtain her clerical magic because that dream sequence is the gift that keeps on giving. Slim spent some quality time with the monument to Jediah, and Fea was rather fascinated by the huge stained glass windows of the Cordias pantheon that decorated the temple-- she can actually see them. Kattie and Eva flirted(?) over snacks because Eva apparently struggles to do self care. 👀 Meanwhile Egg ate snacks until he was actually the shape of an egg. Truly the best of us.

Shortly the group were introduced to Kiran’s leader, Declan White, who was a pretty man with a rather distinct manner of speaking. Valor abruptly pivoted back into a “boy mood” which Calypso snickered about with Fea. Declan explained what the group would be doing during the festival the following evening, namely protecting the city should anything try to interfere with the transporting of the harvest. Kattie attempted to sorta wingwoman for Valor, but it didn’t work.

Fea asked Zoroe if the party could stay at the temple overnight, which Zoroe allowed. But first the party set out to get lit and do some stupid shit. Namely: cow tipping, as suggested by Slim. Valor, Fea, and Eva decide not to participate, but Slim showed ‘em all the ropes, and both Calypso and Kattie tip their own cows with flying colors (Calypso even nat 20′d and did a flip on hers for no reason).

Fea commented that Calypso would surely have a hangover in the morning, which Calypso insistently denied. She wasn’t even that drunk, and performed a successful but slightly shaky back flip to prove it. But then when she attempted a second one, she nat 1′d and fell flat on her ass. God bless. On the way back to the temple, Kattie and Slim fell into song with their respective instruments. Slim kept slipping into his Spanish lyrics.

In the morning, (most of) the party awoke to nasty hangovers. Slim used his Boy on Cow ability to ease his own condition, which led to him getting griped at by Kattie. He healed her as well before slinking off to his coffee. Zoroe again advertised the temple’s service that would be held around noon, which Slim, Fea, and Calypso opted to attend. Valor headed out to get cleaned up and presentable (and to window shop) for like three hours.

Zoroe led the service, speaking of Jediah and Rissund, most closely associated with Kiran’s Harvest Festival. She made some sort of analogy about planting and foster the growth of seeds. It was a good service because Zoroe is good 🥺

Once it was night (a full moon, mind you), the party split up, taking up watch at the north, south, east, and west cardinal points of Kiran. At the north, Valor was attacked by a wereboar who refused to answer her questions of motive. She and Sven defeated the beast, who afterward reverted into a man with brown hair and a beard. Valor stabilized him with Goodberry, the best spell.

Similarly, in the south, Fea was attacked by a weretiger, though the beast got a bit more of a jump on her since she couldn’t spot them until they were right on her, basically. Fea however refused to fight back with her blades, so she wrestled the weretiger to the ground and held them there.

At the west, Slim and Kattie discussed crafting a little guitar for Liz, the pixie they had met near Marstis until they were attacked by a werewolf. Between Kattie’s powerful attacks and Slim’s lasso and a nice pistol whip (Kattie said Calypso was rubbing off on him), they subdued the creature, who also reverted into a man, this time a red-headed elf. Afterward Slim teleported via shadows with Xio to check in on Calypso, who told him that nothing had happened there in the east all night.

However, after a while a positively gigantic bear appeared, walking toward Kiran without any hesitation. Slim realized this was no standard bear, and after some questioning and placing himself between the bear and the city, the bear actually spoke (magically).

The two of them allowed this bear to pass, and with each step she took, freshly grown grasses were forming. Rissund herself, god of agriculture. Once she was gone from sight, Slim was sweating loudly about the encounter, and Calypso was less impressed, as per usual. With the festival drawing to a close, Slim collected everyone together, bringing along the subdued werebeasts.

With everyone gathered in the south, the weretiger reverted to a young lady. All of the lycanthropes back to their senses, they each explained what had led them to the festival (one of them hadn’t even known they had contracted the condition) and the party agreed to bring them to the temple to see if Zoroe could cure them.

Back at the temple, the discussion of Slim and Calypso’s encounter with Rissund derailed into a conversation about smash-or-pass: pantheon edition. This involved Valor recalling that she had dreamed of Kildak (god of the skies) before, and thus the ‘are you a dragon fucker’ questions began. Slim explained that he had a crush harbored some hero worship for Jediah. Fea spotted a cowboy off to the side tending to some oxen and approached him, rather brazenly, asking him if he would smash or pass Jediah.

When Fea returned, she expressed to Slim that the cowboy she spoke to seemed... different. She meaningfully gazed up at the stained glass window of Jediah. Mortified that the Jediah had overheard Slim’s thoughts and affections for him, Slim began to plot his escape from this mortal coil, but Fea stopped him. Hey, who knows, maybe Slim has a chance with his god.

With their mission accomplished, the party found a bathhouse and took some time to clean up and relax. Fea and Calypso got a private room so that Fea could... de-skin? Re-skin? Something with her dead skin, without scaring any of the other bathers. And of course, Slim caught up on his stories and wrote a letter. (Also at some point I can’t recall, Calypso was heckling Valor, or “queenie,” but then did honestly say Valor looked lovely. Valor proudly declared then and there that Calypso had in fact given her a compliment.)

The following day, the Breakfast Club set out for Smoth. As a group they decided that when they found the group of penitent undead there, they would deal with them as non-violently as possible. They arrived in Smoth in the rain, and Slim took point in asking the barkeep (an unfortunately attractive minotaur) for some directions to what they were looking for.

Soon enough the group found the undead, accompanied by a dark figure with piercing blue orbs for eyes. She was standing off against a group of rough-looking individuals, led by a large yakfolk man. In the interest of keeping things non-lethal, Valor fired a warning shot at the yakfolk and told him to back off from the undead. Calypso, not at all following Valor’s thread, ran up and put the hurt on the guy, even stunning him.

Fea took a protective stance between the bandits and the dark figure (who had put up some kind of barrier around herself). Kattie cast Shatter to knock out a couple of bandits, and startled another to run off. After that, the yakfolk agreed to get the hell out of there, and all the bandits headed out. Fea began addressing the mage, called Ikarene-- the ensuing conversation took place in Abyssal, so none of the others could follow.

Fea relayed some info to the rest of the group, explaining that Ikarene’s purpose was to escort the penitent undead to Calamity and that the group ought to help them get there safely. After some considering of their options, the group decided to teleport them all back to Guild City. From there, they’d travel into the mountains to Fort Silver and secure them safe passage across the water to Calamity. Kattie used Sending to inform Anna of this, and Anna said she’d make the best preparations she could.

Fea determined she would remain with Ikarene and the undead for the night, to make sure they would be safe. The rest of the party went back to Smoth, where the barkeep from earlier (Toark) said that their checks were in the mail, basically. Slim paid for everyone’s food and rooms, and ended up landing himself a nice night with Toark.

Meanwhile, Calypso agreed to share a room with Valor, and Valor declared it would be a Girls’ Night. She, of course, had to explain what a girls’ night even was, since Calypso hadn’t really had one before. Face masks, talking about crushes, all that. Plus tiefling rite of passage stuff, since Valor was too sheltered to have done any of that kind of thing, apparently.

(And then there was text RP where Valor insisted pretty much everyone could tell Fea and Calypso were basically a thing, and told her to consider going for it. Calypso denied everything and didn’t think anything would ever even happen. But the tief squad did kinda bond a little, in spite of it all. ALSO Valor couldn’t handle fire like your standard tiefling can, and she’s apparently gotten sunburns in the past. Bwuh?)

(Additionally, Fea and Ikarene had a conversation wherein Fea said she had grown confident in the present of people that cared about her, despite the fact that she is dead and Abyssal. Ikarene pressed X to doubt, thinking that Fea’s disguise would drop at some point. Welp.)

#colors that run #dnd

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camillasgirl · 2 years

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‘I could fill a book with my cooking disasters’ - My life in food by HRH The Duchess of Cornwall

I grew up in a very happy home, with good food at its heart. I still just about remember rationing, but we grew everything from tomatoes and melons to peas, beans, carrots and new potatoes. One of my earliest memories is podding those peas and beans with my mother, an accomplished cook.

We always had to finish what was on our plate before we ate pudding. That wasn’t such a problem when it was rice pudding as I hated the stuff.

At my first school, Dumbrells in Ditchling, East Sussex, the food was, surprisingly, excellent. Lots of steamed puddings and we were allowed to help the cook once a week in getting lunch ready. I still dream of their potato and cheese cake.

Every year, we went on holiday to the island of Ischia, just off Naples. There were endless lunches of vitello al limone [veal escalope with lemon], fried zucchini, lots of fresh fish and pasta. It instilled a lifelong passion for Italian food.

On Friday nights, at home, we were allowed to choose our dinner. I always went for Findus frozen chicken pie, much to my mother’s despair. Food at my grandmother’s house was more formal French, which was very much the smart thing in those days. What I remembered most there, though, was the brown bread ice cream.

When it came to restaurants, there wasn’t as much choice in 60s London as there is now. But at the time, we didn’t know any better. I always preferred the food at home anyway. But I remember how excited I was when I first ate prawn and avocado, at Alexander’s in Chelsea. The combination seemed impossibly exotic. I’d eaten avocados at home and hated them at first. But I now eat them most days. Daphne’s was another favourite, along with La Poule au Pot in Pimlico, which is still about. Best of all was The Causerie at Claridge’s, where there was a great round table with the most incredible buffet. Everyone dressed up and it seemed very glamorous.

I always cooked for the children growing up, and they were good eaters, but I was never the most adventurous of cooks. I was sent on a cooking course in Sussex when I was young but, really, I learnt from my mother. I’ve never followed a recipe in my life.

My cooking is about good ingredients. Nothing too mucked about, or fussy or fiddly. Lots of tarragon chicken, scrambled eggs and bacon, and chicken casserole. There were always roasts on Sunday – pork and lamb chops, roast chicken. The children ate a lot of cheese on toast. We had a kitchen garden and lots of chickens, for the eggs, so we ate seasonally before it became en vogue. Because that’s just what you did in the country back then. We used Love & Sons, the butchers, in Chippenham, Wiltshire. There was also a very good fishmonger but that’s long gone, which is sad. Britain has so much incredible produce, and our farmers do a magnificent job. We should always support them.

When Sainsbury’s opened in Chippenham at the start of the 80s, it was rather exciting. So much choice. We ate a lot of chicken kievs.

I could fill a book with all my cooking disasters. I’m not a natural baker, to say the least. As for baked potatoes… many a poor, incinerated specimen has been found in the bottom of the Aga, put in, then forgotten about.

I do still cook for myself when at home. Simple things like fish en papillote with butter and herbs. And vegetables from the garden: kale, purple sprouting broccoli, carrots, courgettes, and lots of peas and beans because they freeze so well. I love the vegetable garden, and summer in particular. I’m very proud of my white peaches. My husband is an excellent gardener, and we’re quite competitive about our fruit and vegetables.

These days, restaurants are a way to see my children. They pick the restaurants, I pay the bill. I don’t like too much noise but we tend to go to the same places.

One of my favourite foods is baked beans on toast. Always Heinz. And freshly cooked fish and chips, wrapped in paper. That smell. You cannot beat proper fish and chips.I can’t bear peppers, raw or cooked. I’m not a fan of offal either, aside from very good liver. And I avoid chilli and garlic too, unlike my son.My last supper would probably involve my own asparagus, with lots of butter. Angela Hartnett’s risotto. I love her cooking. Dover sole meunière, with ratte potatoes and fresh broad beans and peas from the garden. Some bitter chocolate ice cream. Plus strawberries and raspberries and lots of clotted cream. Along with a really good glass of red claret. And, seeing it’s my last supper, probably two.

#this is everthing really #duchess of cornwall #food #my life in food #quote #article #remember wehen Camilla wore the Heinz bag

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spencersawkward · 4 years

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i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

#matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #mgg oneshot #mgg x reader

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ppersonna · 4 years

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half baked - pjm | m

baby we two distant strangers. i know you don't speak my language, but I love the way she's talking to me - love talk, wayv

↳ summary- park jimin gets a job at your bakery, and you can’t help but find yourself annoyingly attracted to the cocky man.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ word count- 5.2k

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, lightly dom!jimin, sub!reader, slight enemies2lovers, sex in a kitchen, please god don’t fuck in a kitchen its a health code violation, spanking, nipple play, cum play, fingering

↳ a/n- ahHH!HHHHhhh!H! i blame this 100% on @wwilloww for merely putting the idea in my head and i had to take it and run with it. also thank you to @kimtaehyunq my babe/my loml for the amazing banner! i truly do not deserve u but ily so much. and thank you to @chimoona @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @taetaewonderland for being the best mf squad a lady could have and beta-ing this for me! i love you all so much! i hope you enjoy silly cocky jimin!

Two cups of flour, one and three quarters cup sugar, 2 cups of butter.

You know the recipes by heart. In fact, one might postulate that the recipes themselves are the sole contents of your heart.

You live and breathe baking. It is your solace and your truest love.

Which is why it is all nearly thrown into catastrophe when Park Jimin comes into the picture.

It starts on a rather busy day. You’re hard at work in the kitchen, prepping the finished products and presenting them in neat little boxes, when your best friend and co-owner of Wake ‘N Bake, Willow, lets out a frustrated squeal.. You turn your head to find her covered head to toe in flour, making you snort as she shoots you a playfully ominous glare.

“Shut up,” she sniffs as she attempts to pat some fine dust off of her, to no avail. “I only have two hands and about fifty things to do with them at the same time.”

Your lips part to reply something equally sassy when the bell over the front door rings, notifying you of a paying customer. Grabbing a towel, you quickly wipe off cookie debris and throw it at your best friend to do her best to clean off as she follows behind you.

You pause as you take stock of who stands there. A handsome man arrives at the cash register and peers around, presumably looking for an employee. He is gorgeous—ethereal even and looks like someone who walked out of the pages of a magazine. His bone structure screams model, and you can’t help but feel the stirrings of desire for the beautiful stranger.

“Hi! Welcome to Wake ‘N Bake!” Willow sings cheerfully, despite being coated in baking flour.

The man eyes her with a glint of humor in his eye, and Willow’s cheeks turn a hue of pink when she remembers her current appearance.

“Hi,” he speaks. His voice is smooth like butter, and gentle. It makes you feel weak, like you’re warming in the very ovens that your pastries rise in.

“I saw your shop from down the street and I had to stop in. Your desserts look amazing. Is the owner here by chance?”

Your smile fades as he looks around the room for someone else, someone beyond you and your best friend.

Of course.

No one believes that two young women could start and maintain their own business. Everyone assumes that some older, well-off man was at the helm while you and Willow toil for minimum wage.

Your arms cross over your body in clear displeasure.

“We are the owners.”

“Oh!” The man looks surprised but not put off. “Awesome. I was hoping I could… talk to you about, err—… a job?”

His face is sheepish and Willow nearly coos at the sight.

Unfortunately, it appears you and your best friend have warring ideas.

“Yes!” She chimes at the same moment you dead-pan a resounding ‘No’.

Your heads spin to stare at each other—Willow’s eyes wide in disbelief and yours in annoyance.

“We need the help!” She huffs.

“We can do things on our own, like we always have,” you remind her.

Willow gestures to her flour covered clothing in desperation.

“We clearly could use help with how successful we have gotten!”

To your chagrin, she has a point. It might be nice to have someone to help in the front while the two of you manage the kitchen in the back. It would increase your productivity by double what you’re able to do now.

But there’s something about his attitude coming in that rubs you the wrong way. Like, he’s too pretty. Too confident. Too nice.

“What’s your baking experience?” You ask as you turn back to the hopelessly lost, yet ever eager man.

“Oh, err—,” he stutters. “I worked at my friend Jin’s restaurant. That served desserts, too?”

You shake your head in disdain while Willow claps her hands in excitement, a puff of white flour dust pluming into the air.

“Perfect! So you could do sales!?”

“Yeah! I can do sales, no problem.”

You turn your gaze back to Willow who stares at the man like he is her knight in shining armor.

“Willow?! Can I talk to you in the back?”

She knows that tone—the one that tells her you’re not pleased with her decisions. She nods once and politely excuses the both of you from the man before heading back towards the kitchen.

“What in the world is wrong with you?!” She asks the moment the swinging door closed.

“Me?!” You’re incredulous—hands flying in the air. “You’re over here trying to hire the first Joey Hot-Lips who walks in off the street!”

Willow’s anguished face falls and turns into a devilish smirk as she leans back on her heels.

“Aha! You’re attracted to him,” she notes as if she figured out the world's greatest mystery. “That’s why you don’t want him here.”

“What? No!” Your defense crumbles around you. “Did you hear him? He totally acted like he didn’t believe we could be the owners!”

“Oh, come on, that was a simple mistake and you know it! You’re just being protective.”

You ‘humph’ a non-committal response—unable to argue.

You are protective of your bakery. It’s your combined love child with Willow. What started as a dream between cocktails with your best friend became a real brick and mortar reality. You had been through enough trying to open it you can’t help but feel skeptical of anyone trying to get involved. Many tried to discredit your ability to maintain such a successful shop, and you’d rather continue to run it with no one else than see it fall at the hands of another.

“Just as I thought,” Willow hums. “In that case, he’s hired!”

You’re given no chance to reply—the flour-covered girl pushes through the swinging doors and announces to the handsome man that he’s hired and free to start the following day.

“Great! Thanks!” His smile is sincere—blinding and breathtaking, and you hate how much you want to see that smile again.

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, waving goodbye as he exits the chiming door.

“Now, you need to deal with whatever issues you have about letting others into the shop,” she says pointedly, pushing a finger into your arm gently. “And whatever issues you have with wanting to bone him.”

“Willow!” You gasp. “I do not want to bone him!”

“Sure, babe. You think you can fool me but I know you too well. Just try not to fuck him in the kitchen, alright? I don’t need the health inspector up our ass.”

The next early morning starts at 4:30 am, with you elbow deep in cookie dough for a catering order. You’ve nearly forgotten about the new employee starting until the man himself strolls into the back kitchen as if he’s worked there for years.

“Hey!” He says cheerfully, two cups of coffee in his hands. “I got you a coffee. Willow said you’re a nightmare without some in the morning.”

Your eyes narrow at the man. It’s unfair how delicious he looked so early; while you look like a frizzy mess who rolled out of bed and walked into work (which you did), he looked polished and crisp and clean. It’s infuriating as much as it’s glaringly attractive.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you pick cookie dough off your hands and pull off your plastic sanitary gloves. “Every girl loves hearing she’s a nightmare.”

He chuckles behind his steaming cup and places yours on the workbench next to you.

“Those were her words, of course. I’d never call you a nightmare.”

You easily flush, then chastise yourself for allowing him to make you feel so weak so early in the morning.

“To be fair,” he continues. “I don’t even know your name.”

“___,” you sigh as you grab the coffee and bring it to your lips. “And you?”

“Jimin. Park Jimin.”

The first sip of coffee is like a soothing hug. He somehow knew how you took your coffee—two creams and two sugars.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just guessed.”

“Good guess.”

Jimin smirks and looks proud of his accomplishment.

“You seem like the type of girl who likes balance to her sweetness.”

You stare at him curiously over your own steaming paper cup, unsure of what to make of his comment.

“Good morning to the love of my life!” Comes the voice of your best friend entering through the back door.

You roll your eyes in amusement as she teeters in, peppy and perky as she always is this early.

“Oh! Hi, Jimin.” Her cheeks turn a familiar shade of rose as she realizes he heard her. “I didn’t know you were here yet. That’s just a… thing we say to each other every morning.”

“Cute.” Jimin smirks at you, making your stomach lift with unwanted butterflies. “Where do you want me?”

Underneath you, beside you, above you, any possibly way...

You shake your head quickly to push away the sexual thoughts of the gorgeous man taking you from any position. No, you refuse to let your mind wander there.

Willow finishes washing her hands and putting on her apron before she nods to the fridge.

“If you can get the milk, eggs, and butter out, we’ll use you for creaming.”

Your cheeks heat impossibly as Jimin smirks even wider.

“Oh, I’m fantastic at creaming.”

Your hands pause from where they massage dough while you close your eyes and breathe, before lifting to glare at your best friend who wears a faux-innocent look.

“I’m sure you are, Jimin,” she chimes virtuously, before getting to work.

The next few weeks were a haze. You’re so caught up with graduations, birthdays, weddings and major events that your time spent at the shop overtakes your time sleeping, breathing, existing in any way that isn’t baking.

Even Jimin was busy. Despite your initial hesitancy, he was proving to be an excellent third member of your team. He’s a pro at sales—you’re sure his good looks and the mostly female clientele helps—and he pitches in in the kitchen without fail. He even tries his hand at decorating cakes, with only one frosting-based spill. You would never give Willow the satisfaction of telling her outright, but she made an excellent decision in hiring the dazzling man.

But it doesn’t stop your annoying heart from fluttering every time he comes close to you—rubs elbows as he helps you roll out dough or smiles at you from across the workbench as he stamps out sugar cookies. You refuse to allow yourself any thoughts on what it would taste like to lick dough off his fingers or how he would look bending you over the countertop to take you from behind.

You only allow such thoughts at night, safely tucked into bed with your vibrator cranked to the highest setting.

It doesn’t help that Jimin solidifies himself in your life by introducing his handsome and dopey best friend Jungkook to your gorgeous and clumsy best friend Willow. The moment they laid eyes on each other, you knew you were doomed to have Jimin in your life with or without the bakery.

And you weren’t sure how to handle that notion.

Was Jimin flirting with you simply because you were there? He seemed to have no problem flirting with the customers. Sure, the shop has never made more money than when Jimin works his charms and seduces women of all ages to buy the extra cookies, cannolis, and cakes—not that you watched or glared or hated every second. No, of course not. It was for the good of your business and the angry jealousy demon inside you would need to stay firmly locked away.

Except, it’s on a particularly crowded day at the shop that your jealousy gets the best of you.

You’re up front assisting Jimin by boxing and bagging the treats he rings up.

You know he’s flirtatious, but it’s when he goes the extra mile for an extra pretty girl that you lose your cool on him the moment the customers leave.

“Do you have to eye-fuck every single co-ed that walks in this place?!”

Your hands fly up in frustration, and Jimin watches you with a soft gaze.

His silence and knowing smirk makes you continue.

“Seriously? What the fuck was that about?! You’re acting like you’re about to bend her over right here in front of us! Jesus!”

Willow hears the commotion from the back and comes forward.

“What’s going on here?” She asks suspiciously.

You point towards Jimin who maintains his poised demeanor.

“I’m reminding Jimin that work is not a place to sexually engage our customers!”

Willow rolls her eyes as she pulls her apron off and grabs her coat from the hook.

“Whatever, you’re being ridiculous. Jimin’s never been inappropriate. Plus, he’s making us a fuck-ton of money,” she sighs. “You two can close up without killing each other right?” She eyes you in particular.

You cross your arms and huff, glancing at the clock to find you have two hours still until closing. “Why? Where are you going?”

Willow’s annoyance fades away as if it never existed.

“Jungkook is taking me to the Museum of the Printing Press!”

You can’t help but choke a laugh while she pushes your arm.

“Shush! You know how much I love them! And he totally surprised me with tickets!”

Willow can’t shake that lovesick look in her eyes and your heart melts a little. She’s your best friend and you’re thrilled she’s found someone who wants to indulge her in her nerdy fascinations.

“Go have fun, babe,” you smile sincerely. “We can take care of closing. Now, go fuck on a letterpress or whatever!”

Willow snorts and hugs you tight, bids goodbye to Jimin, and exits the store.

Now that your quick anger is gone, you feel sheepish around the man who has yet to reply to your tirade—but you refuse to stick around under his piercing gaze.

“I’ll be in the back,” you mumble under your breath before slipping into the kitchen before he can get any word in edge wise.

You spend the rest of the evening monologuing an apology as you prep ingredients for the next morning and clean your workstations. The shop is closed, doors locked, and Jimin is somewhere at the front of the house finishing his duties.

“‘Hey, I’m sorry for the way I acted’,” you practice out loud. “Hm—no, not humble enough. ‘Hey Jimin, I was a real bitch’, too degrading? Maybe something like, ‘Hey Chim, can I call you Chim? That was fucked up, wasn’t it? Haha.’ God!” You throw your rag down in a huff, frustrated at your inability to form a decent apology.

“You can call me Chim, if you want,” a voice speaks from behind you.

You squeak in surprise and turn around, clutching your apron in your hands as you find Jimin leaning against a wall with a smirk on his face.

“Only my closest friends call me Chim, but I think we’re close enough.”

You swallow hard and nibble at your lip.

“I’m assuming you heard that whole… thing,” you mumble anxiously. His nod confirms that he heard your entire play-by-play of the apology you would deliver to the handsome man.

“Yeah,” he licks at his lips. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re jealous.”

“J-jealous?” You nearly trip over your own tongue. “I wasn’t—, I’m not jealous!”

Jimin begins a slow approach towards you, striding as he keeps his sparkling eyes on yours.

“Oh?” He quirks his head, making his soft hair fall into his face. You desperately want to push it away, cup his cheek, kiss those ridiculously plump lips.

He can tell you’re staring at this mouth and it makes his smirk turn nearly feral.

“So, you weren’t jealous? Not a single bit?”

He inches closer and you can feel your heart tighten in your chest and your stomach twists in on itself in excitement, in nerves.

“N-no,” you whisper, unconvincingly.

“You didn’t want to be the one I was making eyes at? The one who ‘gets bent over the counter’ as you said?”

“I—,” Jimin cuts your words short as he stands a breath away from you.

“I guess if you weren’t jealous, then I don’t have to tell you you’re the one I really want to bend over the counter.”

You’re sure your heart stops beating—positive that it will fall from its place in your ribs into your feet.

“What?”

Jimin cups a hand to your cheek and smiles as he steps even closer.

“If you’re not jealous, then I don’t have to reassure you you’ve got nothing to be jealous over.”

Your lips run dry, throat parched as if you’ve never had a sip of water. Jimin is standing so close to you you can feel the heat coming off of him in waves.

“Jimin—,” you breathe and he continues forward until he presses you against the countertop and crowding you into the metal and wood.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

You gulp, eyes seeking his for an answer, for any information. Is he playing you? Does he know you’re hopelessly attracted to him? Does he find it humorous to tease you when Willow isn’t here to insert herself into your flirting.

“I was jealous,” you admit slowly. The words are hard to release, but once they do, the floodgates open. “I wanted to be the one you flirted with. I was jealous because I want to be the one you notice.”

Jimin smirks, then pulls your face in quickly for a heated kiss.

His lips are just as plush, just as soft as you imagined. They’re puffy and sweet and he tastes like one of the treacle tarts you made that morning. He must have had one with lunch, and you find yourself addicted to the way he tastes with your creations on him. You wonder what he’d taste like with your arousal coating that tender, plump mouth.

He bites at your own lip and tugs, chucking under his breath as you mewl your desire at the slight hint of pain.

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re angry like that,” he breathes as he presses his forehead to yours. “I nearly popped a boner while you were yelling at me. I could tell you were jealous, and it made me want you more.”

It’s hard to hear him speak so candidly—it makes you groan.

“Jimin—fuck,” you sigh. “I’ve been attracted to you since you walked into this goddamn place.”

He smirks and snags your lips up in another desperate, yet quick, kiss.

“I know. It’s why you didn’t want me to work here.”

You grumble after he pulls away, tired of the teasing and wanting nothing more than to stop talking and start doing.

“I didn’t like you because you assumed I wasn’t the owner.”

He smiles and rubs at your arms, a softer expression crossing his face.

“No, but I hoped you were.”

It’s silent for a moment and you let his words wash over you as he continues.

“I was attracted to your authority. I could tell you were important here somehow, just didn’t know in what way.”

You swallow your growing guilt. You had clocked Jimin entirely wrong.

“Jimin, I’m sorry,” you start.

“Hey, hey, I already heard your apology, remember?” He smiles. “Although, I could think of a great way to mend the wounds if you’re interested. No pressure.”

His soft smile becomes a devilish grin instantly and your body lights with instant arousal.

“What did you have in mind?”

His lips press to yours again and you nearly lose yourself completely in his embrace. Your arms circle his neck and he holds you tight at your waist, before pulling away from you, yet again.

“I happen to be very good at creaming, if you’ll recall.”

You can’t hold back a snort of laughter, that quickly gets covered by Jimin’s hot lips, one’s he will not pull away from you any time soon.

“You want to, right here?” You ask as he trails a hot line down your throat.

“Yeah, do you?”

You vaguely remember Willow’s threat of not fucking in the kitchen, but find you can’t seem to care an ounce.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

Jimin needs to hear no more. He pulls you close and kisses you with the remaining amounts of pent-up passion and emotion he feels for you. He’s grown to love the way you take charge, the way you move through the building like you own the place—because you do. He loves the power you radiate and wants nothing more than to make you give up that power for a single night, to him.

“You wanna do this… all the way?” He asks, re-assuring himself that he’s not throwing himself at his boss.

“I want you, Jimin. I want you to bend me over this workbench and fuck me until I’m crying for more. Please.”

He grins and lays a hand on your neck, fingers tracing the gentle lines.

“I might not let you boss me around,” he warns.

“Take control.” Your eyes are blazing with need. It makes him smile, and he gives the moment a slight pause.

“Then, get on your knees and show me just how sorry you are for yelling at me.”

You’re sinking to your knees quicker than you can comprehend. Jimin is almost thrown at how instantly you caved and submitted to him. He watches as your eyes stay fixed on his and your hands work at the button of his tight jeans.

“That’s right,” he murmurs. “Right where you belong. No one else.”

You preen—heart warming at the idea that you’re the only one he wants kneeling before him and tugging his cock out of its confines.

It springs forward, and it pulls your gaze from Jimin’s magnetic eyes. It’s long and thick, just like you suspected all those nights with your vibrator stuffed where he should be. Your mouth waters at the sight and you lean towards it to mouth at it gently—pressing soft open-mouth kisses to the tip.

“Oh, shit,” Jimin gasps. Your fiery mouth feels like heaven on his cock. It’s something he’s equally dreamed about—spent many nights fisting his cock to the thought of you.

You take your time, licking tiny stripes around the head and down the shaft, until Jimin becomes weary of the teasing.

“Please, take it all.” His request is so genuine, so needy, that you’re loath to deny him.

He slips into your mouth with ease, slicked up just enough by your trailing kisses that he slides in and hits the back of your throat in seconds. His eyes close as he feels his cock-head hit the back of your throat—a tighter and more constricting feeling in your already impossibly tight mouth. It feels like absolute bliss, and he’s gasping for air after mere moments of you holding him inside your mouth to the hilt.

He doesn’t need to speak; you know what to do. Your mouth works him in and out, tongue swirling around any open real estate of his cock. His moans echo around the tile of the kitchen walls and he’s sure that the sight of you on your knees with his cock disappearing in and out of your mouth will have him cumming in no time.

He steels himself, makes his body behave because he wants to enjoy this and the way you feel. As good as your mouth feels, he’s desperate to know what it’s like to slide into that cunt he’s spent too many nights dreaming about.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as you make delicious, slurping noises from the gathering saliva. It’s a wet squelching sound that makes him even harder than what he believes is possible—all blood in his head now completely rushed to his dick for his pleasure.

“B-Babe!” He calls as he feels his balls tightening. He doesn’t want to cum, not yet.

He grips your head by the scalp of your hair and pulls you off his cock that is seconds away from losing control.

“Please, I’ve got to fuck you,” he nearly begs.

You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand and smirk, licking the tip of his cock teasingly before standing up to his full height.

Jimin’s hands fly to your expensive leggings that you insist on wearing to work while he kisses you. The kiss is feverish, frantic. It’s full of tongue and teeth and desperate moaning against each other as he pushes down the pants and delicate panties, and cups your cunt in one hand.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper against his mouth as the pad of his finger slides against your clit.

“You’re fucking soaked. All from sucking my cock?” He’s cocky and sucks a mark onto your neck as he massages the bundle of nerves.

“Don’t be arrogant now,” you warn with a smile.

He presses his tongue to your ear and licks a stripe and chuckles.

“I think you like it when I’m arrogant. Your pussy sure seems to like it.”

He emphasizes his words by slipping two fingers into your channel and fucks into you, scissoring you open. He cuts off any chance for you to retort by launching his lips back to yours and prowling around your mouth with his tongue.

His fingers are small but fill you so deeply, and you’re sure his hand is drenched with your arousal.

“J-Jimin, please,” you gasp as you pull your mouth away to breathe in deep. “Please, just fuck me already.”

He growls into your ear.

“I thought I told you you’re not in charge.”

He spins you easily until your back is pressed to his chest. He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts, throwing the shirt away and quickly making work of your bra clasps to join the shirt on the floor.

His hands cup your full breasts and you can’t help but whimper at the feeling of his soft and warm hands. He feels so good against the chilled skin of your chest and he tweaks and thumbs your nipples until they stand perky and erect.

“I’ve always wanted to bend you over this counter,” he muses in your ear as he pulls a nipple harshly. It makes you squeak out at the pain, then moan as the pain turns into a sizzling, pleasurable spike that runs through your veins.

“Every time I would catch you staring at me, I just wanted to fuck your cute little throat until you were gagging around me.”

Your eyes close as he continues his abuse on your perky nipples and whispering his deepest thoughts about you.

“I wanted to lift your cute dresses and eat your cunt until you’re wailing loud enough all the customers can hear.”

“Jimin,” you nearly cry. “Please, fuck me.”

You can feel his hardness lining up behind you, rubbing at your sodden folds to cover his length in your slick juices.

“I like it when you beg.”

He kisses at the juncture of your neck before letting his teeth graze over the spot and bites down—right as he pushes your face down to the workbench and slides his cock into your spread heat.

He bottoms out easily. You’re soaking wet and he buries himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. He groans out loud—stunned by the heat and wetness of your pussy and how tight it grips him.

“Oh, holy shit,” he gasps as he gives himself and you a moment. His hands grip at your waist, one hand coming to rub the tender skin of your supple ass.

“Jimin, fuck, you’re so big,” you whine.

He brings his hand up, then slaps it down on your ass hard, hard enough that the crack echoes around the large kitchen. You cry out in delight, in pain, as the reverberation of the stinging wraps around you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, princess,” he whines as he sets a pace. Your ass meets his hips and claps with each thrust, and he punctuates every few pumps into you with another hard slap to your ass. He wants you screaming his name, crying out for him loud enough that the neighbors know who he is.

He’s relentless in his pumps—gripping your hips tight as he fucks you deep and senseless. Your eyes roll back into your head at how well he works your body. Your tits rub raw against the wood of the workbench and you’re weeping fat tears of pleasure as Jimin continues his plight.

“God, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warns. “Cum on my cock, princess.”

You slide a hand down to your clit, eager to add the ultimate piece to what makes you unravel. He grins and pumps into you harder, slaps your ass repeatedly until he knows it’s going to leave bruises.

“That’s right, baby, rub that pretty little clit,” he urges. “God, I can’t wait until you you sit on my face and let me eat this fucking cunt for hours.”

You blubber a response of desire, nearly begging him for more and more, as you swirl your fingers around the tight bundle. You’re peaking towards the summit of your climax, ascending to a point you’ve never gone before.

“Fuck, Chim!” You scream. “Gonna cum!”

Your warning falls on deaf ears—you’re cumming and pulsating around his thickness instantly and Jimin moans mix with your own to create a symphony of pleasure.

“Good fucking girl,” he coos. “Your cunt is so good to me, baby. Mmph—let’s frost this cake, now.”

Instantly, he’s groaning as he pulls his cock free from the vice-grip of your cunt and jerks himself twice to completion, allowing his hot seed to splatter against the tender flesh of your ass where he’s left a clear print of his hand. The warmth soothes the battered skin and you shake your ass teasingly as he continues to stroke himself through his climax.

“Ohhhhh, my god,” he breathes as he finally comes down from his high.

Your face is resting on the cool surface of the wooden workbench as your breathing slowly settles back to normal.

“That was fucking good,” you whisper with a smile. Jimin bends down to press soft kisses to your spine, before grabbing a towel to gently clean his cum off your beaten ass.

“Willow’s going to kill you for fucking me in the kitchen,” he warns with a laugh as he kisses the same spot he came on.

“It takes two to bake a cake, buddy,” you tease.

He laughs and brings a hand down to your untouched asscheek, making you squeal with delight.

“That’s not how the saying goes, but sure, doll.”

The next morning, you’re hard at work making a five-tiered wedding cake with Willow at your side, when Jimin throws open the door.

“Good morning to the loves of my life!”

Willow chokes on her own air while you hide a giggle behind your cake covered hand.

Jimin approaches the pair of you while she splutters and gasps.

“What?” What happened last night after I left?”

Your cheeks heat and Jimin wears a face of pure cockiness.

“Oh my god,” Willow gasps as her eyes open wide, snapping your tender ass with her rag. “You did NOT fuck in my kitchen!”

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

Text

(un)loving miya atsumu

twelve.

you’re my sunflower.

You didn’t like zoos.

It’s not like you didn’t like animals, there were a whole lot of fascinating creatures that lurked and filled the earth. Coming in different shapes and sizes - some rule the land, some soar the skies, and some are masters of the ocean, they can even be as large as a mountain or as small as your fingernail. Truly, they are humble dwellers on the face of the earth. It’s just that humanity, since their evolution, has learned to dominate the land thanks to their superior intelligence.

Thus, animalia that once ruled the earth were now cut down while humanity increased.

Once they roamed free, now, they are caged and put on display for all of mankind to see. Isolated from the freedom forever.

Hence, why you didn’t like zoos.

Watching animals on display, not being able to run wild and free just didn’t sit right with you.

“Wah!!!! Look, look, look at it, (Y/N)!” Atsumu held on to the railing, leaning down to look at the nearing creature – it looked like a giraffe, but fluffier, lankier, almost floppy.

Sadly, it was mandatory – being a school event and all. It was your first school trip, since moving to Hyogo. It should be exciting if it weren’t for helpless animals put on display.

“It looks like a giraffe and a sheep had a baby,” Osamu said, nearly voicing out your thoughts.

Laughing into your muffler, you eyed the approaching creature warily. “It’s an alpaca.”

“Oh!!!!” Atsumu was shaking with excitement, hand reaching out to touch it.

Very speedily – almost a quick reflex, you pulled Atsumu back at the creature spat, its slimy spit landing just inches from Atsumu’s feet.

“HEY! WHAT THE HECK!”

“Careful, they spit.” You warn, letting him go cautiously. Osamu laughs behind you.

“Ha, not even they like you,”

“’SAMU, SHUT UP!”

A caretaker, who was guiding the gentle creature, looked at the boy in shock, appalled by his language and tone. You had to bow in apology for Atsumu, prompting him to quiet as the three of you continued to roam the outside area of the zoo.

Passing the kangaroo farm, just across it was the penguin walk, where you could hear your schoolmates cooing at the sight of waddling flightless birds.

A collective gasp once the birds appeared, followed by cooing of the girls, some of the boys were clapping their hands to get their attention. Sure, they were cute. But not even that could ease your unease.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Osamu turns to you, seemingly having enough of flightless birds.

“Yeah,” Atsumu rounds you, honey-brown eyes watching. “you barely said a thing since we came here!”

Feeling bad about your lack of response, you could only bow your head in shame. Muttering an apology under your breath, nose digging into your muffler. Cold winds blew in, winter must be approaching.

“Are you hungry?” Osamu asks.

“Do you want to take a dump?” Atsumu asks next.

Shaking your head, head still hung low. They both glance at each other, then to you.

Fiddling with your gloved hands, you wondered if the twins would leave you then and there. Eyes staring down on the concrete ground, focusing on the material that came to view.

You shouldn't have come.

At first, there was a hand – two hands, holding your own. Then a tug.

Suddenly, you weren’t seeing animals on display, allowing yourself to be whisked away.

Veering northeast from where you were.

“Where are we-“

And then, there was a burst of color in different shapes and sizes.

Flowers.

Reading the sign, blinking, the twins brought you to the ‘Flower Garden’.

“Girls like flowers, right?” says Atsumu with a smile, Osamu smiling next to him.

Feeling a smile coming on, a gentle tugging at your heart, slowly you nodded.

“…zoos are just weird,” you say finally, walking down the path, the twins on each of your sides, matching your pace. It shouldn’t be hard, since you were inches taller than them.

“Weird how?” Osamu asks, nose wrinkling as he sniffs around.

Shrugging, you thought of your next words carefully. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of animals in cages?”

“Well, that’s what zoos are for!” Atsumu says, almost helpfully.

“And that’s where the problem lies.” You point out, drinking in the many flowers, far as the eyes can see.

Walking along the pebbled path, several schoolmates were in the area, gushing and watching at the flowers in interest. There were even some adults, two teachers leaning towards each other, whispering and giggling. Atsumu wrinkled his nose at the sight, Osamu just walked on quietly.

Having rounded the Flower Garden, the three of you leave, your eyes looking around until your eyes fell on the bricked flowerbed by the exit. An array of flowers were on full display, but your eyes on a particular flower. Little pieces of the sun, sprouting brightly against the rest of the equally bright, blossoming, and elegantly arranged flowers. The little sun was peeking up, proud and tall.

Osamu was busy watching some butterfly while Atsumu turned to you, curiously following after your gaze.

Out of nowhere, a bark sounded off. From the corner of her eye - where you vaguely read a sign that said 'Dog Stage' a blur of white and a bright pink tongue came rushing your way.

Quickly, you hid behind the boys, holding on to Atsumu's shirt. Osamu turned to you in shock, then at the dog, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey, a dog!"

Laughing, the caretaker approached you three. "He's just excited to meet you lot!" Kneeling, he gently ruffles the dog's head. "Why don't you come say 'hi'?"

White in color with splotches of brown littering his face and body, the dog had an oddly-shaped head, almost shaped like an inverted egg, its triangular brown eyes were bright.

Furiously shaking your head, a yelp left your mouth when the dog broke away from Osamu, walking up to you. Despite its obvious friendliness, the dog was half your size. Seeing your fear, Atsumu puffs his chest, holding his guard against the sweet boy.

"Sorry mister," Looking down at the gentle creature, Atsumu then pats the dog. "doggy, but (Y/N)-chan here isn't up for it."

His reply was a bark, causing you to yelp again.

"Okay then, guess we'll have to go now." Pushing himself to stand, the caretaker whistles for the dog. "Come on, Bowser."

From behind Atsumu shoulder, still holding on to his shirt, you watched the dog happily wagging its tail as it walked behind its caretaker, leaving adoring glances from everyone on the path.

The two brothers exchanged glances.

"Well, looks like you don't want to meet our granny's dog, huh?"

When it was time to leave, everyone settled in the bus. With a total of four classes, two classes had to share a bus, meaning, to your luck, you and the twins sat together.

"Atsumu," you berate at the boy, rushing towards your seat. "where have you been?"

Osamu, who was sitting by the window, was forced out by Atsumu, who sat on top of him, wiggling until he moved in disgust.

"You'll see!" he grins ear to ear, excitedly clutching on to his backpack. Noting his dirtied nails, Osamu frowns and mutters something under his breath.

"Okay, everyone here?" Your teacher asked, his response was a chorus of 'yes'. Nodding, he turns to the driver, and the bus slowly careened off the road.

Once the bus was miles away, instantly, Atsumu perked up and turned to you. “(Y/N)-chan, I have something for you!”

Ducking down low, very carefully, he zipped open his bag, produced a paper bag, which was covered in dirt for some reason.

Bright yellow, as though the sun's rays solidified itself, came to view. The very sun shrank to the size of a child's hand, sprouting out from the same child's bag as though in greeting. Mouth parting, you stared at the flower before you.

“Ta-dah! I got you a sunflower!”

“’Tsumu," Osamu frowns, hating that he was in the middle. "that’s stealing, ya know.”

Swiping the underside of his nose, you saw dirt under his fingernails. “They’ll never know!” he says rather proudly. "And hey, (Y/N), did you know?" he scuttles closer, voice low. "When it rains, and the sun's gone, sunflowers face each other to harness each other's energy?" He puffs his chest out, all smug. "Pretty cool, huh?"

You took a moment to appreciate the tiny sun in his bag, that he got. For you. Registering Atsumu's words, it was kind of endearing, and he looked really proud of the information he shared.

However, "That's a misconception." You tell him, he guffaws, Osamu cackles between the both of you.

Fingering the smooth yellow petal, seeing the dirt cumulate in his bag, which will probably earn an earful from his mom, the fact that he did this for you was enough. Smiling, you tell him, “Thank you so much, Atsumu.”

(Atsumu swore, your smile rivaled the sunflower he got for you.)

Hiroshima was surprisingly calm.

Proclaimed early on as the 'City of Peace' postwar, the city was only fours hour away by bus, the prefecture was known majorly for being one of the first to suffer the nuclear attack from the first world war that devastated the island. And yet, it feels peaceful, calm.

Like all the years ago, those past sins, have all but wavered into the wind, forgiving the many generations to come.

A strange sense of calm washed over you, gazing at the structure before you, feeling for the victims - direct and indirect victims of the bombing. Even the very ground you stood on, was once covered in casualties unimaginable today, a traumatic experience impossible to dismiss. Truly, after the war comes peace. But that peace comes with sacrifice, bloodshed, and tears.

"(L/N)-san?" a voice calls, cutting you of your stupor. Turning, you met Kusakabe's kind face. "Are you okay? I've been calling your name for a while now."

Feeling your hand holding on to the itinerary plan, your other hand on the railing, hearing students murmur all around you brought you back - you were having a class excursion. In Hiroshima. For three days.

"Um," putting the booklet down, you gave a weak nod. "yes. Yes, I am. Sorry. I was just" you peek back at the monument. "awe, for lack of a better word."

He smiles, pushing his glasses back. "I understand what you mean. Coming to these monuments just makes you appreciate the history behind it."

You nod again, looking at the map - it would be a long walk, considering the park's grand area and the monuments you'll visit along the way.

"Anyway, I just came to inform you that we can roam around the park for an hour. Then we'll meet up by the parking area for lunch."

"I see. Thank you so much, Kusakabe."

He nods, smiling.

"Kusakabe!" from behind him, a group calls, waving.

Turning to you, Kusakabe asks. "And ow about you, (L/N)? Do you have a group?" the wind blows, you wrinkle your nose at the cold. "If you want, you can join us."

Before you could even reply, someone walks up to you - well, four someones that is.

"...That's why I told you, if we strike that bell hard enough, it could probably echo throughout the park!"

"Idiot, you want to ruin the sanctity of the bell? It's called 'Peace Park' for a reason!"

"Woah," Suna deadpans, eyes on his phone. "'sanctity', that's a big word, even for you, Osamu."

"Now, now, let's just enjoy the trip, yeah?" Ginjima, ever the peacemaker, tries to settle things, smiling apologetically when he meets your eyes.

Heaving a sigh, wearing a smile on, you gestured to the boys with an open hand. "As you can see, I have a group of my own."

Nodding at the trouble children, Kusakabe breathes a laugh. "I can see that. Well, I'll see you around, (L/N)."

Osamu asks, watching said boy meet up with his group. "Wasn't that the student council prez?"

"That is him."

The rest of the boys watch Kusakabe approach his group in joint interest, especially from the way they move - all good posture and all, neatly pressed uniform, not a hair out of place, all of them were pretty as a picture.

"Elites, huh?"

You rolled your eyes at Suna's words. "Just because Kusakabe and I belong in a college preparatory class does not mean we're elites."

"Well, your class does give off some sort of vibe," Ginjima explains helpfully.

That was a strange way of putting it, you thought. After all, you've been classmates with them all of three years, with the occasional new classmate last year. Other than that, it was just like any other class, filled with different personalities on different faces, except everyone in your class was outstanding students with equally outstanding grades.

Cold wind gushed, (h/c) strands of hair flying in your face.

"It's gotten cold, huh?"

"We're just a week off nationals and we're greeted by cold," Suna mutters.

"At least it's not hot anymore," Osamu grumbles, remembering the unforgiving summer that passed.

Busily working on your hair, your muffler ended up loosening to the sides in the process. Letting out a sigh, you undid your muffle, ready to fix it when large hands took the ends of your muffler.

"Not to mention the culture festival next month!" Atsumu gushes excitedly, making quick work on your muffler. Next month, being November. Time sure flies when you least expect it.

"Oi, 'Tsumu, step away from (Y/N)," says Osamu, walking towards you both. "you might end up choking her."

"Will not!" he yells, yet his hands carefully folding around your neck, tying in front. "I know how to fix a scarf, idiot!"

Wincing slightly at the volume of his voice, you suddenly found yourself unable to look away, frozen in your spot, watching Atsumu busy himself on fixing your muffler.

"On your own, maybe."

"U-Uh, guys...?" Ginjima fumbled, Suna just watching in veiled interest.

Doing some finishing touches, ever so gently looping and pulling the ends, Atsumu nods, clearly pleased, before he steps back to admire his finished work. "There, see!"

Osamu steps in, eyes on Atsumu's work, face neutral, eyes laughing. "Sloppy."

"HAH!?"

Glancing down at Atsumu's work, it was a bit sloppy, but it seemed to hold up just right.

"You should be ashamed, now (Y/N) will lose face."

"From a fucking scarf!?"

"You've ruined her, idiot."

"You're ruined!"

Exhaling, you just walk ahead letting them argue amongst themselves. Ginjima and Suna were quick to follow after you.

"Um, should we-"

"You've been with them for three years now, Ginjima. They'll be fine. They'll just follow after." Suna nods at your words, randomly taking photos of the area.

For the next few minutes, relative calm washed over your group walking along the path, watching ancient buildings. What's left of it, a skeletal piece with absent windows, floors, or life, covered in scars from years past. Each of the boys carefully regarding each monument in awed whispers.

Although, time to time, someone would comment about how creepy it was to be up close to it, then would be called disrespectful by someone. You'd only have to turn and then they'd be silenced. Every now and then, you'd write down about the monuments on a small notepad, so you could use it later for your essay after the trip.

Furiously writing, a vibration went off in your coat pocket. Putting your notepad away, you flipped your phone open to read the text.

"Who're you texting, (Y/N)?" Osamu asked beside you.

"Aran-san."

“Eh? What about Aran-kun?” Atsumu asked, suddenly appearing by your shoulder. Suna and Ginjima looked up, at the mention of the senior.

“Well, he tried out for Tachibana Red Falcons a few weeks ago." You tell them, seeing no harm in it. Hitting send, you waited until the confirmation popped up before pocketing your phone away. "He’s going to get a call of his results sometime this week.”

Nearly all of them raised their eyes in shock, amazed by the news. It was the same reaction you had when he told you.

"Hear that, 'Samu?" Atsumu laughs at his twin, pride and unbridled happiness. "Aran-kun!"

"I heard, idiot." Not even Osamu can hide his joy and pride, like that of his twins', over the news.

"It's nice that you've still kept contact with Ojiro-san and the others." Ginjima noted with a smile.

Suna, appearing beside you, gently guided you towards the next destination as your group converged with some tourists, some girls giggling at Suna. "It's so you to keep in contacts with the seniors,"

"Because I respect them?" Burying your nose into your muffler, at the chilly wind that blew past.

"Because you fit right in with them."

Reaching the Peace Bell, just at the heart of the park, you were told that you can ring a bell and make a wish.

"Normally people wish for world peace here," Ginjima says aloud, reading from the booklet.

"Maybe we should wish for Ojiro-san?"

"I believe we can do that."

So you rang the bell, a soft gong echoing out, clapped your hands twice, palms pressing together, then lowered your head. Offering a quick prayer. For Aran-san. For Kita-san. For Akagi-san. For Oomimi-san. For Reiki. For Mika.

Following after you were the Ginjima, then Suna, and then finally, the twins, which you had to stay and watch over, lest they try to really smash the bell so loud it'll echo throughout the park. Thankfully, they behaved under your watch.

Later, while having lunch at a nearby restaurant, your phone vibrated.

“Ah.”

“What is it?”

The four boys turned to you - Osamu sneakily taking a meatball from Atsumu's bowl, Suna was putting mushrooms and carrots into a small plate, Ginjima was blowing into his bowl.

“He got in.”

At first, there was silence. Then, you ever so calmly turned your phone in your hands, showing Aran's text, for further confirmation. And then, the trouble children burst out in joy - all hoots and cheers, happy for their senior, uncaring at the spectacle that they've caused. And Suna caught it all on camera.

(Aran cried when he received the video)

“Something’s different about you,” Atsumu says to you. You blinked twice, surprised.

“…I’m wearing my winter uniform?” You say, almost consciously, gesturing to the blazer you now donned on your uniform, contrasting the summer uniform, which was just a shirt, a sweater, a skirt, and shorter socks. School-issued brown blazer shirt, shirt, maroon tie, black skirt. Your socks were knee-length because of the seasonal change.

Even with the culture festival going about, students were encouraged to wear their uniforms - well, students of Inarizaki High School that is.

With October long past, students were all to wear their winter uniforms to anticipate the cold weather ahead.

In spite of the season dropping a few degrees though, the culture festival at your school rolls easily. The school was filled to the brim with life coming from its students, visitors from different schools, and supporting families.

Yet for some reason, amidst the fanfare going around, Atsumu keyed on you.

Something was shining, hitting Atsumu in the eye.

“Wait a minute,” Atsumu closed in, too close for comfort, tucking bangs and some strands of hair behind your ear. “You got a piercing!”

There was a stud by the inside of your right ear cartilage, just by the inner middle rim.

Suna whistles. “Wow, never thought you had it in you, (L/N).”

“Uwah, it looks cool, but does it hurt?”

“More importantly, when did you get it done?” Osamu asks with a frown.

Atsumu’s thumb was tracing along the shape of your ear, staring at your conch piercing in fascination, standing way too close. Gulping you took a step back, fixing your bangs as you explained. “I, uh, did this on a whim. And yes, it did hurt, because it was on my cartilage, but nothing I can't handle.”

The four look at you, eyes wide.

It kind of ruins the image of the perfect role model people has cooked you up to be. Then again, you were never perfect, to begin with, it was nice to ruin that image and shatter people's expectations.

“Woah.” Ginjima's eyes shined at the stud on your ear.

“Badass,” muttered Suna.

"When did you get so rebellious?" Osamu teased, as though reading your thoughts, pinching your nose with his knuckles.

Atsumu couldn't look away at the new addition in your body. "But when did you-"

"(L/N)-senpai!" a voice cheerily called you from behind, green from the torso up - green wig, green coat, ruffled white undershirt, black pants, with black shoes. Oh, and there was some sort of contraption strapped on their arm.

Atsumu stared in confusion as the person happily greeted you, holding your hands and full of smiles, he just about to burst when Osamu elbowed him.

"It's Yoshimichi," Suna explained, admiring the costume. "y'know, one of the kits."

"Or the managers-in-training," Ginjima added, enjoying the interaction between you and the younger girl.

"Yoshimichi!" you greeted, taking her in. "Wow, you look amazing!"

The younger girl flushed, her usual dark brown eyes were replaced with light blues - contacts, it seems, gripping your hands tighter. "Thank you so much! I worked hard on it! But senpai, your hair looks great!"

"Ah, thank you," you say with a faint blush. "Asano worked on it." More like, she worked on them while you busily sat on your booth, studying the papers from all the attendees who came to the volleyball club's gig. Asano took advantage of your preoccupation to work on your hair. You couldn't hate her for it, since the style proved to be helpful from keeping your hair from your face.

"It's times like these where (L/N) can really be a girl, huh," Ginjama said.

"You're making it sound like she's not." Suna deadpans.

Sputtering, Ginjima tries to defend herself. "Y-You know what I mean!"

Atsumu sort of does, having known you all his life. You weren't the girliest girl around, but you dressed like one, but it was average at best and formal, compared to Mika, who loved wearing frills, brightly colored dresses, and all. Plus, you didn't have many female friends because you had the twins. Most of the time, you were surrounded by boys, so you had to toughen up.

"But who're you supposed to be?" Osamu couldn't help but ask.

"Lyserg from Shaman King!" Yoshimichi says excitedly.

"Your class is doing a cosplay cafe, huh?"

"Right on! Senpai, you should visit!" remembering that you weren't alone, she looked at the four boys behind you. "Ah, you senpais can come, too!"

"I feel like she's extended the invitation to (L/N), though," Suna mutters, Ginjima laughs.

From the end of the hall, someone, with an equally elaborated costume, holding a sign, calls out to her.

"Ah, that's my cue! I have to go now!" Before she leaves, she turns to you. "Senpai, I'll be waiting!"

Smiling, you wave off as she runs towards her classmate, watching them stroll down the hall.

Once the younger girl left, you turned to the boys. "Yoshimichi's family owns a tattoo and piercing shop. I had it done there." Their reactions were instantaneous - multitudes of shock.

"Yeah, but when?" Atsumu asked. He can't even fathom the idea of Yoshimichi - bright, bubbly, cosplayer Yoshimichi Ryoko to come from a family of punks!

"Um," uncharacteristically on the spot, you rubbed at your elbow. "A day after we came back from Hiroshima."

"Who would've thought that our kit comes from a ragtag fam."

"That's a rather crude way of saying it,"

"Yeah, but the flip side of getting a tattoo is you can't go to onsens,"

Ginjima hisses, eyes suddenly sad and dim. "Ah, that is sad and true."

"On the contrary, there are onsens that allow tattoos, so long as it's not visible or in an innocuous location," you say helpfully, automatically bringing backlight in Ginjima's eyes.

"(Y/N) have mercy on us with your words," Osamu cries. "the lot of us are idiots here!"

You'd expect Atsumu to retort, absolutely refusing to be called an idiot, or likening to one. But he was quiet, right by your side, smiling.

"Heh, I'm thinking of getting a piercing myself!"

Three eyes turn to him, doubtfully.

"What?"

"Everyone knows you're likely to cry getting one."

"HAH!?" And there he was. His aura was emanating warm and gentle, like his usual vibe from before. What's weird was, you were there, yet he was smile was genuine, probably brighter than everyone in school.

"(L/N)-san, are you alright?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Um," Asano's eyes went from your face to the mechanical pencil in your hand. "y-your pencil lead…it’s run out." You stopped writing, or what you thought you've been doing. "For a minute now." Oh.

Pushing your pencil, seeing the lead pop out, you write again.

"Thank you, Asano."

"You're welcome," she smiles, but her lip turns up, eyes filled with worry. "But are you okay?"

"I've just got a lot on my mind."

Asano's face fell, eyes not leaving your face, noting the heavy intake of breath, followed by the sag of your shoulders. Even your eyes seemed lost, sad.

The feared and great 'Inarizaki's Fox Keeper' was known for her uptightness, her stoic and cold aura - intimidating by name, more so in person. Highly respected and feared, even the coaches held her to a high regard. With a reputation like hers, it was no wonder she was able to manage the team on her own for years, even aiding them to nationals, and holding her ground against Miya Atsumu. (L/N) (Y/N) was the perfect manager, a standard for all club managers. A reputation that definitely lived up to her expectations.

However, Asano Miki, found that you were actually just a really reliable person, extremely kind, and a saint-like patience. Under your guidance, she eventually got out of her shell - she and Yoshimichi, and easily adjusted to the club thanks to your guidance. And behind closed doors, especially during those nights at training camps, you were practical, uptight like a mother, and almost always preoccupied.

And yet, underneath it all, there was always this sort of sadness in you.

She couldn't help but think of the iceberg theory, that's there's always more to a person.

With her and Yoshimichi, you could open up more about yourself. With the rest of her seniors, you could, too. But Asano could feel like it was to a certain degree, there was something you'd like to keep within. The more she thinks about it, the more it scares her of what's underneath it all, of how long before the truth just freezes her over.

A flash of yellow appears from the corner of her eye, when she turns, it was the captain - Miya Atsumu.

Just a year ago, you and him were not on good terms, having been childhood friends for a long time. The team's dynamic changed drastically, but you remained as manager, only colder and more robotic, as the rumors say. It was said you supposedly resigned, only to wordless come back. Magically, the team's dynamic changed for the better. Even your dynamic with the now, blond-dyed, setter-captain.

"Oiiii, As-a-no~" Yoshimichi calls in a sing-song, her fellow manager-in-training nudges her shoulder. The girl turns to her. "C'mon, I'll pass the bibs to the opposite team, you fetch the cart from the storage room. Okay?"

"O-Okay!" she starts for the storage room. However, unable to help herself, she looks over her shoulder, to where you were, with the captain standing close, the two of you seem to be discussing something. You were doing the talking, pointing with your mechanical pencil, talking a mile. And then there was the captain, eyes soft and warm...watching you.

Atsumu - known for his smug smirk, likened to that of a fox, filled with general mischief and mayhem, wore a true smile. A smile that softened his features, that made him (and his twin, because they were identical) admired by many, a smile that brightened him more, one that reached his eyes - one that Asano knew was reserved for you and you alone.

Of all the things Asano knows about you, one thing is for sure: Miya Atsumu was the cause for the sadness in your eyes.

“You know, I worry about you,” Osamu says to you, echoing questions that have been thrown to you for days - mostly indirectly, at your usual convenience store over a shared sashimi set.

Something's bothering you, has been bothering you, from the looks of it. Osamu knows it.

From the dim moonlight that hung up in the sky, contrasting against all unnatural light, you blinked at him. When your eyes met, his grey-brown eyes took you out of your stupor, making you feel bare and open, without even saying anything.

“I’ve been worrying about you." Osamu adds, voice thick. "For a long time, you felt this need to put others before yourselves. Don’t get me wrong, it’s admirable and honorable at best. It's what many of us love about you, (Y/N). But," his shoulders sag, gray-brown eyes softening "if you keep putting them over you, one day, you’ll forget yourself altogether and just crush from the weight of keeping everyone first.”

You feel the need to defend yourself, to make a statement rebutting all his claims. Yet, your tongue feels heavy, mouth clamped shut. Looking up at him reluctantly, you were met by his unwavering kindness - so, so kind, and worry. Worry growing, seeing as your eyes turned glossy, neutral expression cracking.

Osamu reached an arm, pulling you over. You wanted to pull away, but his warmth washed over you.

Quietly, eventually, you leaned against Osamu, crying softly.

Strong as they were last year, it wasn't enough to satiate the hunger of your foxes, led by Atsumu, that brought them to victory. Still, Karasuno's presence was felt, establishing themselves in the national scene now that they've made a resurgence in the past year with an invaluable set of players. One of them, being your dear childhood friend.

"Sho-chan!" you called out after the match ended, seeing as you had time.

The redhead turned, eyes widening and brightening at the sight of you. "(Nickname)!"

Running to him excitedly, he did the same and the two of you met by the sides.

"Oh wow, your hair's getting shaggy!" you laugh, ruffling at his hair. "By the way, great game, today. You guys are as tenacious as always."

Noticeably, some people were looking your way - still surprised that by some twist of faith, you and the spry middle blocker were acquainted, let alone childhood friends! Too busy being in your friend's presence, you hadn't realized the attention you were receiving. Too busy catching up to the ball of sunshine before you, going on and on about the feats they did today, freely smiling about with your childhood friend.

"Inarizaki is crazy strong this year! Especially with Miya-san's serves!"

"Which Miya?" you laughed with a cock of your head.

"Oh, uh...the blonde dyed one??"

"Ah, Atsumu."

"Are you close?" Hinata asked, sensing the familiarity when you said the setter's name.

"Um," tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you were unsure how to answer. "kind of." That seemed like a good answer. "He and his twin brother live next door and were my first few friends when I moved to Hyogo." Behind him, his captain was calling for him. "Neh, let's continue our chat later, okay?"

"A-Ah," he sputtered, short-circuiting.

"You're here until tomorrow, right? Better make it worth your while. After all, we haven't talked much in a while. Well," you take his hand in yours, squeezing. "face-to-face, that is."

At the prospect of seeing more games, and maybe spending more time with you, he brightened. "Sure thing, (Nickname)!"

Unable to help yourself, you ruffled his hair playfully. "Then, wait for my text later, okay?"

Later that day, dinner, a bath, a short meeting later, you were slipping on an oversized hoodie over your pajamas, and took off. Despite it being a rather exciting day, you still had enough energy to go about, carefully making your way to meet your childhood friend.

Meeting Hinata just a block away from your hotel, the two of you walked a few more blocks until you reached a neighborhood playground, chatting aimlessly as you sat by the railings framing the park.

"Since it's your last year of high school, do you have any plans, (Nickname)?"

"To be honest? Not really." Wrinkling your nose at your answer, you tried again. "Maybe nothing special. How about you, Sho-chan?" you ask, despite him being a second year.

To your surprise, he readily answered. "I wanna do beach volleyball!"

"Beach volleyball? Why?"

Something sets off in his eyes, almost like excitement, assurance, burning compassion. "I want to try and learn a lot of things!" It even showed off from his voice, no longer quivering, strong and firm, with a hint of childish excitement. "I want to try and get better to be able to play more volleyball!"

That was a rather interesting take into his career, choosing to play outside court. Plus, you've heard beach volleyball can be demanding with just two players.

"You're really set on it, huh?"

"Yes!"

You felt warm.

"Well, good luck with that, Sho-chan. I'll be rootin' for ya~"

Extremely, pleasantly warm, despite the January cold.

“(Nickname), you’re really a lot different, huh?” Before you could ask what he means, he furthers. “I mean, from all our texting, you seem…kinda…on hold? Like you’re holding back? But in person, you seem more relaxed now.”

You blink, remembering bright lights, head against another warm body, a shared sashimi set.

“Maybe it’s because I’m with my Sho-chan.” you smile, forcing the thoughts away. “A lot’s happened in my life. I’m not ready to unpack them all to you, but Sho-chan, you just really have a way with making people feel relaxed about themselves, of making them feel like it's okay, y'know?”

He flushes at that.

“I’m really jealous of that part of you.”

“W-Well, I’m jealous of how smart you are, (Nickname)!”

The two of you laugh into the night before you randomly blurted out wanting something sweet to eat.

"Want ice cream?" Hinata asks, gesturing to stand.

Peering out at him in the dark, the park was a bit dim, your childhood friend shined bright. "Nah, maybe I should head back."

"But you said you wanted something sweet!"

Chuckling, breath coming out in puffs, you stand. "Alright, but you're buying, okay?"

"Aren't you older?"

Playfully frowning at the younger teen’s argument - because yes, you are the older one by a year, you just link your arm around his. "Yeah, but you lost to us!" you threw back.

"How mean, (Nickname)!"

On the way, you realized how eating something cold during a cold season wasn't feasible, which made the younger boy panic. Laughingly, you assured him that it was probably because it was so cold that you wanted something sweet, for a boost of insulin or that happy feelings rush.

At the nearest convenience store the two of you could find, which was a few blocks away from your hotel, the two of you make idle chat over ice cream despite the January weather, explaining further on sweetness, boost of insulin or that happy feelings rush.

"O-Oh! I see!"

Seeing the look on his face, you guessed that the mini-biology plus chemistry lecture made his head spin. "Do you really, Sho-chan?" you tease, handing him a plastic spoon. "It's okay to say you don't."

That caused his nose to scrunch up, brows furrowing together. "I understand, (Nickname)! Sheesh, I passed biology!"

Laughing again, both of you opened up the small pack of ice cream to share. It was in salted caramel.

One bite full and comically, both of you felt warm inside, moaning in absolute delight at the sweetness and saltiness.

The conversation started anew from there with topics that flew from fun plays, his sister, Natsu, taking an interest in volleyball, your sister and her boyfriend, Kaoru and his soccer, talks of the new Karasuno captain.

"Hey, Sho-chan," you asked, watching him chew. "if we didn't move..." if her dad wasn't an asshole "...do you think...?" you mulled, thinking of all the people you've met since moving. Weakly, you leaned against the younger boy, much to his surprise.

"(Nickname)-"

"...do you think things would be different?"

Hinata falls silent at that.

Who knows what your life would have turned out had your family stayed in Miyagi, or your uncle didn't forcibly bring your mom out of her depression and move the family all the way to Hyogo? Would you be happier? Would you have turned out better? Who would you even be?

"Does it matter? What's happened, happened. And whether we like it or not, it's for the best!"

Ah, such a simple-minded sweet boy. "That's true."

"But," you push yourself off, watching him. "had (Nickname) remained, maybe I would've had a boost up with my skills! I would be at maximum level now!"

Snorting, you broke out laughing. "Maximum level!?"

It was a shared moment of nostalgia between two childhood friends over a tub of ice cream, all smiles and laughter.

...which is how Miya Atsumu found you.

"Miya-san!" came Hinata's energetic cry, you look up in shock.

"Shoyou-kun..." the setter says quietly.

Was he looking for someone, you thought, spooning a chunk into your mouth. Or maybe he was out for a late night snack?

Chewing, you didn't notice your captain walking towards you. "(Y/N), if you wanted a late night snack, you shoulda counted me in!" Huh?

Before you could react, he took your spoon and fed himself the last chunk, moaning dramatically at the burst of flavors in his mouth.

"Mi-Miya-san!" shrieked the younger boy, cheeks flushing for some reason.

"You could have gotten your own spoon, you know," you frown, grabbing the spoon from him, he whines. "Besides, you shouldn't be eating sugar before your bedtime."

"Speak for yourself, (Y/N)."

Thinning your lips, you put away the spoon. Your captain turns to the redheaded boy. "Anyway, it's getting late and we should all get back." Turning to your childhood friend, the setter asks. "Shouyo-kun, you're here until tomorrow, right?"

Recovering from whatever it was earlier, the younger boy nods. "Ah, y-yes, n-no!"

"Which is it?" you ask worriedly.

"That's cool!" without warning, he stands next to you "Be sure to watch our game, 'aight?"

"Of course!"

"We should probably head back now," you announce as you stood up, taking your trash with you. "You need a full rest of sleep. Both of you." At the last part, both athletes felt chills run down their spine.

When all three of you were at the door, Hinata assuring you that he can walk back to his hotel just fine, you suddenly remembered something and called out to your friend. "Sho-chan!” the younger boy turns to you. “Actually,” seeing you uncharacteristically sheepish, he keeps his eyes on you, waiting. “I'm on the fence with what I really want."

Offering you a smile, you feel warm all over. "That's okay, (Nickname)! You still have time!"

"We're months away from graduation," you reply, a small smirk at his crestfallen face. "but I think I'm settled."

Instantly, he recovers. "That's good to hear! Well then, good night, (Nickname), Miya-san!"

“What? What? What?” Atsumu turned to you curiously, picking up on the conversation with Hinata. “What were you two talking about?”

Burying your hands into your pocket, you debated. Osamu, Hinata, and Mika were the only people you’ve shared with, the ones you could trust with. The career form fresh in your mind.

“C’mon, (Y/N)!” he whines. “You can tell me!”

And for some reason, you opened your mouth and told him. “We were talking about future careers after high school,”

“Ah, really?” Before your third year even started, you were already thinking and dreading life after high school. “It’s strange that you don’t have a plan after high school.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean," he shrugs easily, carefully steering you to his side, his other side to the open street. "you’re so well organized and value order above anything else. Not to mention, you’re one of the smartest people in our year-“

“Just because I’m part of the top students doesn’t mean I’m guaranteed success,” you tell him, bluntly. Despite the cold, Atsumu feels even more chillier at your pointed words.

But he chips at the ice.

“Still! It makes a world of a difference because it’s you!”

You stopped at that, his words sinking in.

“It’s…me.”

“Yeah!" He continues to chip at the ice, mouth opening, as though reminding you of the most obvious thing on earth. "Plus, I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine wherever or whatever you end up choosing. I’ll be rooting for ya!”

Despite yourself, you smiled, warmed by his words. “Thanks…I kind of needed that.”

Atsumu glanced at you, the two of you carefully taking a turn. “So, what did you write in your career forms?”

“Um…nutritionist, psychologist, or probably something related to sports.”

“Wow,” he thinks back to your background, awed at how much your past impacted your future. “That’s amazing, (Y/N)!”

"Nowhere as amazing as you," you tell him, with utmost sincerity and honesty. He was, after all, a nationally recognized athlete for a high schooler. With his impressive reputation, he'll definitely go far and have the best teams at his disposal.

He barked a laugh, happily. "But of course! Sucks that 'Samu won't be with me, but I'll work for the both of us. No," he thrusts three fingers in the air as he declares "the three of us!"

For some reason, that was a moment of calm for you, filling you with the assurance you'll need. No matter how many years passed, even with his hair dyed lighter than his natural dark roots, he was still that same self-assured, cocky boy you know. You get the feeling he'll always stay like this, which you find you don't mind either way.

Much like Hinata, this boy right here, made you feel inexplicably warm. "That's surprisingly mature of you, Atsumu."

His name came out surprisingly easy. And to Atsumu, who stares at you as though he discovered a snowflake's design at a microscopic level, it was the sweetest thing he's ever heard.

Snow gently falls down, your breaths coming out in puffs, Atsumu's unable to look away.

"We should really head back to the hotel now."

"Y-Yeah!" Atsumu takes hold of your hand, much to your surprise, tugging you forward.

Inarizaki, unfortunately, made it to the top 3 after losing to Kamomedai – who, under the captaincy of Hirugami, were relentless as always – you and your team found yourself with heavy, weary hearts. There were regrets here and there, but the fact that the team maintained its spot as the top 5 made the pain of losing less. Also, you kept your promise to Aran and the rest, who were over the moon (and probably in tears) from watching in the benches.

Speaking of Aran and the rest, you had met up with the rest of your former seniors. Ever the emotional man that he was, Aran was tearing up at how proud he was of how well the team played, and how much the trio – the twins plus you, held the team up.

Being captain in his final year, with his brother as vice-captain, and you as manager, was definitely a highlight in Atsumu's high school career. Smiling at the camera, arms hooked around you and Osamu, Atsumu will forever cherish this amazing high all his life.

Now that you think about it, when did you first start liking Atsumu? What was the instance that made you fall in love with your best friend?

It's been almost ten years - 9 years, to be exact once the cherry blossoms bloom. It's been that long since you met the twins, met Atsumu, and loved him.

But for however long you loved him, a most precious feeling for your young heart, never had you expected it to be inferior in the eyes of many. You may never have said it out loud, but when Atsumu read your love letters out loud in front of the whole team - seeing the looks in their eyes, you felt so cheap. Maybe your feelings were cheap, a joke. Even after the incident, even after a new year and the new faces, that scar was still there - the unavoidable scar that lingered on the fearless, 'Inarizaki's Fox Keeper'.

If people knew the actual reason for the dispute between you and Atsumu, would people think of you differently? It never bothered you, but the knowledge of your feelings for someone as perfect, unattainable, unreachable, and out of your league?

It only made sense.

In a sense, it was like an old toy - one you loved so much as a kid, but once you've played with it too much, it gets worn out, broken, and useless, you'd have to throw it away.

The whole time you held on, foolishly you were also holding on to the possibility that maybe one day Atsumu would come to return your feelings. In a cliche way, he'd think of you as more than a friend, see you as something more, then come around to love you. Again, you were foolish.

It was wishful thinking.

Atsumu's eyes and heart were set on your perfect big sister, Mika.

And who wouldn't? She was perfect, beautiful, smart, kind - everything you're not.

You? You were boring, plain, an afterthought.

Annoyed at the person staring back at you, you childishly flicked water at it - as if it would magically dispel the ugly. Nope.

All you found was a splotchy view of you, strings of water running over.

For all your feats - or whatever people thought of you, you had one terrible weakness: you gave your heart way too easily.

Your asshole of a father was one.

He was your father, of course it was only natural to love him. Until he broke it in a million pieces.

Miya Atsumu was second.

You gave your heart to him since he took you by the hand, never getting the courage to take it back. Atsumu can do whatever he wanted with your heart, just so long as it's still with him at the end of the day.

You had to wonder though, much of your heart was left in his hands?

The human body was composed of atoms – millions and billions of them in the form of hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen. It also contains much smaller amounts of the other elements that are essential for life.

The human body is also composed of love. Now, compared to atoms, its amount was infinite, endless.

Atoms burn out and die each day, easily replicated the next second, but not love. Love was something that you give but never runs out.

How much was a single person capable of loving?

How much of their fill until eventually, it runs out?

You might never know.

Scientifically speaking, love was just…unexplainable.

Law of attraction or serotonin can do very little in explaining the amount and power of love.

It was infinite in quality and quantity, yet it's also finite in a way.

"Nee-san?"

Lately, you've noticed that Kaoru tends to call you 'nee-chan' behind your back. You heard it once when you were sick. Normally, he just calls you 'nee-san', Mika was 'nee-chan'. It was just an honorific, with subtle tones when using.

"What."

His brows furrow, arms folded against his chest. "Why are you lying on the floor?"

"Because of gravity," you reply, staring into nothing, maybe at the ceiling, maybe at cracks, maybe at the ceiling fan, maybe at the spaces in between composed of billions and billions of atoms. Inhaling through your nose, exhaling the same way. Some days, it was just getting harder to think...to be, to seem.

Kaoru frowns harder, always hated how cryptic your replies tend to be, whenever he was genuinely worried for you. Then his expression wipes clean into worry.

"Nee-san," you could hear the franticness in his voice. "are you crying?"

Alarmed, you didn't move to hide your eyes, lest you worry him or make it worse. Instead, you sigh and close your eyes. "No. It's just dust."

You didn't see the slight panic in Kaoru's eyes, his big (e/c) eyes on you - his big sister.

“…nee-chan?”

You hummed, not daring to open your mouth at the sudden wave of emotion.

Kaoru was silent, for a while, and then. “I love you.”

Smiling at your brother, opening (e/c) eyes met lighter (e/c) ones, saying it back. “I love you, too.”

masterlist • thirteen

#(un)loving miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu fic #miya atsumu angst #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fic #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! angst fic #hq #hq x reader #hq fanfic #hq angst #hq angst fic #inarizaki #countdown to the end begins

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Boyfriend Pt 11 - Rivendell

“Gumball!” Legolas said excitedly turning your head from your focus on Boris, who turned off his back to peer up at the chicken in the excited blonde’s hands. Softly it clucked in confusion for what was going on with this situation as you admired the black and white speckled head atop its brown and white speckled body to make it look like one of those dotted multicolored gumballs. “Found our chicken! Want to come with me to set her loose?”

“Sure,” you said in Boris’ hop off your lap to head with them to the backyard where a coop and pen had already been set up for the new addition to the family. Gently he eased her down inside the door you opened for him and curiously towards the coop she wandered after a loop around the pen.

The odd rustling sound from his bag had him ease it around to the front of his hip so he could bring out a cardboard box with holes punched out for air. Widely he smiled at you saying, “Plus, these guys were part of the deal.” Showing you the six grey fuzzy ducklings that had your mouth drop open accepting his tilt of the box to ease them out onto the grass, and after a look around they rushed to waddle after Gumball to the coop where she was readying their nest. “Might not get eggs until they are fully grown, but Gumball should do fine enough as her adopted babies grow up.” Tears welled in your eyes and you had to look away a few moments luring him in to rest an arm around your back. “What’s wrong?” He asked to Boris’ trot through the open door to sneak a search of the pen as if to look for weak points.

“Um, had to put a patient in a coma today, for an organ donation for his sister. She’s upset and the family is upset, he’s, in a vegetative state. Just, hard day.”

“You want me to call Ada?”

Shaking your head you said, “No, he’s helping his parents ready their nursery. Boris usually tolerates my cuddles on days like this breaking his schedule.”

“How old is Boris?” He asked in a curious tone.

“6000 years roughly I’ve had him, he had to be just weaned when he found me. Beginning to think he’s a Maiar just posing as a cat, he doesn’t know I’m onto him yet but I think he’s catching on that I know something’s up.”

At that he chuckled and gave you a warm hug to the sight of the ducklings that waddled over to greet the massive cat that spoke in hushed grumbles and chirps with them and Gumball. “Can’t imagine how I would handle bad cases. You must have a great deal working with cancer patients.”

After a shrug you replied, “Not really. Less than people would assume. The hospital actually is surprised that our death figures have gone down in the past half year.”

“Ada mentioned the figures changed in just the first few, oncology was down a whole 20%.”

Sharply you let out a breath, “Well there aren’t too terribly many stage four or higher patients and they mainly take up natural deaths, not counting car accidents or suicides. So those statistics are rather biased by number of patients. Your Ada has more patients than oncology does in a year. His numbers have improved as well with his aneurysm work he’s been slowly cracking at.”

Legolas grinned to himself still with you in his arms not having pulled back from the hug you clearly needed. “He is proud of that. All the better to help patients from the deadliest of sudden flipped switches.”

“I think you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I think I’d like to be a diagnostician, we had a presentation the other day with a Doctor who shared on a recent case that had stumped him, I remembered what you had said about that old case with the hidden tumor cells inside one of the folds of the muscles near the ovaries and lower back. Came back today after class to say he found it and removed it, stage two, no other signs of more tumors and the patient feels night and day. I would like to find answers for people who haven’t gotten them. Help people find hope again.” He paused and added, “Not that you don’t-,”

“I know what you mean.” You said and eased back at the tap of a paw to your leg to bend and lift the duckling that had climbed on top of his head with a giggle. “We all know that feeling. I suppose with age like ours and so much experience it is nice to have that to draw from to help comfort patients. Have you told your Ada yet?”

“No, I think Gramps wants me to be a Cardio surgeon like him, same as he did with Ada.”

“They’ll be proud of you.”

“I don’t doubt that, merely, there aren’t many in Middle Earth, how would I find a hospital to work at.”

You let out a puff of air lowering to let the duckling loose to follow its sibling around to explore some more before bedtime. When you stood again you said, “They will find room for you. I recall when Spade Surgeons couldn’t find a place to work either. For every question is an answer and someone willing to travel and wait for it. Sure it might be beneficial to also be Resident in another department as well to fill in between cases but you will be able to find work anywhere.”

“I might take up plastics as well then maybe, work with scarring and repairs over cosmetic issues. Or with babies if I would have to work on burns. But working with babies has its own downsides. Cardio is a bit, too much for me I think.”

“Pediatrics might be a good fit for you, especially as a Diagnostician. Help you find answers from little ones who can’t share what is bothering them.”

“Thank you, for understanding.”

“Oh no one thinks Cadio is fun.” You said making him chuckle. “You have to hold a heart in your hand, work with one of the most stubborn and stupidest of the organs. Control the blood, focus on the pulses and contractions of the aorta, slightest thing can just throw it off and ruin lives. You have to jolt the dumb thing to get back to work after almost all of the surgeries and piecing the chest plate back together is certainly not enjoyable for anyone involved. And don’t get me started on having to drill into heads for Neuro,” you said making him laugh. “None of it is fun. We just find what we can vibe with handling day in and out, and the first few years of studies in hospital are for feeling out what you want on in experience settings. You’ll figure it out.”

*.*.*

“What’s with the carrier?” Celeborn asked as he exited his car parked at the new home Thranduil had purchased seeing his friend holding an animal carrier.

“There’s a raven inside.” He said and greeted Celeborn’s brother Galathil who had hold of the equipment they would need to scan the place into their system to help get proper measurements for any future floor plans.

Galathil said, “Good, hate to fight a conspiracy for territory rights.”

Celeborn said, “Can’t believe you managed to find a place like this, and so fast after moving.”

“Trust me, whatever condition you assume it’s in, it’s worse. Far worse.”

The brothers smirked and Celeborn asked, “Are you trying to scare us off? Because we’ve been wild at the thought of what we could build for you for ages now.”

Thranduil simply nodded his head and showed the duo beyond the gated overgrown garden up the stoop inside to look over the first room that a glowing crystal ball surrounded by rotating rings on a stand was left in the center of the room to scan the space fully while they looked at the next room over. Room by room the shock of the drastic change of condition had them locked in random bouts of silence between whispered comments to themselves. The basement was next to scan after Thranduil had spoken with the raven who agreed to be moved to your home at news of construction to be done soon. It readied its things around the nest while the rest of the building was being mapped out and filmed by the camera Galathil kept hold of for accurate images.

Underneath the damaged sunroof beside the gaping hole Thranduil sighed out, “It looked better on paper.”

“Oh it is spectacular on paper...in person however...” Galathil said stopping to chuckle in disbelief.

“Legolas at least assumed I got the place as some sort of plan to take ages to fix it up.”

Celeborn, “Certainly won’t be overnight. Was that not the plan?”

“I wanted to keep my word.”

Galathil, “How did Jaqi take it?”

Thranduil sighed still feeling a sting remembering your reaction to learning from him about this place, “She was upset. Clearly doesn’t want us to move out. Didn’t say anything, tried to be happy about it but I know that fake smile. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by buying this place.”

“Has she seen it?” Celeborn asked.

“Ya, we saw it all together for the first time.”

“No doubt she feels better after seeing it.” He chuckled to Thranduil’s hand smoothing over his face. Celeborn smoothed his hand across his back to show he was joking. “So how are you on the other news?”

“News?”

Celeborn’s smile spread, “You aren’t the baby anymore.”

“Hey! I will always be their baby!” Making the brothers chuckle again. “We knew it might happen, she said it might. But it did. Just, out of nowhere I’m gonna be a big brother.”

“15 thousand years, not a bad run as an only child.” Galathil said.

“This is wild, I helped them build a crib the other day. They loaned out mine I used for Leg so just shopping for one had my Ada nearly on his head to find something close out of all the new brands out now.”

Galathil, “You will be having more babies soon enough when Jaqi gets her way. She is a Hobbit you know, get ready to be swarmed one day.”

“That won’t be too soon.” He said making Celeborn roll his eyes disbelievingly, “And just in case one day this place at least can be fixed up to be sold or in case she gets tired of me.”

Celeborn grabbed his arm, “You are hers, forever. Trust me. You are not going anywhere. And this place,” he sighed, “We can fix it up into something spectacular. Well beyond what it should be worth now if it wasn’t in this state. But your next baby just might be in school by then.”

Ignoring the daydreams of having children with you one day, if not relatively soon, he said, “I know with you in charge it will be perfect one day. Nobody else would look twice at this place, I know it.”

Galathil replied, “I can’t take my eyes away it’s just something new on the danger scale every ten feet. And she lived here?!”

“Exactly what I said! Right up to the listing! No clue how! The place is just brittle around the rebuilt foundations.”

“We can work with brittle.” Both of them said and Celeborn continued, “Long as the base is good. Guess we can work our way down to stop the ongoing damage, at least get a shell around this place and then go from the middle out. We have the scans, we can head down, fetch your raven then we can head to my office and work on the new floor plan.”

“Could we get some stairs put in? I think the place would look so much better with some actual stairs.” Thranduil tried to joke with his friends making them smirk in the turn for the scaffolding to climb down again.

“I was thinking more fireman’s pole and rock wall to get around.” Galathil said making Thranduil let out a fake laugh.

“Stairs are so overrated these days,” Celeborn chimed in then patted Thranduil on the back, “We’ll get you some stairs, maybe even a lift, nice and quiet one tucked away somewhere.”

“Wouldn’t that cheapen the place?”

“Not necessarily, we could do it in a hidden wall panel sort of way so that it wouldn’t be obvious to people passing by if you wanted.”

“Or glass wrapped,” Galathil said, “Some classic styled homes go for glass lifts to have a sort of contrast to more modern interior.”

“I don’t think I want glass, they always trouble me, can’t even take them at the mall. I like the classic approach idea, but I don’t want it to be a castle. Somewhere between a sort of, Hobbity-homey feel and Doriathian classic style.” He said widening their grins at assuming that he wanted it to suit your personal comfort style. “Jaqi said she thought it seemed like a hotel.”

“Well it certainly is large enough,” Galthil chuckled out. “It is homier though, or will be when we’re done with the place. I know a few walls that can be removed to start helping with that, and moving one of the stairwell spots could help to change the flow unless you want a sort of stairwell?”

Thranduil shook his head, “No, stairwells would encourage playtime and dangerous habits, and throwing things down them.” He said to Celeborn, “I like how yours flow corner to corner across the floors of your place.” Gaining a nod from them on how to at least consider relaying the new stairs. “Would the holes in the floor be a horribly long process to fix?”

“Not necessarily, start by checking the beams, get those in place and take up the heavy flooring that we can save to reuse or save for later, that should help in planning the stairs and new walls or new archways to help with support, I know you appreciate a nice column.” He said and paused as they reached the scaffold to climb down to the next floor. “Maybe a week per floor, supports all the way up will be important same as making sure those outer walls are secure to repair the water damage and replace the sunroof and roof to prevent damage in the future.”

Carefully Thranduil tucked the raven’s nest inside the carrier already full of its gathered possessions with it on his shoulder for the walk out to his car to stop by the house. Already Legolas had readied a birdhouse for them. Complete with a lift up lid that once the nest was placed inside the weather and predator safe home the fluffy chicks looked around their new abode. All the rest the raven handled moving its things in itself before its first flight around to see where it could find a secure stream of food for its hatchlings.

Thranduil, free himself, turned to drive and meet the brothers at their office to compile the scans and work out a plan to go forward on in ordering supplies for what was coming. Printed plans in hand he did return home to share the first stage of the process ahead to get the place at least safe to build upon the bones of it into something spectacular.

Gradually progress was shared of the beams and basic supports added on each floor to not risk anything during the repairs on the top floor was being done. Basic inspection showed it was mainly surface level damage, nothing too drastic to replace and repair structurally at all.

Piece by piece the new sunroof was removed to have an overhaul on the roof to replace the whole thing from the beams up to the top new layer to hold the new sunroof. Already the neighbors got to see some improvement upon the place and wondered what other changes were being made they couldn’t see.

Loads of tiles and wooden flooring were removed along with long strips of carpet and wood paneling. So hints of a major overhaul by the size of the place was clear to see as more new beams were brought in.

On top of work and date nights, lazy afternoons were scattered of shared thoughts on what to add to the place once the safety and structural changes were completed. Every inch only stirred up a confusing feeling as it would never be enough to draw a wish to dream of leaving this place. A place to visit, or drop by, more likely to sell or simply keep for larger social events if necessary to keep your home free of intruders and people wishing to lurk around.

He loves you, and loves your home now blessed with the sound of growing ducklings each day to admire up close. He never wanted to leave, just merely enjoyed having a new place to have you help him build from the ground up to change it completely. And with your help more quirky tastes would come in to make it all the more unique for whatever it would be used for.

“Why haven’t you proposed yet?” Glorfindel inside your office broke your attention from the final review for your Residents’ files to keep up their progress notations towards their degrees.

“I, what?”

To your next confused blink up at him wondering when he found out you were going to propose or had intentions to even think of proposing just yet, he said. “I know, I saw you in Moria designing a ring and I haven’t heard a single thing about any sort of plan or help needed from friends or family. So, what help do you need?” You blinked again and he said, “Thran doesn’t know I’m here Echo is downstairs talking to him about that trip we are taking to Rivendell to Elrond’s family vineyard, which you are coming to as well. Part of why I’m here it’s a lovely place and should you need a picture perfect place to propose consider that it,” he came closer planting his hands on the desk, “Now tell me what I can do to help.”

“He just bought a house he’s been planning,”

“Oh blast the house, blow it to bits, Cel said it won’t be ready for years. What do you need?” Deeply you exhaled and deflated to rest your head on the desk making him hurry around to crouch and rest his arms around you in a comforting hug.

“I don’t know.” You grumbled, “Might as well just toss a chicken at him for as much planning as I’ve been able to do. His Naneth had fireworks, and a boat ride planned and had this whole network of an evening scavenger hunt planned.” You lifted your head, “I don’t have a network. How do you propose?” You looked at him, “You rented out a ski resort, Celeborn practically spoke with the King to be able to get a private tour of the palace for his wife. Elrond-,”

“Elrond lucked into that whale passing by, don’t you go taking up the rumors that he paid someone to coax that whale over to his father’s boat. And you don’t need a network, I’m certain throwing a chicken at Thran would be a lovely way to propose.”

You gave him a pointed look and he chuckled to himself. “I don’t want to throw a chicken at him. I just don’t know what to do, or say, he, just moved in and has a house and a son, and now we have a chicken and six ducklings...How do you propose on top of that after an evening of him being elbow deep in brains?”

That had him smirk trying not to laugh at the end of that question. “How about this, we get out there and we give you a tour while he is conveniently distracted and we can come up with something. Something unique.”

“Fine,” you sighed and said, “Just don’t know what could pop into my head when I’m so stuck on it here.”

“You never know, you could get inspired.” He said with a comforting grin. “Why did the Nurse station have a gossip session right after I showed up here?”

“Oh, since they moved in they’ve been in hyperdrive on getting the two of us on a date.”

His brows furrowed, “But you’re already partners...”

“Yup,” you said with a nod.

“You haven’t told anyone here?”

“Nope, not sure why, but they seem chomping at the bit to get us together.”

“Who’s gonna tell them?”

You shrugged and said, “I mean one of us is gonna have to if rings come into the picture or someone’s head is ending up on a spike.” You said making him chuckle.

“You’ll figure that out too. Just when you get the ring don’t forget to slip it into your bags to bring with you and we’ll help you out with the rest.”

“Why haven’t you bought a ring yet?” Ecthellion asked with arms crossed inside Thranduil’s office drawing his attention from a scan he was looking over.

“I, I have. Picking it up after work today.”

“Good, then you’re proposing on our trip?”

Thranduil scoffed and replied, “I, don’t push it. I’m still bothering Jaqi with the new place.”

“How?!”

“Because I want to know how she wants it to look!” He fired back. “It’s not going to be hers but I can’t help but ask to know how she wants it! And it still bothers her, I know it does and I can’t help it!”

Echthellion took him by the shoulders asking him, “Are you going to propose on the trip or not? Come on it would be perfect to have you propose to one another on the trip with everyone there.”

He said then had his eyes pop wider to Thranduil’s wide eyed stare at him, “Jaqi’s going to propose to me?!”

“No?” Ecthellion said in a far from convincing tone dropping Thranduil’s jaw.

“How do you know that?! I live with her and I don’t know that! There should be a sign! A hint!” He pointed at Ecthellion, “Sock shopping! She said she wanted to go sock shopping so she’d have some nice ones to wear! I have to pick an outfit! What do you wear to get proposed to in?! And I’d need several of them it could happen at any time we’re going out there for two weeks! How am I supposed to know what day to wear the right thing?! I can’t just go and buy 14 of the same thing she’ll know that I know! How do you know?!”

He said and took a step at his friend who pointed at him, “Hey, this is me asking you if you are going to propose.”

“How can I think about that when I’m going to be proposed to?! How did she even get a ring?! Does she have a ring?! I need answers!”

“I only have questions same as you. Just go get the ring today and enjoy the trip.”

“It’s two days away! I’m living in a house with possibly the most sacred piece of jewelry I will ever possess until we get married and how am I supposed to sleep?! She could certainly find a place to hide it, plenty of room...” he inhaled and looked at Ecthellion who anxiously adjusted his sleeve around his wrist. “She has a better secret keeping face than I do.” He looked at the wall a moment then tilted on his feet to look at the person knocking on his office door that had him let out a puff of air seeing that it wasn’t you.

A Nurse popped inside and handed him a copy of test results for one of his patients he had asked for simply so she could look the two over and ask, “Planning for your trip? I heard Miss Pear is going too.”

“Yes,” Thranduil cleared his throat. “She is rather close with my inner circle.”

The phrase had the Nurse’s grin flared a moment then spread as she said, “Surely in two weeks on a place as romantic as a vineyard in Rivendell you could find a time to sneak a meal alone? Before some, young man tries to step in and woo a certain, unattached Elleth?”

Thranduil simply grinned at her in her path to the door and stolen glance back before closing the door leaving Echthellion whose brows rose as he asked, “Unattached?”

“They don’t know.”

“You’re living together.” He replied flatly.

“They don’t need to know.”

“What are you going to say when there’s a wedding to plan?!”

“I thought, I could just, leave a magazine around or something. Let them figure it out.” Ecthellion scoffed and he said, “We’ve been together for on our way to a year, honestly, don’t give me that face.”

“Get that ring today.”

“I will, I have an appointment. Then I just have to hide it.”

“She’s short, tons of places to hide it.” Thranduil lifted a brow and he said, “Adorably so, but unable to see up to where you could reach without a ladder.”

“What am I gonna wear?” Thranduil asked softly and Echthellion sighed at the unfortunate slip of what was possible to come his friend’s way. A fact he’d never hear the end of with his less secret savvy love Glori who was upstairs with you to spill his own can of beans.

“How about this? We try to finesse a guess of when it goes down and signal you to wear your something nice.”

“Alright,” Thranduil answered with a sigh, “what’s the signal going to be?”

“Oh you won’t be able to miss it,” Ecthellion answered in his move to the door to slip out before he made this any worse.

“I need to know the signal! Echo!” Again he sighed in the thumbs up he was given through the again shut door to watch his friend walk away past the Nurses who split up from their huddle to act busy now in his sights. “I’m not going to be able to sleep at all...” he said dropping his gaze to the test results that had him narrow his eyes, “I told him no sugar before this test!” He said to storm his way up to his young patient’s room to glare at his spineless parents who were thwarting his try to get answers for what was ailing the small child brought here to specifically see him.

“Well?” Glorfindel asked upon meeting Ecthellion downstairs with a creeping grin, “What did he say?”

“Um, I might have, let him in on, that he won’t be just partners,”

“You didn’t!!” Glorfindel sharply whispered his way, “After all the grief I get for not being able to keep a secret?!”

“I didn’t say she had a ring, just, hinted that it would be nice if they proposed to one another on the trip.”

“Oh like that’s so much better,” Glorfindel huffed and crossed his arms on their stroll to their car.

“Now he’s panicking over his clothes and what to wear. So we have to come up with a signal and get her to make a plan so we can signal him when to wear the outfit to be proposed to in it so he can propose back.”

Glorfindel turned his head to look at him asking sarcastically, “That simple, huh?”

“It’s not my fault he kept trying to deflect about that house he bought!”

“Ugh,” Glorfindel grunted and said in a pointed finger Echthellion’s way, “I’m halfway tempted to buy the damn thing as is to shut them up about it. Just been a speed bump to their marital bliss this whole time in the whole process.”

“Just two days then we can crank this into its own groove to where they should be.”

“They better get engaged this trip or I’m telling everyone you blabbed.” Glorfindel said dropping Ecthellion’s jaw to his proud smirk. “Like I should have when Thranduil said he was expecting Leg and you spilled it to his Professors.”

“They ambushed me and kept insulting him, you’d have said it too!”

“I would have, part of why I didn’t say anything, but I will this time. We need to get them engaged if not eloped on this trip. I don’t think Oropher and Taule can take much more suspense or surprises this year.”

“I wanna see it!” Legolas whispered in his chase of his father at his return home into his closet. There wasn’t much time until you would be back after a late minute patient debacle you had to see to, then head home when they were stable again. The stop in at the shop took barely no time at all and after a glance around the empty room Thranduil brought out the case he opened to show the smile spreading ring of the two sacred combined bands to share the moment of appreciation. Soon the ring would be on your hand and that only had his heart rate spike to knowing again that there was a ring to be it’s twin somewhere inside this house he had to make himself swear to not go looking for as to not spoil it for himself or any of your hard work towards how you planned to offer a proposal to him. “She’s going to love it, Ada.”

Thranduil closed the case and turned to hide it saying, “Now, Little Leaf, help me pick something to wear. Or a few somethings in case I miss a signal to dress up sent my way.”

Hours he’d been so distracted by distracting himself that he missed your return home and path up to your room until Legolas had sent him up with a snack and order to lighten your mood. Propped up against your pillows he found you in a try to distract yourself with a film that had him nestle in right at your side to hear about your patient and irritations for the day, fully keeping his focus from scouring every detail of your room to find the most logical place you had hidden a ring for him.

Eventually the film and talk had him nestle you up against his side noticing you needed to get some sleep. And on the cusp of it you hummed out at him, “You don’t have to leave you know. Kind of getting used to having you around the place.”

With a creeping grin he hums back brushing a stray strip of curls lovingly behind your ears from across your nose, “Only kind of?”

“Might be just a passing fancy,” you sighed playfully nestling closer into his chest making him chuckle and lace his arms around your back.

“Careful I might just take you up on that offer.” He says easing his eyes shut to nestle his head against yours.

“Either way you’re not going anywhere,” you said making him peek through one eye at you, “Not with your arms at least,” you said making him chuckle again. “Nice pillow.”

“My arms are yours any time you like.” He said closing his eyes to savor the moment as long as he could until the inevitable pull of your sleeping self to take him with you to the dream world. Just another place he hoped to bump into you there as well to have even more time at your side and in your company.

Rivendell, while gorgeous and packed with the inner circle of the Greenleaf’s, there was little tour to be had as Glorfindel had promised you to find out what or where to possibly work an evening slip away to get your own sort of search of the place. Now that you knew that more than just Legolas, Taule and possibly Oropher had known about your ring there was more than just the internal pressure you had placed upon yourself to do this. Somewhere between the quiet gazebo overlooking the vineyard and a mentioned path that led to a hidden set of waterfalls over starlit caves with luminescent creatures your thoughts darted between offered tastes of wine selections at the planned tasting.

Contently Boris laid out beside the lit fire pit swatting his tail in watch of fireflies hovering nearby in one of the gardens blinking almost in time to the music that had started.

Music, food and wine soon bled to dancing and again tipsy Thranduil showed his face and in exaggerated dips he ducked under your arms in the partnered dance he guided you into spreading loud laughter from you and others. Nice and lively the evening kept up with more courses of food and sharing of plans for the following day.

A drooping Thranduil bent on cuddling and slumping over your side was soon helped to bed while you finished your final glass of wine tucked in the round nest of a lounger aimed at a clear view of the star painted vineyard. Legolas with a grin came to settle down beside you to Glorfindel’s try to creep closer to work up a sort of plan. Thranduil clearly had been looking for a signal and you were taking in what you could to find something that could spark up a thought.

“Ada is safe in bed, almost ready to tuck in yourself?”

After a sigh you replied to Glorfindel’s claim of your glass, “This is such a nice place. Can’t really just pick one part of it,” you flashed Glorfindel a smile in his settle onto the lounge beside you. “I haven’t seen much of it-,”

“We could go for a stroll now, if you liked?” Glorfindel asked and you waved a hand in the air.

“I would only forget by the-,” that had you poke Legolas in the arm widening his grin, “I know what I’ll do, where’s your Ada’s room? He’s gonna be so excited like a moose in a firework display.” The phrase had the pair chuckling as they helped you up and Legolas guided you to the bedroom after a stop in your own room to fetch the ring.

Curious stolen stares of other smile riddled guests noted the varied items you chose to take back to his room for a certainly unique scene to wake up to. Gathered fallen leaves and spare fruit in a decorative bowl Elrond gladly offered for your use was made into a display of a rather ominous duck in the shadows to wake up to along with a note spelled on the floor if he didn’t notice before he woke to look at his hand spelled out in the multicolored leaves. The final touch to his sprawled out self was to simply glide the ring onto his finger, an act that had him grumble and shift more into his sleeping spot.

A stolen picture was taken with your widely smiling self pointing at his hand now settled on top of his chest. One that will be framed for later, much like the one stolen of you after you had gone to bed with your door open for Boris who would cover most of your back when he came to join you on your final night without a ring of your own.

Groggily into your seat at the table you settled, changed into a pair of shorts and flowing sleeveless top to ease the temperature on the promised long hike filled trip to look at more remote romantic corners of this estate that had small events at each to make it more than worth it. Beside your chair you settled your shoes still brushing your curls from your face blinking the faces of people around you into focus along with their grins while a serving of shakes was settled in front of each of you.

The camera settled up on a shelf had you confused a moment and glancing at Ecthellion who excitedly boasted on the events later on that were extremely romantic for you and Thranduil along with a chance to have a candlelit dessert on your own. That could make a lovely chance to propose, however somehow you had dreamed of already having proposed and now when you went to change you noticed the ring was gone. Internally curses flew to questions of what you had done with the damn irreplaceable ring.

A loud crash however turned your head to the lower of your glass from a sip of the colorful shake. Just like a moose on ice Thranduil out of the hall came scrambling and to your side where he scooped you up in a firm plant of his lips onto yours winning cheers from everyone there for a picture worthy moment of you shifted onto his lap. “Of course I’ll marry you.” He murmured proudly in his break for air without care that his lips still brushed yours in stating it. Softly you giggled breathily to his hand that cupped your cheek granting you a feel of the metal of the ring on his index finger.

“Certainly captured your goal from last night.” Ecthellion teased making Thranduil tilt his head so he could rest his forehead to yours and look at his friend, “Moose in a firework display excited.” Lowly Thranduil chuckled and cuddled closer to you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. The moment lingered as everyone filed down to join the meal that reluctantly he moved to his chair he scooted a bit closer to yours to keep his hand on your lap as much as he could until he had to change and hurried back to spend the adventure of a day with his hand locked in yours. Smiling the whole time he soaked in the excited mood of his family and friends who made sure to express that the new title between the both of you was beyond welcome with talk of possible things they could offer for a future wedding date.

Dinner alone gave way to a private candle lit dessert had a not entirely unexpected reaction to when he offered you the ring case to show off a design for the sacred marker of the shift in title, not just for him but for you. Right away the inspired copy of your mother’s ring had tears welling in your eyes for him to scoop you up onto his lap to be held by him through this unpleasant twinge of a nerve his offer stirred. From the vine wrapped band to the simple but elegant powder blue teardrop stone band surrounded by the two round lasgalen stones the same size as the blue topaz stone that perfectly matched the shade of the one you’d chosen for his ring every detail beyond choice of supplies reminded you so much of her. Her and the picture perfect marriage you’d hoped to have one day. Though now yours and each step to get to that wedding would have to have them there in spirit alone.

For every painful tear spilled and moment you clung tightly to him his arms refused to budge and only draw you closer to him to murmured comments that he would never let you spend a day of the future alone. Every fear and hint of reluctance about moving forward was touched on with assurances that with his house especially he never intended to have his future be anything but blended with yours. Love and sweets were shared and savored up to when the early morning plans had him join you in your bed to hold his Dazzling Starlight through the night. Both to treasure the evening and to be there if any more tears would fall to wipe them away and try to quell those deep rooted fears the ages had instilled within your heart.

…

“He’s engaged now?! You were supposed to have dinner together!” A Nurse cornered you with between patients. “Did you know he was getting engaged?! He’s wearing a ring you can’t mistake that! There’s going to be a wedding!”

“Well, I designed the ring,” you answered and slipped away stirring up shock at how you would help to coax him into the arms of his mysterious barista boyfriend they assumed must be back in the picture.

At least until he was caught saying on the way into the lift between floors, “I designed her engagement ring myself in return.”

Which only had a battlefield of glares that could kill from every Nurse in the building up to your Residents who stared you down asking, “And where did you find this fiancé of yours? Both you and Greenleaf are somehow both engaged?”

“Strange coincidence, isn’t it?” you said and lifted your drink to take a sip stirring up a sea of gasps.

“He proposed?!”

Word from that encounter had a swift explosion that changed in looks from everyone at a loss for how somehow in the push to get him to take you to dinner had him outright proposing marriage. “So, we’re engaged now,” Thranduil said easing into your chosen booth at lunch making you giggle around your mouthful. “I don’t know how you did it but, now apparently I blew you away with a romantic gesture like no other. I may have to get creative on sharing how I proposed. Though it would never compare to you coating me with leaves and building a fruit duck by my bed though no matter what I come up with.”

“I’m sure you can come up with something,” you said behind your hand lifted to block your mouth making him smirk readying his utensils.

“So, um, we’re having company over tonight,” he said lifting your gaze from your food, “Apparently somehow you managed to introduce Leg to his crush and he wanted to bring him over for supper to see what we think of him.”

“Dwarf?”

“Yes, Gimli I believe.” He answered, “How did you meet him?”

“Got to be the one who delivered your ring from Moria.”

“Moria,” he sighed, “That’s where you got the ring from. Must be from a good family if the Durins have hired him.”

“He said his father’s cousin helped me with the design.”

“Even better…wonder what he’s studying.” He asked after your shrug, “Anything else happen today?”

“Tooks got back to me, found my family line out in the Shire, they’re planning a trip out for the engagement and blessing for fauntlings.” His brows arched up and you said, “Bad manners to wait to do the blessings after the wedding for Hobbits.”

“Ah,” he said and cleared his throat. “Are there any traditions I should know about for the visit?”

“I wrote them down for you, all fairly simple, you will have to learn the dances though. But you have time.”

“Whatever you need me to do I will to include your family. I am glad you found them again.”

“You might not when the invitations start coming for weddings and other occasions.”

“We’re going to every one we can, don’t worry, I will make certain of it.”

“Attendance isn’t necessarily mandatory, however we will have to send a couples gift, for every single one. There were twelve last year alone, and that was for a smaller generation.”

He nodded and said, “We can manage,” he wet his lips and asked, “How does that work for our future wedding? Will they be expecting invitations?”

“Depends on the venue, if we choose to elope or a small one for less than thirty then it will be mainly gifts, which we will have to write thank you notes for on the official stationary I bought for it. Same as the notices we will have to send for the wedding even if it is an elopement, rude not to alert the family ahead of time.”

“How many notices is that?”

Sharply you drew in a breath after swallowing your next mouthful and answered, “805,” you said leaving him gawking at you, “We might need that new house of yours just for the wedding gifts.”

“And I take it tradition states we can’t send for invitations to be made?” You shook your head and he nodded, “Be rude,” earning a matching nod from you. “Guess I can break out my calligraphy typewriter my Gran bought me when I was little. Give that a shot for a test run and you can see if it will be acceptable or if it has to be all hand written.”

“We could probably work the typewriter, but you would have to paint watercolor bluebells on the envelopes.”

“I can do that, 805 times.” He said then gave you a wide smile making you giggle and look to your food again.

Story Tags - @themerriweathermage, @devilishminx328, @stars-for-thought

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @tigereyesf, @pastelhexmaniac, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

#Surgeon AU #The Hobbit #Thranduil x OC #Glorfindel x Ecthellion #Legolas #Celeborn and Galathil #Trip to Rivendell #Fool of a Took

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whorphydice · 3 years

Text

Bread When I’m Hungry

Happy Re-opening, Heres a new fic.

Bread When I’m Hungry

Those were words that, in the dead heat of summer, have Orpheus waking from a dead sleep. Somehow, despite the blazing temperatures, he wakes in a cold sweat. Fear likely responsible for the chill he felt in his heart at the memory. It was a nightmare, quite literally, that he would never recover from. Eurydice, clinging to his hand, begging him to just listen please, we need food. A nightmare, a memory, that every night now, he experienced again in his head. Eurydice, his wife, his love, starving in front of his eyes.

Even when he woke, breathing hard and heart trying to beat itself out of his chest, he cannot shake the feeling. He always looks to his right, where his wife is there in the flesh, alive. The gentle rise and fall of her shoulders with her breathing comforts him, bringing him out of his fear. Yes. She was alive, she was here, and she was safe.

And yet, despite the very physical evidence of her beside him that they were safe… it all ate at Orpheus. The memories, the nightmares. The look on her face when he had come for her, the hope in her eyes when she told him she needed so little-- bread, fire-- so long as they were together. He owed her- he owed her the most basic of comforts.

He had promised to see her needs, to meet them. He would be damned before he failed to provide for her again.

It is that next morning, right after the peak of summer, when he kisses his wife’s sleeping face, whispers a promise of “I’ll be back soon,” and slips out towards the door. The fact doesn’t escape him (he’s gotten better at remembering important things) that his wife had mentioned she was going to be helping Persephone and her mother with gardening all day and likely would not be home until that evening. Perfect.

He is the first person at the market that morning, with a cotton tote over his shoulder. He makes a beeline way directly to the corner stand that is filled with freshly baked goods, leavening agents, and a plethora of flour products. It’s earlier than he’d wake normally, but he can remember hearing about baking early in the day, and bakers waking before anyone else. Yes, this is what he had to do. What he wanted to do. He practically runs up to the stand, absolutely beaming at the town baker, despite the early hour.

“Good morning!” Orpheus greets, pulling a notebook from his pocket, as well as a pencil. “I have some questions for you.”

The baker, an older man, who had been baking in the town before Orpheus had even been born, looks up over his shelves of goods, a curious expression on his face. “Why, good morning Orpheus! What are you doing here so early, and where’s that girl of yours? Unlike you to be alone!”

A warm blush comes to Orpheus’ face, as he fiddles his pencil between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s actually what i’m here about. I want to learn to bake. Bread, actually. I promised her she’d have a home with warm bread. I need to make sure I keep that promise.” He gestures to the flours and sugars around him. “And, to be quite honest, I don’t even know how to start.”

The baker is a kind man, and he chuckles under his breath. It was just very..Orpheus..to take on a project and a promise with no idea of how to go about completing it. He wipes his hands on his apron and holds out both hands, gesturing for Orpheus to hand him the note pad and paper. “You’re the only man I know like you.” He remarks, scribbling down instructions on the notepad. “You’re going to start simple, alright? No starter, no add ins. Just a basic, white bread.”

Orpheus nods excitedly, clasping his hands infront of him. “Yes, yes, thank you! I appreciate it, and Eurydice will too.” It was fact, in the town. That Eurydice was nearly as beloved as Orpheus, maybe even more so, for the way she brought him the joy that she did. He is glancing around at the ingredients around him, trying not to show the level of overwhelmed he felt. “I can- what do I need to do that?”

“I’ll set you up right, don’t worry about it. And when you’re done here you’re gonna stop down there for your butter. It’ll be nice and fresh. Melts real well on the warm bread. And stop and grab some fresh eggs too. You can make a real nice toast for your girl in the mornin;.” The Man hands Orpheus the list back, and then begins to hand him the proper products he needs from the document. “If you really want to impress her, You make a few loaves, then it pushes you through the week. Shows forethought.”

Orpheus gives the man a genuine thanks and exchanges payment, before he carries on stopping at the rest of his target vendors. He grabs the additional ingredients, careful to follow the instructions exactly. He has to make sure Eurydice enjoys it, he has to make her see that he listened to her needs.

Orpheus enjoys the walk home, noting to himself how melodic the birds sound. He finds himself humming in response, a beautiful distraction to exactly how exhausted he is. The combination of the lack of sleep from the nightmares and the early start to the day are surely to catch up to him. But for now, in this moment, he is simply too excited to surprise his wife.

Orpheus arrives home, tossing his shoes to the side as he soon as he passes the threshold of their apartment. They’ve lived above the bar since their return, Orpheus himself having lived their longer. They’ve talked about looking for more of a home, with a yard for their own garden, space out of the town where they could be alone. There was no rush, though. They were together, they were each other’s home. The four walls around them wasn’t what mattered most, anymore.

Eurydice is gone, he can tell that much in their studio space. Besides the obvious of the lack of her physical presence, he notices the lack of her boots, the absence of her laugh, the missing smell of warm spices and earth. It used to be that her absence, even temporary, would set a panic in his chest. She’s gone, she’s never coming back. She left again. Doubt plays on repeat in his head, time and time again until he finally broke down to Eurydice one day. He verbalizes his fear, and doubts, and through more than a bit of tears from them both they made it through. He can rationalize now, that when she went out to work with Persephone, she’d return at the end of the night.

Now the pang he felt was just that he always did, when she was gone. Just a feeling of a man who loved his wife and missed her presence.

Orpheus sits his groceries in their kitchen, setting them out before him. He grabs his work apron, the only one he had, slipping It over his head and then tying it behind his back. He re-reads the instructions diligently (one, two, then three) times before he begins preparing his work station and beginning his first loaf.

Maybe it was the summer heat beaming down on her all day, or maybe it was the practically sun up to sundown shift she worked today, but Eurydice was exhausted. Not that she was ungrateful, no not that at all. She thanked Persephone, and often her mother, profusely for allowing her to come help work around the farm and assist the goddesses. Yes, Eurydice was exceptionally grateful for all the opportunities Persephone helped to provide her with.

Eurydice’s thankfulness did not negate that sometimes, at the end of a long day in the field, she was bone tired.

“Love.. I’m home..” She pushes the door open, and after settling her keys on the table right inside their door, she has no chance to drop her bag or shoes before she is met by her husband directly inside.

He stands there, directly on the other side of the door, a goofy, proud smile on his face. He is still wearing his work apron from earlier, though rather than the usual drink stains, he is covered in a light flour dusting. Most importantly, now, is that Orpheus holds his arms out fully extended to her, with a steaming golden loaf of bread in his hands. “Look! ‘Rydice I did it!’

Eurydice looks out in-front of her, eyes going incredibly wide when the situation processes through her head. Bread. That is fresh bread. That is fresh, steaming homemade bread. That is fresh, steaming homemade bread created by her husband. Orpheus made this for her. Her husband did this for her. “You.. did that? Orpheus?” She’s in disbelief as she drops her bag carelessly and reaches out her hands to wrap around his. Her dark eyes flicker between his hands and meeting his face. Once she truly realizes what’s happened, the brightest smile spreads from her mouth to her eyes, and a little laugh of disbelief coming out. “you made us this?”

He nods so quickly that his head barely can move, gently transferring the loaf to her hands. “I wanted you to know I remember. I remember the promises I made you. I promised you would always have bread when you are hungry- and I am going to keep my promises, this time.“ Orpheus leans in and wraps his now free (but still warm) hands around her cheeks, holding his entire world in them. “I will always make sure you have enough to eat, Eurydice. I promise.” He leans in, now, to give her a kiss on the center of her forehead. His lips linger for a few moments, before he pulls back. He rests his forehead on hers for a few minutes, hands still cupping her cheeks.

Orpheus is struck with recollection, then, as he pulls back from his wife. “oh! And follow me! I have some fresh butter for you. I have a few more loaves to finish, but you can eat that one while the others bake. They told me, at the market today, to make a couple so we can have them all week!” He gestures for her to follow him towards the kitchen area where, on their dining table, flour is spread out after a few smaller piles of raw dough.

He goes back to kneading, as Eurydice follows him into their home. If he notices her tears forming, he does not mention it. Eurydice breaths deeply as she stares at the loaf in her hands, thumbs brushing over the golden crust. It is heavy and warm, fresh but ready to be eaten, in the palms of her hands. She would love to blame the feeling in her chest as a mix of exhaustion and love but Eurydice knows that, really, it’s the feeling of love and adoration alone that Orpheus is so capable of making her feel. No, exhaustion is not why her heart felt so heavy now.

And here he was, providing for them. Not that she had doubted his dedication, no, and she wasn’t expecting him to support her entirely either. They were a team. They worked together to meet the needs of them both. Yet this loaf of bread in her hands made by the man kneading another small portion at the table, was a far cry from the boy who didn’t hear her pleas for food and firewood not that many seasons ago.

Eurydice wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, directing her attention instead to her husband and his work.

She couldn’t help but stare at him, now. The way his hair had just a bit of sweat on the ends, a result of the hard work he had put into the heat of the kitchen all day. Then there was the way he bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. The way his arms from his shoulders, the muscles of his upper arm, to the tendons in his lower arms twisted and contorted with his effort into the dough. His stature now, also, was quite a development in comparison to the thin, frail boy who came to hell and back for her. She supposed a healthy harvest and work did wonders for the body. Most of all, she was not ignoring his skilled fingers folding and flexing in the bread dough, as he incorporated extra flour. Kneading, she realized, was just another thing to add to the list of the things Orpheus’s nimble fingers were so good for.

Eurydice snaps herself out of her reverie, breaking the bread in half with her hands. The crackling of the crust has him looking up at her, and he gives her one of the most brilliant grins she had ever seen. “Is it good?”

Without even tasting it, Eurydice just nods. “Wonderful.”

#yeah im still on this hellsite #still in hadestown #oh wel #happy reopening #Bread boy orpheus is a passion #hadestown #hadestown fic #hadestown fanfic #orpheus #eurydice #orpheus and eurydice #orphydice #orphydice fics #this is actually based on Anna Art #fun fact

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