#…nvm that should this au as it’s called now have a tag?

[beardedhandstoadshark]

How would the new brothers act? Luigi and Bowser being the best of buddies is also like A tier in that au.

Oof that’s a good question. I didn’t really plan anything out and just kinda wrote that as is came. No clue about character stuff, but trying works right! …I can’t tell if this version of Bowser is too kind or too mean compared to his regular one though ^^;

Btw if you’ve got thoughts ABSOLUTELY free to put them in!! It’d be very cool to hear!!!

Ok, so, Luigi actually went on evil escapades as Mr. L in Super Paper Mario, where he was very cocky and showoff-y, always hyping himself up. Given how Luigi is normally, I always interpreted the way Mr. L acts as compensating for a hidden inferiority complex in Luigi. (At least in the older games, nowadays my man’s gained some confidence)

But anyways, combine that with Bowser‘s arrogant selfishness (and being Kamek‘s obvious favorite kid of the two), I imagine AUigi‘s complex gets cranked up by 10. I think he would’ve looked up to him as a kid and still kinda does. Dude secretly just wants his Turtle Bro‘s approval, man. (But like…in a "haha of COURSE I did I‘m great! >:3“ and not an "Omg you think so? :D“way, if that makes sense? The latter only when they were kids maybe). Meanwhile Bowser just gives peak "older mean brother antagonizing the younger“ vibes. Where Mario sees and treats his green brother as an equal, Bowser doesn’t.

However, since Bowser has a very well known caring side towards folks on his own team, that with his now Big-Broness means that if anything happens to Auigi, Bowser will personally come fuck you up. There is only ONE person who can be mean to Auigi and it’s HIM, ya hear. Bowser canonically has Proud Dad energy, you can’t tell me he wouldn’t have Big Bro energy too.

Idk, I think Bowser would treat him like he does his underlings most of the time, but it also often more towards how he acts with the Mario Bros whenever the three are teaming up, but nicer. Never downright adoring like Bowser is with his kid, more like "hey you weren’t doing half bad there Green Guy!“. Perhaps in certain situations even so far as to go along the lines of "of course the Great King of Koopas has a capable bro too (not as great as him tho but you can’t beat perfection)“. Those vibes.

Also since Mr L’s shown to be a mechanic building mechs for himself, I think Bowser‘d want him to build stuff for him too. Bowser does the designs (which are very him-centric) while Auigi does the building and puts Luigi-ness into the design. Maybe they argue on how it should look. In any case it’d be very extra >v< maybe even more so than Bowser‘s stuff looks normally, because they try one-upping each other’s designs.

They’d also definitely trade insults as banter all the time lol

Meanwhile Mario would be pretty curious about the one random human who’s apparently brothers with a giant turtle somehow?? …Neither mAUrio or AUigi would have enough brain cells to recognize the other looks like them tho. Absolutely that they look familiar, but not that they are, too. Auigi would downright be offended of anyone suggesting he had anything in common with this dude living in the woods with Yoshis. They’d probably be annoyed at each other but after the whole "Kamek is not his dad“ thing I think Aurio‘d still comfort him. Like, it’s the end of another boss battle where Auigi got defeated and he starts venting about all of this and Aurio‘s going "there there“ patting him on the shoulder or smth. Auigi ends up hyping himself up again and goes "yea maybe you’re pretty decent after all“,declares him worthy of being his rival, and dips to come back to help in the final battle. However he’d stop Mario from landing the final hit on Bowser because while they might be brothers, Bowser is still his bro.

Maybe he leaves of his own accord, maybe Bowser banishes him from Koopa Castle for going against him, but in any case, AUigi doesn’t stay there and goes off to chill either at Toadstool castle or with Aurio. He’d be a very annoying roommate in both cases lol

…after Auigi leaves Koopa Castle I think Bowser would start to miss him but be super defensive about it if pointed out, and the sequel becomes Bowser kidnapping Auigi as "revenge for betraying him" :)

[moonlit-han]

plus one ↠ lee minho

genre: friends to lovers, almost-fake dating au (femme reader) word count: 6.2k warnings: swearing, suggestive (gets steamy at the end), alcohol consumption request: yes (anon) a/n: so this turned out about twice as long as i expected it to . . . there’s a lot to do before you can actually go to a wedding. oh and this includes a guest appearance from park seonghwa of ateez. i promise i think he’s lovely in reality!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You were just sitting down to enjoy a nice cup of tea, which you’d been looking forward to all day, when your phone buzzed. Without even looking at the screen, you already knew who it would be—there was only one person in your life with such uniformly strange timing.

min😼: hey y/n….could you do me a favor? y/n: ……what do you want, minho…. min😼: so my  v e r y  rich cousin’s wedding is coming up and i need a plus one. it’s fancy, so they want everyone to partnered up and shit min😼: and there will be food. it’ll be good bc these are the rich cousins y/n: oooooh okay, sure! i’m always down for sort of crashing a wedding. when is it? min😼: it’s next weekend min😼: shit please tell me you have a fancy dress y/n: lee minho, are you seriously telling me i have to go buy a fancy dress?? min😼: maybe;;;; y/n: you’re coming with me and paying for half min😼: sure, fine with me y/n: wait seriously? you’re actually gonna do that? min😼: yeah, why not? y/n: nvm~ y/n: so should we go dress shopping tomorrow evening? min😼: sounds good to me! want me to pick you up after i get off work? y/n: 👉🏼👈🏼 please? min😼: you’re damn lucky you’re cute. y/n: see you then!

You closed your phone, still trying to process the fact that you were going to a wedding with Minho. He was a good friend—you’d met a few years ago and had a bit of a love-hate relationship. But ultimately, you agreed that being friends would be much better than not. In the time since, you’d become those kinds of friends who casually held hands, cuddled whenever possible, and shared clothes more than Minho actually realized. (You’d gotten quite good at stealing his t-shirts and sweatpants).

Your friends were convinced the two of you should date but you both just waved them off. Even his family thought you were dating—Minho hadn’t exactly told them they were wrong, though, unbeknownst to you. And now here you were about to go to a wedding with him. When you woke up that morning, you definitely hadn’t been expecting that. But now, you were actually looking forward to what would certainly be a memorable occasion.

Minho picked you up around 5:15 pm and you headed to the mall, circling the parking lot for a few minutes until you found a spot. When you exited the car, the wind blew your hair into your eyes; you heard your traitor of a friend snort as he saw what had happened. Getting your hair back under control, you walked toward the mall entrance. Once inside, you started in the direction of the large department store. But before you could Minho pulled you along with him instead.

At your confused look, he said, “If we’re getting you a dress for a black-tie wedding, then we’re getting you a good quality one.” You opened your mouth to object, thinking of how much it would cost. “No, don’t argue, Y/N.”

Deciding it would be best not to go against Minho when he clearly had a plan, you just closed your mouth and went with it. Minho let go of the fabric of your tank top after several strides, but made sure that you stayed with him—the mall was more crowded than you’d expected. So, after almost losing twice, Minho decided to just go for it and hold your hand. He pulled you close to his side, his hand familiar and reassuring in yours. 

You made your way to what you suspected was the most expensive formalwear boutique in the entire mall, feeling self-conscious in your jeans and tank top. The shop attendant, a cheery elderly woman, came hurrying up to you and Minho, fluttering around you rather like a butterfly. 

“Hello, I’m Violet! How may I help you all? What’s the special event?” she chirped, giving the two of you what she must have thought was a sly smile.

Crap, you thought, we must look like a couple. Again. You tried to extricate your hand from Minho’s, but he just shifted to lace his fingers with yours and held on tight.

“We’re attending a black-tie wedding,” Minho said, straight to the point as always. “I already have my tuxedo, but Y/N, here, needs a dress. Do you have anything in burgundy?”

You looked at Minho, not expecting him to take the lead in buying a dress, much less choose a color. 

“Of course!” said Violet. “Y/N, was it? If you’ll follow me so we can get your measurements and such? Your gentleman friend can wait on the sofa over there.” She pointed to a sleek looking seating area clearly meant for those who accompanied the boutique’s many clients.

“I’d prefer to come back with her and see the dresses,” Minho said, surprising you yet again. The attendant’s smile grew wider as, still holding your hand, Minho walked with you through the maze of evening gowns to the fitting rooms.

“Oh, well, all right,” the elderly woman agreed grudgingly. “But I must insist you stay out of the dressing room. That would simply be one step too far, young man!”

Minho laughed lightly and assured her, “I’ll stay well away, madam. No worries.”

“You had better.” Violet turned to you, holding out a tape measure and a little pad of paper with a miniature pen attached to it. “Have you measured yourself before? Good. Just write it all down and we’ll see what size you need.”

You glanced back at Minho before entering the dressing room—he was leaning against the wall opposite from the Violet, as far from your dressing room as he could get. After a few minutes of wrestling with the tape measure, you emerged and handed over the pad of paper.

“Okay, my dear,” Violet said, “come with me and we’ll see about some styles. What colors, besides burgundy, would you like to try on?”

You thought for a moment, following carefully through the racks upon racks of dresses and suits.  “Emerald, black, and teal,” you said before you thought better of saying you’d wear black to a wedding. 

Nodding, Violet stopped in front of a long display of gowns that ranged from a deep red that was almost black to the brightest red you’d ever seen. “I’ll just go see what I can find for you, dear,” she said before moving off.

Your eyes darted from dress to dress to dress, the shades and fabrics nearly overwhelming you—you’d never seen so many formal gowns in one place before. Occasionally, you took down a dress to look at it more closely, and soon your arms were weighed down with ten dresses. As you made your way back to the fitting rooms, Violet reappeared carrying five dresses of her own, all in the colors you’d mentioned.

“Now, you just go in there and get these on as best as you can, and I’ll help you with any zippers or ties that you can’t get to.” Violet smiled kindly as she ushered you into the fitting room.

You undressed and slipped the first gown on, trying not to step on the hem, but it was difficult not to. The dressmakers seemed to have assumed that everyone was unusually tall. After straightening the neckline a little and smoothing your hair, you stepped out of the fitting room. 

“So, how do you like it?” you asked Minho, who was still lounging against the wall.

“Eh,” he shrugged, “I’m not crazy about the color, but your hips look great.”

“You—” you began, but stopped because you were in public. Now he commenting on your hips! That was a new one. So, you went back to try on another dress. Each of the next five dresses you paraded in front of your friend somehow didn’t live up to whatever expectations he had for your gown.

You sighed and pouted a little after the sixth dress. “Min, what’s wrong with this one? I like it, plus it’s comfortable! And I’m the one wearing it, anyway.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know this side of the family. They expect everything and everyone to be and look perfect.”

“Well, shit,” you grumbled.

“Here,” Minho offered, “I’ll go see if I can find you a dress. Just sit tight for a minute.” Before you could say anything to the contrary, he’d turned and headed into the maze of gowns.

“Your Minho is sweet, offering to find you a dress,” Violet said as she helped you unzip the dress.

“I guess,” you said grudgingly. “I’m not sure he actually knows what to look for, though.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Violet grinned at you in the mirror.

While you waited, you looked back through the dresses you’d already tried on, thinking you’d choose one in case Minho couldn’t find the perfect dress himself. The deep teal dress kept drawing your eye, but you weren’t sure if it was too formal. 

“Y/N?” Minho called from outside the fitting room. “Open up so I can give you this dress.”

You took the dress, just barely peaking out from behind the door, and hung it on one of the hooks specifically for the gowns. It was, as you’d suspected, a deep burgundy and not too puffy in the skirt. You weren’t sure about the beading around the bodice, though. But, you’d try it on for Minho—even if just to prove him wrong if it looked horrible.

After struggling with the corseting in the back, you decided to ask for Violet’s help. Ever obliging, she slipped into the changing room and helped lace you into the gown. Somehow, it fit perfectly and you didn’t even have to hold your breath or anything.

When he saw you in the gown, Minho wolf-whistled. “Damn, Y/N,” he said appreciatively. “You look . . . hot. Yeah.” He paused. “Now aren’t you glad I picked a dress for you? I even made sure it wasn’t too expensive.”

“Yeah, thank you, Min,” you said, smiling at him. “I really look hot?” Suddenly, you were very conscious of the dress’s low neckline.

“No, you look really hot. It’s the best one so far. Is it comfortable?”

“I— Okay, I guess I’ll get this one, then,” you said, surprised at how easy a decision it was. “It’s actually super comfortable.”

“Perfect,” Minho said. “Everyone will be entranced by how gorgeous you are.”

Trying to ignore that last comment, you said, “And, um, Violet? Could you help me again?” You were a bit embarrassed to be buying a piece of clothing you couldn’t get into by yourself. Your roommate would just have to help.

As you changed back into your street clothes, Violet and Minho went up to the register. You thought over how much you’d be paying for the dress, and were quite glad that Minho had agreed to pay for half. 

“So,” you said as you reached the register, “how much do I owe?”

Violet gave you a little wink. “You don’t owe anything, dear. It’s all taken care of. There was even a discount on this dress!”

You turned on Minho. “You didn’t….”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. Okay?” Minho almost sounded defensive, but maybe he was just tired.

“But I—”

“I said don’t worry about, babe,” Minho interrupted. “See? Now I don’t have to get you a birthday present this year.” Minho sent you a sly grin and a wink. You just rolled your eyes.

“You’ll have to excuse me for saying so,” Violet tittered, breaking the slight tension in the air, “but you two make such a lovely couple. It seems to me you’ll be planning your own wedding soon!”

You blushed. You knew you blushed. How could you not have?

“Thank you, ma’am,” Minho said smoothly. “That’s still quite far in the future, though.” He gave Violet one of his winning smiles that never ceased to make parents, teachers, disagreeable elderly ladies, and, of course, you feel like the most important and lovely person in the world.

“Oh! Well, whenever the happy day is, I wish you both well. Enjoy!” Violet handed you the long dress bag and waved as you left the store.

“Lee Minho, what exactly was that all about?” you demanded once you were well away from the boutique.

“What was what all about?” Minho replied, feigning innocence as he ambled along, hands in his pockets.

“You know what.” You tried not to sound petulant. “Why did you pretend we’re getting married or something?”

“It makes ladies like her happy to think of the younger generation settling down. Besides, she seemed like she needed something exciting in her life. Now, she’ll just spend the rest of the day imagining our wedding, even though she’ll never see us again. See? She gets a daydream and we got the clearly made-up “Cute Couple Discount.” Minho slung an arm around your shoulders, jostling you slightly. “Come on, buttercup,” he chuckled, “am I really that hideous for you to hate even pretending?”

Still nonplussed, you shook your head and shoved Minho with your hip—that didn’t stop him from keeping his arm around your shoulders, though. You didn’t reply, since the truth was too embarrassing to even admit.

↠↞

You cursed yourself for a fool as you tried to put on the dress for the wedding. Today just had to be the day your roommate wasn’t around. First, you’d tried lacing it up with the dress back-to-front and slipping it around yourself to just tighten the laces. When that didn’t work, you tried lacing it up loosely and then pulling tight. It still wouldn’t cooperate. Well, there was only one thing for it now. 

y/n: ….min you’re on your way, right? min😼: yeah of course y/n: i need help with my dress😩🙃😩 min😼: ok. i’ll be there in 5 mins y/n: thanks!!! you’re the best!!!!😭💕💕💕 min😼: i know

You hurriedly wrestled your hair into a bun, thankful that you could get away with such a simple style. With your makeup already done, you waited by the door, your shoes and a small clutch in one hand and the other holding up the bodice of your dress. This was going to be . . . interesting.

Minho knocked the door and you called, “It’s open!” just as he discovered that very thing. The door opened and—

Lee Minho in a tuxedo was a sight to behold. You wolf-whistled, smirking at your best friend. In response, Minho just raised his eyebrows and inclined his head toward you, as if to say, “You don’t look bad yourself.” You noticed twin flags of pink on his cheeks, too.

“Okay,” Minho said, taking a deep breath as he saw you waiting there in the entryway, “turn around. It’s just simple lacing, right?”

“It should be simple,” you grumbled, “but not for me!”

“I’ve got it, buttercup.” You smiled at that—Minho had recently taken to calling you that nickname far more often than before. “Hold the dress up until I’ve got most of the laces done up, okay?”

Without hesitation, Minho deftly began to draw the laces through the eyes of the corset, occasionally grumbling when one didn’t cooperate. Shortly, you were laced into your dress and Minho was tightening everything to your comfort level. His breath tickling the hairs on the back of your neck was horribly distracting.

“Is this good?” he asked. “I don’t want to squish your lungs.”

“I’m fine! It’s actually perfect” You turned to face Minho, and he had to step back quickly so as not to be hit in the nose with the crown of your head.

“All right, then let’s get going. I don’t want to be late—they’d never forgive me.” Minho then tried to shunt you out your own door, but you threatened him with one of your heels.

While the wedding wasn’t too far outside the city, it would still take you and Minho an hour to get there. You hoped it wouldn’t be too hot, since there was nothing worse than body odor on formalwear. Lifting the hem of your dress, you all but clambered into Minho’s car and buckled your seatbelt. A moment later, you were heading toward the highway, your windows down and Minho easily guiding the car between the light traffic. He even let you choose which music you’d listen to—a rare honor. One or two people glanced over at you at stoplights, but you ignored them. What was wrong with dressing up a little . . . or a lot?

“I just want to tell you a few things before we get there,” Minho said when you were ten minutes away from the venue. You nodded. “Like I said, these are the rich cousins. Everyone will be dressed in black tie attire and acting like they know how to behave. They don’t. I don’t particularly want to get boisterously drunk, but most everyone else will. I can’t promise there won’t be debauchery, especially since it’s an outdoor wedding—lots of shadows to slip off to.” He paused, thinking of what else to warn you about. “Oh, and then there’s Great-Aunt Mia. She’s a handful, to say the least, and likes to comment on everyone’s life decisions. Even if she doesn’t know you, she’ll still find some way to be condescending.”

You gave Minho an incredulous look. “And why exactly did you want to go to this wedding if it’s going to be such a shit show?”

“Hey, it won’t be that bad,” Minho countered. “But yeah, I think that’s all I wanted to say.”

“I’ll just stick with you, since I won’t know anyone there,” you said brightly.

As he turned down the long drive lined with an old yew hedge that led to the mansion on whose grounds the wedding would occur, Minho flashed a radiant smile at you.

It was going to be good night.

↠↞

The wedding ceremony itself was beautiful, and you were almost moved to tears along with everyone else, despite not knowing the newlyweds. And no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Minho was sitting next to you, his thigh warm against yours and impossible to ignore. When everyone stood to congratulate the happy couple, Minho put his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing the back of your neck. While cuddling and causal touches were normal between the two of you, something had definitely changed in the past week and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

There was a bit of time between the actual ceremony and the reception, so you and Minho decided to go back to his car and nap. It felt a little odd napping in a formal gown, but you didn’t much care. Sleep was always important in your world. You and Minho laid the seats back as far as they’d go and rolled all the windows down to tempt in a breeze. Just as you were falling asleep, you felt Minho’s hand slip into yours. As if on reflex, you laced your fingers in his. 

When you woke to Minho’s obnoxious alarm song, you were still holding hands.

“Ready to party?” Minho wiggled his eyebrows at you, sitting up. “We get to see my relatives make fools of themselves!”

“Oh, you know I am. That’s my favorite pastime,” you said, clapping your hands like an excited child.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” Minho said, and you reached out to swat him.

Once you stood outside the car, you decided to redo your bun—you didn’t particularly want to look like you’d just been asleep—but, Minho gently stopped you.

“It looks better loose,” he said, reaching out to carefully place your hair so it sweetly framed your face. It was such a tender gesture that it made your heart ache. So, you left your hair down and, still hand-in-hand with Minho, made your way toward the large tent under which the celebration was just getting under way. 

For dinner, you and Minho were seated with some of his younger cousins and their friends. You felt utterly out of your depth, since you didn’t spend much time with fifteen year-olds. They peppered the two of you with questions about adulthood. Thankfully, Minho had been right: there was more than enough food and it was delicious. The wine to go with dinner was excellent, too. You had to stop yourself from going back for thirds of one dish. And when the cake came out, you could barely contain your glee over how good it was. Minho even managed to put a dab of icing on your nose, and laughed himself silly at your look of betrayal.

As tradition dictated, the newlyweds had the first dance. It was sweet and a bit somber. You held back as Minho went to dance as soon as everyone else was invited to dance. The younger cousins flocked to the dance floor like geese. Minho danced exuberantly, joyously, and you couldn’t help smiling at him whenever he faced you. Without his suit coat, he could move freely as any leaf on the wind, and all too quickly, he was lost to you as more and more people flooded the dance floor.

“Hey,” a voice behind you said. You hadn’t noticed anyone approach as you watched a couple in front of you dance their hearts out. Looking up, your eyes met those of an incredibly handsome young man you’d seen in the bridal party. His tuxedo looked so normal that it practically screamed that it cost more than you’d care to imagine.

You gave him a mildly confused look. “Hello?”

“Oh, come on, that’s no way to talk to a kind gentleman simply saying ‘Hello,’” the man said.

“I don’t know you,” you said uncertainly. 

“True. Park Seonghwa at your service.” He left space at the end of the sentence, expecting you to provide your name. You didn’t. But that didn’t stop him. “So,” he continued, pulling out a chair next to you and straddling it, “what’s a beautiful woman like you doing sitting over here when you could be dancing?”

“I just didn’t feel like dancing yet,” you said, keeping your voice even, and took a sip of your wine. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Seonghwa looked affronted. “Do you see this suit? There’s no way I can dance in this!”

You laughed—you couldn’t help it, not when this preening popinjay was being so ridiculous. And, of course, he took your laughter as a sign that he was doing something right and proceeded to shift his chair closer to yours. A waft of his cloying cologne hit you like a freight train and you coughed lightly, leaning away.

“If I’m supposed to dance in this gown, then you can definitely dance in that suit,” you said mockingly.

“Ah! Care to dance with me, then, beautiful?” Seonghwa stood and held out his hand, expecting you to take it. He had the air about him that he was used to getting what he wanted. “Or we could go somewhere private and I can show you my . . . moves.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not going to dance or do anything else with someone I just met, especially one so cocky as you.” You turned away from Seonghwa to resume watching the guests dancing. A moment later, your view was eclipsed by the thing very person you were trying to avoid.

“Could you move?” you asked peevishly. “Whatever you want, I’m not interested.”

“Why don’t you want to dance with me, hmm?” Seonghwa demanded. “Aren’t I handsome enough?”

“Is that all you can talk about? How handsome you are?” you snapped. “I said I’m not interested, and that should be enough.” Your thoughts raced—usually only one thing worked on guys like this. “Besides, I have a boyfriend.”

Seonghwa made to grab your hand to pull you out of your seat, but stopped as a hand clasped his shoulder. “Ah. Seonghwa. I shouldn’t be surprised. Kindly fuck off, won’t you?” Minho said as brightly as the glint of sunlight off a lake on a summer’s day. His hair was slightly disheveled from dancing, but that didn’t stop him from looking like a prince to you. In fact, it only helped.

“Minnie!” Seonghwa cried, turning to face Minho. “It’s good to see you! It’s been too long.”

“Hmm, I’d say not long enough,” Minho muttered, but Seonghwa wasn’t paying attention.

“I was just about to dance with— You know, I never did catch this lovely creature’s name.”

“And I’m still not going to give it to you,” you insisted, angry that you’d been called a “lovely creature.”

“Seonghwa, really. Go bother someone else.” Minho’s voice was still calm, but it had an edge to it. “I’m tired of your shit.” 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Seonghwa said, looking between you and Minho. Then, sensing that he couldn’t charm his way out of this situation, he stalked off in the direction of the bar.

Letting out a sigh, Minho came to stand by you and gently rubbed your back. The cut of your gown was such that his hand only met bare skin, and you felt a shiver pass over you. A few minutes passed as you both simply watched the gyrating crowd.

“Is he always like that?” you asked suddenly.

Minho looked down at you, brows furrowed slightly. “Hmm?”

“Is Seonghwa always such a dick? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so insufferable and narcissistic,” you run a hand through you hair, the picture of annoyance.

“Yeah,” Minho says sadly. “He’s never really understood that the life he’s used to isn’t everyone else’s reality. And it doesn’t help that he knows he’s disgustingly handsome.”

You giggled. “That’s the perfect way to put it.”

A slow, mellow love song began to play and the young cousins back to the table, too embarrassed to remain on the dance floor. Minho leaned down to your ear and said, “Why don’t you come dance, now. I think the young ones are about to start annoying us again. I promise I won’t leave you on the side this time.” 

Smiling, you stood, and Minho’s hand went to your waist as he drew you out onto the dance floor. The skirt of your gown swirled around you most satisfyingly. Dancing with Minho had always been easy, since all you had to do was follow his lead and hope you didn’t trip over your own feet. Tonight was no different. With one hand at your waist and the other between your shoulder blades, Minho held you close to him as you carefully swayed and sometimes twirled together. Your arms had automatically gone to loop around the back of his neck, which made you think of all the times you’d done that with silly guys in high school. Minho laughed, surprised but pleased.

You were aware of Minho’s fingers gently weaving in and out of the ends of your hair, almost as if he didn’t want you to know. You brushed your thumb against the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and he sucked in a breath. Something had changed between you and Minho in the past two weeks, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. There was just something about being at a wedding that made you feel especially romantic.

“Lee Minho!” came a slightly hoarse and distinctly peevish voice.

“Oh no,” Minho groaned and rested his forehead on your head, clearly hoping you could hold him up that way.

“Is that your great-aunt Mia,” you whispered, glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the elderly woman hurriedly making her way toward you. Her wispy white hair formed a cloud around her head, much like a dandelion gone to seed. When dancers didn’t move from her quickly enough, she rapped them on the ankles with her gnarled cane. 

“Mhmm,” Minho grimaced.

“Should she be on the dance floor?” you asked, concerned. 

“Probably not.”

“Lee Minho, what do you think you’re doing?” Great-Aunt Mia said, knocking her cane into Minho’s calves so he nearly fell into you.

“Hello, Aunt Mia,” Minho said, turning to face the disagreeable woman; he kept his hand on your waist, though. 

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young man!”

“Sorry, Aunt Mia. I wish I could have visited you, I really do, but school’s just been so busy. I hope you’ve been well.” You could tell by the set of his shoulders that Minho was trying not to be sarcastic toward his elder relative, and decided to snake your arm around his waist. For moral support.

“Minho, you didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend. You will introduce us.” Great-Aunt Mia didn’t ask to be introduced; no, she commanded.

“Oh, right,” Minho said, and Great Aunt Mia glared, as if Minho’s lapse in cordiality was a high crime. “Great Aunt Mia, may I present my girlfriend, Y/N L/N.”

If you’d just taken a sip of your now abandoned wine, you would have spluttered. You couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. Girlfriend? You’d certainly entertained the idea in your wildest, most private daydreams, but never thought of it seriously. Minho always negated any suggestion of you being a couple, so, surely, he was joking this time, too. He had to be. After all, you’d been mistaken for a couple more times than you could count.

“Well, girl?” Great-Aunt Mia’s voice cut through your thoughts like a hot knife through butter. All around you, the other guests continued dancing.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, nearly tripping over your words as you raced to get them out. Great-Aunt Mia was scary. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.” You weren’t sure if you should courtesy or hold out your hand to shake hers or what—this interacting-with-rich-people thing mildly unnerved you.

“Oh, call me Aunt Mia—everyone does!” Great-Aunt Mia chortled, then, she peered at you. “So, you’ve won the heart of our darling Minho, have you? Well, what do you do?”

“I—” you began, then had to swallow. “I’m still in college, ma’am, but I have a part-time job at a bookstore.” There was no way you were going to call this harpy of a woman “Aunt Mia.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said, making it clear that she did not think it good in the least. “I’m sure you’ll be a fine wife for Minho. Don’t embarrass us, please.”

Her pronouncement hung in the air as you and Minho simply stared. Then, Great-Aunt Mia sharply turned her head to the side, like a fox that had just sensed a vole nearby, and hobbled away into the crowd of dancers. Even after you could no longer see her, you knew where she went by the yelps of pain from those unfortunate enough to get in her way.

“So, where were we?” Minho said, pulling you around to face him again. As he did so, his hands came to rest on your hips, much lower than before. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

Before you could say anything, Minho stiffened as he looked up and past you. “I need you to make out with me,” he said quickly, bringing his lips to your ear. “Please, I’m begging, Y/N. I’ll explain later.”

“Wha—” was all you got out before Minho’s lips were on yours. Without thinking, you fit your lips more perfectly to his and kissed back. He tasted of sweet icing, white wine, and the salt of sweat from dancing. You clung to him, holding on for dear life as reality seemed to shimmer like a veil in front of you. And, Minho clearly thought now was not the time for half-measures, since he’d roughly pulled your hips to his—you could tell his pants were feeling far too tight at the moment. You gasped against his lips as he slid his tongue into your mouth. Minho cupped the back of your head, still holding your hip like a lifeline in a storm. 

“Hey, if you’re not gonna dance, get off the dance floor!”

“Get a room!”

“Ooooh, hot!”

You broke the kiss, blushing at the comments from people around you and at how enthusiastically you’d kissed him back. You were both panting slightly. 

“Min,” you breathed. “What was that— Why— We just—”

Minho interrupted you with another peck on the lips, then pulled you with him off the dance floor. “Let’s get out of here.”

You followed Minho out from under the tent, away from the people and lights and wine that flowed like Dionysus himself presided over the bar. The memory of the softness of Minho’s lips on yours buzzed through your veins, making you feel warm honey. When you reached an old maple, you stopped, still holding hands.

“Minho, why did we just make out?” you said, looking up into his face. “Not that I minded!” you added quickly.

“Seonghwa was coming toward us and he, well—” Minho looked uncomfortable. “He has a history of trying take away the people I’m dating. I wasn’t about to let him get you.”

“But, we’re not dating . . .” you said, hearing how uncertain you sounded and mentally kicking yourself.

“He didn’t have to know that,” Minho said, his voice firm. “I still didn’t want him worming his way between us.” He reached up and lightly ran his fingertips along the line of your cheekbone. You couldn’t help yourself—you leaned into his touch.

The winking of fireflies in the trees on the far side of the lawn made it look like Minho was surrounded by stars. The next words you spoke took all your courage, and then some, to say. “What if we did date, Min?” 

Minho didn’t bother with a lengthy speech detailing the reasons he wanted you. He didn’t fall to his knees and clutch at your skirts, professing his love in verse. He didn’t walk away. Instead, Minho cupped your face in his hands and brought his mouth to yours again.

“Yes, yes,” he said in between kissing your cheeks, your lips, your eyelids, everywhere he could. “Oh Y/N, love, please.” The last word came out a little strangled.

You ran your fingers through Minho’s hair, holding him to you as you all but devoured each other. The fabric of your dress against your skin suddenly felt too tight, and all you wanted to do was yank it off yourself. Instead, you settled for untying Minho’s bowtie and starting on his buttons. At the same time, he began working at the lacing of your gown.

“We,” Minho gasped, “should go back to the car. We can’t just— Not under a tree.”

You giggled at how close you’d come to tearing each other’s clothes off in the middle of a public lawn. While it was still early in the evening, it wasn’t that dark yet. “Come on, then,” you grinned. “We can time how long it takes you to undo the lacing of this fucking dress.”

It turned out that Minho was more adept at unlacing things than you’d expected, and you were soon out of your dress. Minho’s shirt was gone, too. So, clothed in far less than what you’d arrived at the wedding in, you straddled Minho’s lap in the backseat of his car. His lips on your skin felt like the fire that the fireflies in the surrounding trees seemed to hold. But his kisses were still the best, making you feel as though you partook of the sweetest ambrosia.

Your hands were still in his hair as his roamed your back and down to grip your thighs. Minho pulled you closer to him and nuzzled your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. Every time you ground your hips into his, Minho let out a moan so pretty that you thought you could listen to it every day. You were sure that you’d blaze up in a pillar of flame at any moment, you felt so full of frenetic energy. 

The heat between the two of you grew steadily until it was all you could do not to cry out. Minho’s body covered you, warm and lithe, and soon he murmured your name over and over and over again. Fireflies danced behind your eyes.

“I love you, Y/N,” Minho whispered, holding you to his chest as you curled up on the seat together—your dress made a surprisingly good blanket. “I love you so much.”

“Min, please tell me you mean that,” you said, not daring to believe that you weren’t just dreaming, even after everything that you’d just done. 

“I do mean it, buttercup,” Minho said, kissing your temple. “And I’ll mean it every day of my life. I promise.”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

The Holly And The Ivy

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Reader, Sigurd/Margrethe

Summary: “I had this idea where Sigurd (or any of the brothers really) were to marry a Christian, but their marriage is dry and more political than anything, but Ivar is fascinated by her attitude (being opposite of him) and her love for life and simple things. He hears the reader and who she's married to talking about how she loves Christmas and he shuts her down, but Ivar decides to let her pick out a tree from the forest and put it up in the Great Hall and decorate it any way she wants. And the ending would include a kiss under mistletoe? If you can work with it.”

I’m very sorry if I dissapoint you anon, but the story was easier or smoother for me to write as a Modern!AU. I really hope you don’t mind. I can try something in the actual time period still, if you are not happy with au’s.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, passing mentions of abusive relationships (not involving any of the relationsips in the tag btw), angst, my poor attempt at holiday fics or holiday spirit. Also, a part is not smut or explicit but getting closer to it than most of my work, so that too.

A/N: I really hope I don’t dissapoint whoever requested this. Also, I made this way more complicated than it needed to be, bc I always do, and for that I’m also sorry. Hope you like this, thank you for reading!

The title is from a Christmas carol, cause why not lol

Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius​ (I realized you once asked to be tagged on my Vikings works and I forgot, sorry)

“When we are done with this trip we’ll go back home.” Sigurd points out one night as you both say goodnight, in some hotel somewhere in Norway.

“Home?”

“To my mother’s, in a week. Family time and all that.”

Before you are to leave for your own room, you call out, “For Christmas?”

The blond shakes his head, “Yule. You can celebrate your Christmas when we return.”

“That’ll be after the New Year!” You complain softly, offering a smile because you cannot help it.

“I will have to deal with Ivar and my mother, you can deal with this.” Sigurd sentences, the harshness startling you and prompting you to accept the words with a nod.

He mutters a goodnight again, hesitating for a moment on his bedroom door, as if questioning whether he should say sorry or not. You choose to relieve him of that choice, going into your own room and closing the door with a quiet click.

As if it were waiting for the door to close, your phone lights up on your nightstand.

How’s Oslo?

You type a quick response,

You could just ask me if we’ll be attending your mother’s celebrations, you know.

The response takes a while longer, and you cannot help the smile that pulls at your lips.

…Are you?

I expect all those lessons of yours with Floki to come to use. I’m going to need to learn about Yule, apparently.

So I’m supposed to teach you?

Who else?

Your fiancé. Is the reply you get, so fast you think he already knew what your reply was going to be before you even sent it. After a moment, before you can even think on what to answer, another message comes through. Nvm, my brother is useless. I’ll do it.

Your lips pull into a wide and stupid smile, and God, not even the shame at the quick beating of your heart or the warmth that spreads through you could make you be any less thankful for this, if anything. For him.

Thank you. Are you going to be there by Christmas?

This time the answer takes a while longer, and the indication that he is typing appears and disappears a few times.

I don’t know. Before you can ask anything, or send anything, a new message pops up. Princess, this doesn’t get any easier. I don’t know if I can.

Tears rise in your eyes because a part of you knows you’re meant to say goodbye at the end, and every time you are reminded, either by the pain in your own chest or Ivar’s words, that you are on borrowed time; you realize that end is close than you think.

Well, in that case, Merry Christmas, Ivar.

____

You find yourself being driven to that massive and fancy house by your fiancé.

You toy with your engagement ring as the car approaches the house. You know, rationally, that you have nothing to fear. The brothers have never been mean or hurtful -well, most of them haven’t-, and Aslaug has always been courteous and kind and…incredibly performative.

A part of you never ceased to feel like an outsider looking in. Between the pariah that a stupid business practice will be made into Sigurd’s wife, and the silent and soft woman they ignore as if she were another piece of furniture, you’d much rather be the latter.

“Heavy little thing, isn’t it?” Sigurd teases as he turns off the engine, motioning with his head to the rings on your left hand.

You don’t say anything in response, simply getting out of the car in silence. You know he meant well, he always does.

But a part of you that is hopeful and childish and still looks at the snow that starts to fall lightly over the ground as some miracle that means Christmas is upon us…that part of you cannot help but feel bitter about it all. Regretful, or, maybe, resentful.

You never imagined life would be this, engagement -marriage- would be this. You thought of happiness and warmth and fidelity.

Foolish hopes, really. The hopes of a child that watched her parents dance to the light of the Christmas lights, to the music of the soft music her father hummed. Nothing but foolish hopes.

So, when Sigurd steps out and hesitates in offering you his hand, you offer a smile and take his hand in yours, choosing to appreciate that at least the man you will be forced to marry is one you might call a friend, a partner, one day.

It is easy to forget, it is easy to let your heart be light and just enjoy the adorable giggles of Björn and Torvi’s children, the sympathetic smile of Margrethe, the warm and brotherly embrace of Hvitserk.

You are sipping on wine and watching Ubbe throw Asa over his head as she yells for him to throw her higher when a presence stands by your side and a wine glass clinks with your own in silent toast.

“I know you know about Sigurd and me,” Margrethe whispers, “And I want you to know I am sorry. But…I won’t leave him, not until he asks me to.”

If a year ago someone told you that you’d spent Christmas Eve being told by your fiancé’s mistress that she refuses to stop seeing him, you would have assumed the world turned on its head.

It did, but…you still find it in you to love this world that hurts you, this life that tests you.

You offer a smile, “I know you love him. It started as…”

“Gold-digging?” The blonde supplies, a sheepish grimace on her face.

“I wouldn’t be as unkind as to-…”

“You should. That’s what it was,” Her smile loses the edge, and she falters, “At first.”

You accept her words with a nod, and another sip of your wine.

“Then as long as you are discreet, I don’t mind. Keep him happy, Margrethe, he deserves it.”

You start to walk away when she stops you with a call of your name.

“And you don’t? Deserve to be happy, I mean.”

You hesitate, faltering for a few seconds too long. Her blue eyes are big and uncharacteristically honest as they look at you.

“I…”

You take your gaze off hers, because it feels like she will know something she shouldn’t, something you don’t want her to; but your eyes betray you, it seems.

“Oh, him. Well-kept secret, that one,” She states, and when you open your mouth to argue, Margrethe shakes her head, “It’s okay, I don’t…I don’t blame you. Even if I don’t understand at all how that came to be.”

“It’s…”

“Complicated?” The blonde supplies, and you allow yourself a smile, you loosen your shoulders and close your eyes with a deep breath.

“Ivar, he…understands me.”

“But you two are nothing alike,” She states, and at your shrug, concedes, “Maybe that’s why.”

“Maybe,” You offer, and after a breath, because bitter regret at being the thing that keeps her from the man she loves chokes you for a moment, “Margrethe, I…”

“Don’t you even think of apologizing to me,” She laughs, “Gods, woman, you truly are a soft thing, aren’t you?”

“I have the privilege of being it.” You offer with a kind smile, because you’ve seen the scars, because you remember her when she was more fragile.

Margrethe shakes her head, “The burden.” She corrects, and with a soft squeeze of her free hand on your arm, she walks away.

____

It’s on the day before Christmas that the last of the Lothbrok arrives. You walk down the stairs to a very early breakfast, and jump when the front door opens to reveal Ubbe and Ivar.

He came.

“You are up early.” Ubbe comments as he passes you by, dropping a kiss on your cheek.

You greet Ubbe absently, your eyes on his brother. Numbly, you hear him say something about telling Aslaug that Ivar has come home, and quick steps carrying him up the stairs.

Your lips curve into a smile, or at least they try to, “Hi.”

“Hello, Princess,” Ivar greets, what months ago would have been a smirk curving his lips. Now, now it’s more tired and worn than anything. “Just in time for your…Christmas, right?”

You nod, feeling the stupid urge to cry, “Yeah. Means a lot, you know.”

“Well, I could feel you pouting over the phone, love,” His eyes check the stairs before he moves aided by his crutch towards you with a wince of pain -the cold, you remind yourself, the cold making his legs ache-, and once he is before you, a hand that shouldn’t feel as tender as it does cups your cheek and brings your mouth to his. “I couldn’t leave you alone here. You always find ways to embarrass yourself.”

You chuckle, burrowing your head on his chest as you embrace him.

“I may have fucked up a few times,” You concede, eyes closed as you take in his scent, his warmth, “But I’m cute, I get away with a lot of things.”

____

As the timer on your phone dings, you get up from the couch, leaving a warm but strong drink behind, and make your way to the kitchen, ready to take out the sponge cake -no, a voice too alike Ivar corrects you, Bûche de Noël-.

Uneven steps behind you let you know of who walked in behind you, and you turn around with a slight frown on your brows, meaning to ask something before he interrupts you.

“He’s groping and kissing her in front of you, and you say nothing?” Ivar demands, anger shining clearly in his blue eyes.

“Sigurd and Margrethe?” You ask, and shake your head, “Why would I say anything?”

“You know about them.”

“Of course I do. He doesn’t hide it from me, and he shouldn’t hide it from his family. He loves her, and she loves him.”

“You don’t care that he’s humiliating you?” He presses, and you sigh.

“Everyone here knows how things truly are between Sigurd and me.”

Ivar’s mouth curls into a snarl, and cruelty spews from his lips, “Well, if you had let Ragnar know you had no problem letting your husband fuck whoever he wants, you might have been able to marry Björn, like your father wanted.”

You close your eyes, “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what, hm? Like someone that’s watching the woman he-…What am I supposed to be then, hm? What would make you happy?” He accuses, not losing the cruel edge in his voice even if you both know what he stopped himself from admitting. When you don’t answer, Ivar takes a deep and angry breath through his nose, “I’ve always been jealous of my brothers, you know this. Growing up their poor crippled brother is nothing to knowing Sigurd gets you and doesn’t even know what he-…what I’d do to be him.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Make him be the man you deserve!”

“He’s not the man I want,” You point out before you can keep the words trapped behind your lips. Ivar is inexplicably stunned by your words, it seems, and you lower your gaze. Resting your hands on the counter you drop your shoulders and shake your head, letting go of the previous argument and returning to…peace, or as close to it as one can get with Ivar. “Your brother deserves to be as happy as he can, with the woman he loves. It will not hurt me to see him with her. As long as-…”

“‘As long as it is discreet’, yes, I know. My mother and Ragnar have the same agreement.”

“It works for them, does it not?”

Ivar meets your gaze and doesn’t answer for a few moments, long enough that dread sets in your chest and questions arise in your mind.

Eventually, on the side of his jaw the clear tell of gritted teeth, he replies,

“Not as well as you think.”

“Well, Sigurd and I are friends, we…things will work out. They have to.”

“They have to, of course,” He mocks, moving his head as he rolls his eyes, “Anything to keep Ragnar and your father happy, hm?”

“Ivar…”

His eyes search yours, searching for the answer to a question he has not yet asked,

“I-If I asked you not to do this, if I…if I asked you for more time…” He leaves the words hanging between you, and you blink past helpless tears. He knows the answer, you know the answer.

Thankfully, you don’t have to remind him -and yourself- of the world you live in, of the lives you were meant to live, because the door to the kitchen opens and Aslaug walks through.

You keep your eyes firmly set on the tray before you, even though you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, demanding an answer. When he realizes he will not get one, he grunts, a clenched fist hitting the counter once before he walks away.

“I’m sorry.” You offer the matriarch as she keeps her all-seeing eyes on you, but Aslaug offers a smile. A fake one, but a smile nonetheless.

“The cold gets to Ivar, it makes him irritable. It is not your fault.” She soothes, but the smile you offer her in thanks still trembles. You both know these are lies you are sharing with one another, and though it makes you falter and stumble, Aslaug moves gracefully from one lie to the next.

“I’ll-…” You point behind you, to the living room, but the woman shakes her head.

“Surely you have time to help me with this?” She asks. It feels like walking into a wolf’s den when you nod your head and approach her.

“Of course.”

She watches raptly as you assist her in preparing the Yule Log, and you focus on doing your best to keep your hands from trembling.

“For someone that doesn’t follow the Gods, you know a lot about tradition, girl.”

“I…It was the least I could do, learning about what is important to your family, to Sigurd.” You offer, and whatever she -who always has the look of someone that sees beyond what normal eyes can- can sense in your words makes Aslaug stop.

She turns to you, and surprises you with a hand on your cheek. The woman towards over you, but the gentleness in her touch, the warmth in her eyes, they help you to not feel threatened.

“Still loving the world that hurts you, sweet thing?”

“It’s all I know how to do.”

Aslaug’s smile is almost sad when she looks into your eyes, “To love, yes, I know. Wish I saw that sooner,” You don’t know what to answer to that, so you offer her only a shaky smile and a shrug. Aslaug chuckles gently, “And you love my son, don’t you?”

The terrifying thought that she knows what she’s doing when not saying any names, the realization nothing gets past her and neither did whatever is between you and Ivar, it all settles in your stomach with a dead weight.

Still, whether she asks about Sigurd or Ivar, the answer is the same.

“Yes.”

One as a friend, a partner, a man you can learn to respect and build a life alongside of. The other, as everything you ever wanted, as someone that will always make you wonder about the ‘what if’s.

She shakes off whatever takes a hold of her, and before you can ask what she means, why it pains her, she steps back from you and turns her back to you.

“You know, Ragnar isn’t the only one in this family with an eye for business. I was once in the same position you are now, the heiress to an empire,” Aslaug’s smile seems to thaw as she hands you a refilled glass of wine to match hers. Resting her backside on the counter behind her, she continues, “My parents were able to teach me a few valuable lessons before their death.

She grabs your left hand, stopping you. Her eyes look deeply into yours, but her thumb rolls your engagement ring on your finger.

“Like how to understand when I can’t make any more moves. And when I can change the wording in a deal to make it favor me.

Your lips part, you think to say something, but Aslaug stops you with a smile.

“Let’s hope you’ve learned the same lessons, my dear.”

____

Ubbe is dancing with Asa standing on his feet, and you watch with a smile on your face as the family enjoys time together, and celebrates the holidays in their own way.

A part of you misses the Christmas lights, the decorations you’d help your parents put up when you were a kid. A part of you misses how simple life was back then, how in this time of year you could forget there was a world past the snow drifting down and the warmth of a hearth and a home.

Ivar comes right up to you, but doesn’t sit next to you, choosing to remain standing.

“Grab your coat,” He orders, and at your confused frown, he rolls his eyes and amends, “Please.”

The most insincere please in the history of pleases, but you know you get more than most, so you don’t comment on it.

Still, you have to ask, “Why?”

“I-…a surprise,” He says, and insists you move with a gesture of his head, “Come on.”

You follow him to the small house the Lothbroks have by the pool, a cozy little home of big windows. When Ivar motions for you to go in ahead of him, a part of you is suspicious, but you still skip your way inside and try not to ask questions as to how it is so warm here when it should be vacant.

Ivar turns the lights on, and you find in the middle of the living room a Christmas tree.

The tree is bare, but still lively and familiar.

You turn to Ivar with tears in your eyes, because you cannot help it.

“You did this for me?”

“You love your Christmas,” He mumbles, embarrassed at the reaction his -to some, uncharacteristic- thoughtfulness got out of you. “I figured you deserved to have some of it with you here.”

“Did you buy Christmas lights?” You ask softly, almost moving up and down in the balls of your feet in excitement, eyeing the bags on a chair nearby.

Ivar chuckles, endeared, and nods, “Go ahead, Princess.”

You skip your way to the bags, quickly looking over the goods and already planning on how to decorate it, how to make it look pretty, how to make it yours.

You don’t truly know how long you spend on it, gleefully putting up Christmas lights, and little ornaments. During the whole time you spent excitedly decorating the tree, you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, and when you look back at him you find him staring with a strange softness in his gaze.

You choose not to think too much on it, and instead ask his opinion on the decorations, that he gives gruffly and with a very poor attempt at making you believe that -either because Christmas grew on him, which you find very unlikely, or because of your own happiness- he isn’t happy to be here.

____

You smile at the warm and twinkling lights, and burrow closer to Ivar’s warmth, refusing to take your eyes off the dancing lights and refusing to put your feet back on the ground.

Refusing to step out of the fantasy that this could be your life.

Ivar shifts his position, and you lift your head from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and meet his eyes in question.

His eyes give away so much, always have, at least to you. And now they reflect the warm sparkle of the Christmas lights, and they reflect hesitation, fear, uncertainty, love.

Before you can ask what is wrong, Ivar leans in, his hand previously around you tangling in your hair as his lips claim yours.

His kiss is always demanding, but this time it holds desperation in the way Ivar begs for your lips to part with his own, it holds an urgency in the way his tongue dances with yours, it holds a ragged edge in the shaky breath that he lets out through his nose, it holds a goodbye in the way he ends the kiss as if forcing himself to pull away from you.

You try getting your breath under control and your voice to be yours again, but he’s so close, and warm, and yours; and all you want to do is kiss him again.

Kiss him again, and make the furrow in his brow, the pain in his eyes, go away. Kiss him again, and pretend you are not living on borrowed time.

So you do.

You kiss him, and take control of the kiss, and make him groan lightly against your mouth when you tug on his hair, and whimper his name against his own when you straddle him and feel him getting hard underneath you.

When your need for breath makes you part from his kiss, Ivar wastes no time trailing fervent kisses down your neck, panting breaths against the hot skin that he kisses and licks and bites.

You moan his name, forgetting everything but the touch of his lips on your skin, forgetting everything but the scent and taste and feel of him.

Either at the sound of your voice or the grind of your hips against his hardening cock, Ivar’s breath stutters and he breathes your name back at you, voice low.

His brow rests against your collarbone as he takes deep breaths, and your fingers toy at the hair that flows down to his shoulders.

“You know…” He murmurs, pressing a kiss that makes you shiver right on the dip between your collarbones, “There’s nothing I want more right now than marking this pretty neck of yours. Leaving you with…” His teeth scrape against your skin, a tease both for you and himself. Ivar does it a few more times, and moves up your neck again. Your breath shudders past your lips, and you tug on his hair to remind him of what he was saying. You always did love hearing him speak. For all the months you spend apart, his voice telling you what he’d do to you, what he’d have you do to him, is all that keeps you warm. Ivar chuckles, but continues, “Leaving you with my mark all over you, where everyone can see, so…so that they don’t doubt you’re mine.

His hands tighten on your waist, before they travel down, caressing your thighs as he sighs.

“But you’re not, are you? And I can’t…I can’t do any of that. I can’t-…”

You interrupt him before his thoughts can get ahead of him, before he can twist himself into knots about the situation you are both in.

“I am yours. Only yours.” You remind him softly, your lips by his ear. You lean back so you can meet his eyes, and seal your promise with a soft kiss over his lips.

Ivar’s eyes search yours when you pull back, with the same look as before. Uncertain, lost, tender and yet almost sad.

“Marry me.” He whispers, keeping his eyes on yours.

“What?” You squeak, eyes wide. He couldn’t have…he knows that…none of this makes any sense.

“Marry me instead of Sigurd,” He insists, and as if remembering the part he forgot, he curses and hurries to fetch something from his pocket. He offers you a simple but beautiful ring, and swallows, “I-I can make you happier than he ever could, I…I love you.

I know you can, you already do.

I love you too.

But you can’t say any of that, because your breaths are shallow and your head is filled with thoughts and…and you need space.

You scramble to stand, to put distance between the two of you. After a few controlled breaths, you return your eyes to Ivar, whose hand has now fallen back to his lap even if he still holds on to the delicate ring.

He grits his teeth, the obvious tell at the side of his jaw, and he seems to want to divert his eyes from you, but he only blinks and keeps certain eyes on you.

“Your father wants you to marry one of Ragnar’s sons, he doesn’t care who. I…have talked with my father, he agrees that if you want to, we can…” He licks his lips in a nervous gesture, “Mother says any backlash from breaking the engagement can be handled.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“Of course I have, y-you’d be Sigurd’s wife if I didn’t think of something,” A twitch of anger, of uncertainty, of fear, on his face, and then he amends, “You still can be. But I want you to be able to choose.”

Choose me, is what he doesn’t say.

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and you try a few times before you can finally speak,

“Ivar, we haven’t…it’s been only a few months.”

“And it will not work out, that’s what you’re saying?” He huffs, defensive, “It won’t work out if you marry my brother either.”

“I-…this-…”

“Stop thinking of excuses,” He snaps, gritted teeth and hurt written in his eyes, “I’ll handle everything, no matter your answer. Just…just give me an answer, Princess.”

____

It is open ended cause there’s two ends to this, I wanted to leave the choice to you guys! So, follow the link for the epilogue of your choice:

Will you accept the proposal and be bound to Ivar, for better or worse?

Or will you stay with Sigurd, and be content with companionship and friendship?

Hope you liked this, even if it wasn’t very holiday-ey. I wish you all very happy holidays and a great (or decent, after 2020 I’m happy with decent) 2021!!

(Ik it’s like the 13th and I’m gonna be very much around here posting and bothering the whole lot of ya till the holidays and beyond, but holiday fic and all that, ‘twas the perfect time to send good wishes and all. Love ya!)

[derekmorganscrocs]

Nancy Drew 2x9

Thoughts While Watching

Spoiler Alert!!

Aw no poor bess. AW PLATANCHOR ACE! Oh besties so cute. Poor bess oh no

Odette coming through with the pessimistic vibes about the day. Me. Always. “Nickolas” HAHAH Odette please. She’s so sassy. “No I’m not au-revoiring, you are.” Nick pls. GEORGES TATTOOS- George is gonna die omfg. Pls Nick is the only logical one here. OF COURSE IT WAS GONNA GET STOLEN YOU PUT IT IN YOUR DAMN LOCKER.

oh it’s probably Gil, not Grant. Sorry I thought you were a murderer grant. NOT THE PIE. why’d ace sound so sad about the pie. TELL ME STONER BOY DIDNT SNITCH.

AW ACE THE LIL FLOWER. “Aw Ace I’m so happy for you :) now I’m gonna die :)”. I think that Grant is an informant or something.

Sassy thief bad boy, I like. But I also don’t bc he’s tryna kill george. PROTECTIVE NICK! Detective Nick 😏. OH ACEMANDA, okay. Ohh

Okay wait I kinda feel bad for Gil. But mans is still going to end george. Oh Nick is v hot okay. Protective Nick. I love him. And Gil is kinda noble despite the whole killing george and theft thing ngl.

Carson coming thru. Of course, king Carson thanks babe. “Ok can GEORGE weigh in?” Pls george you’re funny.

BESS OMG WHAT R THOSE? TONGS? Carson and Bess moment funny. “Are you alright?” He sounds so fine with it but also so concerned. AW CARSON FATHERING BESS TOO PLS I LOVE HIM. The Drew Crew is now Carson’s Crew Of Baby Ducks.

Okay I mean at least Amanda didn’t spill. She’s so pretty too!!! Okay but I kinda like the bobseys ngl. Sorry guys. Gil is also very hot. I bet their mom either isn’t dead or is gonna show up as a ghost?? Okay but I feel bad for them no. Oh do I smell an Acemanda scavenger hunt?

NO NO NO NOT THE FANSON FIGHT. AW NO PLS I LOVE THEM. HES PROPOSING?! Oh no nvm. DO NOT BREAK UP. DO NOT. Fanson scavenger hunt?

Oh is that b dead? No nvm they’re still breathing. OH GIL JUST DIPPED. Patience impaired- MOOD. OH THAT WAS HOT “wasn’t this more fun than picking a lock” WOAH THERE BUCKO. YEAH BUT WOAH.

“Am I crying too loud” BESS IS A MOOD. Aww Carson is trying to distract her, please omg. Dad Carson is so cute. LAWYER BESS, LAWYER BESS.

Oh that’s creepy. NOT A BASEMENT- NANCY UR DUMB. OH THAT WAS SO FUCKING SCARY WHYD THIS PRINCE PHILLIP LOOKING MF JUMP LIKE THAT- NOT THE BASEMENT. fake wall? Yeah Gil break down that wall. OH GOD IS THAT HIS MOM?

HE STASHES THINGS BESIDE THE POLICE STATION- WHAT?! I love that. Acemanda could be cute though? Maybe? Idk I need to decide if I can share.

ODETTE IS BACK. Nick is so over it. WHY IS SHE SO SALTY ABT BEING STUCK IN GEORGE LMFAO. PLS “granite, limestone. Be done with it” ODETTE I CANT. She’s outta pocket. “Oh, well. Odette called me an idiot.” PLS NICK AND ODETTE ARE SO FUNNY.

Oh it’s just drawings, I thought it was a body. Poor Gil :( wait I actually feel bad. Ok I’m here for Gil but he’s pissing me off with this whole shroud thing. DONT KILL GEORGE, U HOE. Mommy’s ghost is boutta show up. NO WAIT WHAT IF SHE WAS KILLED BY A GHOST. she totally was. HAHA nancy got caught. I laugh but that was awkward.

KILLED BY GHOST, OBVIOUSLY. “We’ve heard great things about your restrooms.” PLS. Ace knowing nothing about art. NANCY ITS UNKOWN THEYRE OBVS NOT GONNA HAVE THE NAME.

Dad Carson aw. Pls besties Bess and Carson. AWWW THERE WASNT EVEN A HEARING. Carson should just adopt the entire Drew Crew. LAWYER BESS! LAWYER BESS! I WANT LAWYER BESS! Dad Carson please adopt me too. REASSURANCE. I LOVE.

“Technically they sold it to nick” “What?” PLS NICK/ACE IS SO FUNNY TO ME. besties are so funny. SHES NOT DEAD I TOLD YALL SHES NOT DEAD. IF GEORGE DIES I WILL RIOT.

GIL YOU NEED TO CHILL. SIR. PLEASE DO NOT DO IT. DONT DO IT. Oop Nancy is already there. SHES STILL ALIVE I TOLD YOU GUYS. please poor Gil. Aw, I feel so bad. She was definitely actually being haunted, but I digress. No please poor Amanda. “Why would she tell you but not me?” HIS VOICE GOT SO SMALL. TWIN MOMENT. okay but Amanda coming thru for the Drew Crew. WOOHOO GIL REDEMPTION!

“Cheer up Boss.” IF BESS DOESNT KEEP CALLING NICK BOSS ILL BE UPSET. “There’s still an old timey French lady living in my girlfriend.” AW OMG. ODETTE NO-

GEORGE NO. NONONO. oh thank god nick and Bess got there. Bess coming through with the lawyering. Nice. Bess crashing and burning here. “If you do this to george I wont have to imagine it. George deserves to live.” NICK- FANSON- CRYING. CRYING. OMFG HE LOVES HER. NICK I LOVE YOU. FANSON. HUG HUG HUG SWEET CUTE WOW. tag yourself, I’m bess crying in the background.

Nancy and Ace- “says the guy dating his twin sister” HE GAVE HER HIS HOODIE. I AM JEALOUS NGL. I’m very immersed in this, don’t Judge me. NOT THE BANANA CREAM PIE, NANCY PLS. oh they’re holding hands???

Acemanda on the boardwalk, the writers are stealing my ideas, smh. See: The Dumpster Fire I Call Life (linked below) OMG “I only need one” THAT WAS VERY CUTE AND I HATE IT. PLS STOP. JEALOUSY. CUE MR. BRIGHTSIDE- TPAIN SANS LE T- WAIT A DAMN MINUTE. ITS HIS BROTHER?! DO I SMELL FRANK HARDY?

Sister’s Thoughts:

“Why is Ace dressed like a fifth grader?” (It was the blue jacket with the green zipper that made her think that lmao)

“I’m just me, without any secrets,” Carson said.

“Except for your secret boyfriend.” My sister is the number one Caryan shipper.

“Aw Nick is the ghost possessing your girlfriend bullying you? Poor muffin.”

DUMPSTER FIRE FIC LINK:

[d4rkwr1t3s]

Three Written Loves Chapter 2

Romoxiety and Intruloceit soulmate au where you are given a notebook to communicate with your soulmates at 16. You cannot say your name, address, place of school/work, number, etc.

TW: Mentioned cutting, not eating (not by choice), if anything else needs to be tagged please tell me

Chapter is in Patton’s POV with mentioned Prinxiety. Pat has a convo with Ro with a very slight mention of Remus

Fonts/Colors for the chapter from Google Docs: Virgil’s- Pacifico purple last dot  Roman’s- Pinyon Script red 4th dot

He didn’t know how long he had been walking when he came up to the school. It was still dark but the school seemed like a safe place to stay. Especially with class tomorrow. Only problem was the alarms so people didn’t go in uninvited or when it wasn’t time or whatever reason they were told this year. Patton yawned but leaned against a tree still out of sight from the cameras or people when they arrived and picked some sticks out of his hair. He was absolutely exhausted and dehydrated but he couldn’t rest yet. Not with school in how long? He had turned off his phone to keep the battery charged even if it wouldn’t work soon with his parents turning off his line. What did he just get himself into? Besides who could he call? He didn’t have any friends at this school he could rely on. Well not yet anyway. He hoped to make some soon. Could he hide in the locker rooms after school? Maybe? Last resort. He’d have to start eating in the lunchroom which was better than nothing. Patton let out a yawn before stretching, wincing at the soreness the action brings. He was pretty sure he twisted his ankle on a root but there wasn’t much he could do about that right now. He’d survive. It’d hurt but it wouldn’t kill him, right? He shook his head to rid himself of the thought before feeling the telltale feeling that someone had written in the book. Patton moved that backpack to his lap before opening it to get out his book and read it. Now he didn’t feel as alone even if he was all alone in the woods, in the dark, and with no sort of water. He scanned the lines given which weren’t that much but it felt like enough to him. If he went back and commented on previous statements would they notice?

Ro: Hey V… You up? I-

V: Yeah I’m up princey. What’s going on?

Ro: I… nvm

V: No. No nvm tell me

Ro: Just a bad feeling and arguments again

V: You’re not hurt are you?

Ro: No! I’m fine just thoughts

V: Just don’t fall asleep writing again. Remember-

Ro: Yeah yeah I remember. Don’t have to bring it up

V: I can feel your pout from here. Remember though-

Ro: I know. Just don’t leave me alone right now.

Ro: I’m sorry I’m supposed to be your prince no-

V: You don’t have to be all the time. Beside you’re already my prince and even princes need saving sometimes

Ro: Thanks V

V: Of course. Got the butterflies?

Ro: Yep! Ones even purple your special color. No harm shall befall any of them

V: You are so cheesy

Ro: You love me thooo

V: That I do. That I do

Ro: Didn’t you say you were moving?

V: Hm? Yeah. Moving in with my brother. Still in the car with him. I should arrive tomorrow morning if traffic holds up

Ro: Really hope its here so I can make good on my promises!

V: I wanna see you try but we’ll see. Maybe

Ro: Someday I’ll find you my love but I have to get up in an hour for school so Imma go to sleep

V: Sleep well. Talk to you later

Patton gently moved his fingers across the writing. So it was about 5 am. Not enough time to actually get enough sleep but enough to get ready. School started at 8:15 am but most showed up between 7:20 and 8:30 am. The halls didn’t open to students till 8 so he had 3 hours. 3 hours to look presentable and not look like he had just been kicked out and had been travelling all night. Did he take a detour? He didn’t remember the path taking that long. Well maybe it was the constant tripping or the slow pace due to not being able to see. Either way. Maybe there was a little house in the woods he could stay in for a little bit. That’d be too easy though. He sighed softly but slowly got up off the ground with a wince. Using this time to actually clean up a bit. He didn’t feel safe or comfortable changing in public eye. The sun was coming up now so it should be safe to go to the cafeteria to get something for breakfast. Maybe he’d see Roman again. Roman seemed trustworthy so maybe he could help a bit. He sighed softly before starting the trek up to the school, limping due to his twisted ankle. 

Ro: Hey V

V: Shouldn’t you be in class?

Ro: I aaaaaam

V: Then why are you writing to me. You’re going to get in trouble

Ro: It's fine just wanted to say thanks anyway for earlier. I’ll talk to you at lunch V!

Patton sighs and shuts his soulbook after reading the messages. Looking over at the male who just shut his soulbook not even three desks away in red pen. Roman Kingston. Well there was a small chance it wasn’t him. But what if it was? What would that be like? Patton shook his head slightly to rid himself of that thought. No. He had a mission. He needed to talk to Roman about staying with him for a few nights until he found some other place. Then maybe he’d finally write to his soulmates. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too upset. He didn’t ever want to hurt them. Patton sighed softly and waited for the bells to ring.

When the bells finally rang Patton stood and walked over to Roman. He held one arm in a hand as he waited nervously. Roman seemed to light up at seeing him before pulling out a container. He pushed through the crowd to get to Patton with that brilliant smile that almost made his heart skip a beat.

“Patton! I’ve been looking for a time to give this to you. It’s mama’s recipe. It’s in thanks for the cookies yesterday,” Roman moved to hand him the cookies that Patton hesitantly took.

“Thank you. Can I ask a favor?” He asked nervously while holding the tin with two hands.

“Of course! What is it?”

“Can I stay with you for a few nights?”

“Did something happen?” Roman’s face dropped into one of concern yet seriousness.

“Yes… It won’t be long if-”

“Nonsense! You can stay as long as you like. Mama loves visitors. Just meet me and my… brother out by J wing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive! I’ll text Mama later. I’ll talk to you later,” he smiles with a wave before leaving to his locker. Patton stood still for a moment with a smaller fonder smile. He pulls the cookies closer with a mutter of, “see you later.” He then walks out to head to class. One more block till lunch.

[roseamongroses]

Antithesis: “what do you have? “ I have a kNIFE” “NO”

[Specific-Summary]: They should expect growing pains. For not everything to feel right or make sense. That doesn't mean it'll always hurt, nor does it mean they can't have fun along the way. It's senior year. Everything may be different. It won't be senior year for long. Everything will be okay.

[General Warnings]: Implied Emotional Abuse, Implied Physical Abuse, Bad Parents are Bad Parents, Mild Sexual Content/jokes,Mentioned Homophobia, Mentions of underage drinking (backround), Some Catcalling,Cursing , Self Hate,implied pregnancy talk/inability to become pregnant, adults arguing where the “kid” can hear it, adults drinking,

[Tags/mood:] highschool au,  fluff and angst but its all good, chat fic, teen stress, its flordia no snow we die like men [Pairing:] Roceit (Roman Sanders/ Deceit Sanders), hinted future/possible logince/roloceit/loceit [Characters]Roman Sanders/Deceit (Dmitri) Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy (Sleep) Sanders, Nate Sanders, Dragon Witch (Diana) Remus “The Duke” Sanders (minor/brief)

(Ao3) (Previously)

(8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15)

(16) (17) (18) 

L: I May Have Lost Roman

V: nice

P: not nice :)

V: i feel vaguely threatened

Rem:@L how the fuck did you manage that Rem: nvm i know how just give me details

L:I don’t know ? One second we were at check out L: Next minute he was Gone and Nieve is looking suspicious

L:Hold on lemme ask Dmitri

V: why is he there

L: I mean he’s actually pretty chill L: But he dropped Roman off and Nieve got attached L:I’m...not sure if she’s planning on letting him go?

V:logan, my friend, my buddy, V:the only person in this chat with basic reading comprehension

Rem: that’s pretty fair

P: it really is tbh

V: Send. Pictures.

L: Okay L: Slight Issue

V: you lost the snake too

L: I lost Dmitri too and Nieve is not spilling

Rem: oh they’re defeinately fucking

L:...Where? The bathroom?

Rem: Don’t knock it till you try it ;)

V: not to be that guy but im vetoing this discussion V: cause thats a Yikes even for you Remy

L: Alright time to find them

Rem: check ;))) the;))) bathrooms ;;))))

L: Remy.

Rem: alrighlright too far ill stop

L: Thank you.

V: keep me updated V: i only have silence and physics homework as company

L:Huh L:Found them

L: Roman….found a katanna…

V: im sorry WHAT V: Why The Fuck Does He Have A Sword

Rem: drop the location of that store man

L: 1) It’s a Katanna L: 2)I will certainly Not. L: 3) He’s trying to convince Dmitri why he should have it

L…..and Dmitri looks more amused then concerned

V: if I can't have a tarantula he sure as hell cant have a sword

L:I told him it was probably fake/ poorly made and that he should take the time to invest the proper skill in money in a real one

V: goddamit logan you cant logic roman.

L: It worked. He put it back. L: So I say I can do what I want with roman

Rem: some spicy takes from the chats only brain cell ;)

---

“So you’re turning eighteen, in a few months. ” His aunt said, dabbing her cheeks with a napkin. She still managed to hold an air of prestige despite getting utterly shitfaced the night before. Her appointments have been going well.

Dmitri looked up, masking his surprise and holding his tongue.

Dr. Montag looked over, quieting the running water and placing the dish was he was cleaning down, “Really?” he said, brushing his hands, “You got any plans?” he asked, Dmitri.

“Oh we usually do something small,” His aunt interjected, “But seeing as he’s my father’s favorite grandchild,” Only grandchild, “He’s is flying from Paris to join us. And he was never a man of modesty so I’ve been thinking about doing something special for the occasion.”

Oh.

Dmitri fought the smile creeping on his face, ducking his head. He shouldn’t be surprised that she remembered after all if his grandfather was visiting. It’s how he got his phone, laptop, his car.

It’s probably why she puts up with him, to begin with. Cause it wasn’t guilt.

“--We should get your hair cut,” She continued, and Dmitri snapped out of his thoughts, “Maybe invite Diana--he’d like her,” she murmured.

“Diana and I a-” He closed his mouth, and his aunt’s eyes shot over.

“You broke up?” She narrowed her eyes, examining her nails, “Huh, makes sense seeing as...” she gestured at him vaguely, “So who have you been sneaking around with?”

“I’m not sneaking around with anyone,” Dmitri said, meeting her gaze. And technically he was right, it’s not sneaking if she just hasn’t been asking. And he’s given up on telling.

Dr. Montag’s eyebrows knitted together confused,” Well that isn’t true,”

Dmitri’s eyes went wide, stomach sinking.

His Aunt’s grin spread, “Oh really?”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck--

“He’s been helping me out, hon,” Dr. Montag set down a glass of water and pills beside her plate, “You’ve been so stressed lately,” he looked guilty and produced some tickets, “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Her face softened and like that the tension left the room. Those two got to linger in whatever lovey-dovey spell had taken hold of them in the last few months, but Dmitri was still on edge.

She still kept him on edge, but he could get her back. Even the playing field. Anytime he could leave this—Anytime he could flip this switch and put her on edge and make her—

He stopped eating, setting his plate aside.

He felt sick.

---

R:helllloooo R:anyone up R: sigh R: allll by mySELLLLF

L: Roman?

R: the one and lonely yes hello human contact???

L: Are you alright? It’s 3 am why are you still awake?

R: why are YOU up mm????

L: My parents have newborn twins. What’s your excuse?

R: well fuck got me there

R: i was texting dee but he was rlly tired and i stILL can’t sleep

L: Any particular reason?

R: u m

L: Private chat?

R: please

- [TheTruthAboutTheMoon]

TheWalkingMouth: Okay shoot

Cowboy:it's stupid

TheWalkingMouth: I’ll tell you if it's stupid or not just say it

Cowboy: i just….like Cowboy: it's all kinda….hitting me a ll at once and i Really don’t like thinking about it but i cant bottle shit up either like you bastards so i feel like the human equivelent og a washing machine with too much laundry in it

TheWalkingMouth: Then don’t? TheWalkingMouth: Even if it's too ‘stupid’ for me I’m sure Dmitri wouldn’t mind

Cowboy: yeah but i feel like im going to say something shitty to him i Cowboy: like we should talk about it Cowboy: and i will Cowboy: but not now--later when it's not too stressful for either of us

TheWalkingMouth: Why would you say something shitty?

Cowboy: idk id jst get frustrated trying to explain it Cowboy: like hes smart as hell and probbaly get it without me saying anything but like Cowboy: I have neither the patience nor articulation right now to explain like a civil person and he doesnt need me being shitty about it

Cowboy:like,,,,,for example,,,,, if he fucks up in school, he’ll get recommended a tutor and teachers would assume hes doing his best and hes such a sweet and quiet boy

Cowboy: like he is sweet!!but hes a little shit too!! And gets away with it!!! Half those pranks he pulled on virgil, as Iconic as they were he never got in trouble for them!!!

Cowboy: when i fuck up i

Cowboy: god it's stupid

TheWalkingMouth: Might not get a second chance? Yeah I get it.

TheWalkingMouth:Remember when I first transferred here? None of the teachers would take me seriously bc of my accent and if they did, they were afraid of me. I could repeat something another kid said word for word and still be told I had an attitude.

Cowboy: god i remembered that Cowboy: you answered his yes or no questions in a fuckin montone, quiet ass voice and he legit called in the office cause he got scared of a goddamn freshman

Cowboy: But ye when i fuck up Cowboy: im suddenly the lazy ass brown kid who should spend less time corrupting youth with my feminine hips and curls Cowboy: like it's not like a lot of them say it outright but it feels like if im not perfect im fufilling all the stereotypes

TheWalkingMouth: Ah okay, rant away

Cowboy: OK like like like im not like virgil right?? in a lot of ways and it fuckin shows

Cowboy: he’s been planning on going into engineering since sixth grade meanwhile i only got my shit together in highschool

Cowboy: and like now that im here/???what now??? My mother expects me to have my shit together meanwhile im over here freaking the fuck out over whether not it's worth it to even try Cowboy: like yes mother i want to go to an art/or librel arts school that may or may not accept me that we may or may not afford to find a career in who the hell knows because if i have to sit in a healthcare class or a applied mathmatics class like you did i miight actually shank the professor????

Cowboy: that i dread the thought of not trying to explore my options outside of this fucking state but i dread the thought of going bc i cant stand the thought of being away from home but i cant fucking find a reason to stay cause everyone i love is leaving or planning their own life anyway???

Cowboy: like remys gunna fuck off to who knows where regardless of whether or not he has a plans or money, pattons gunna take care of his grandmother whereever the fuck a canada ,moms moving in with tia, virgils already mentally flipping me off ready to fuck nasa , and i only fucking hope dmitri even getss the chance to choose where he goes but hes g o n e and i die from yearning behind a screen like the gay victorian i am , and you….i actually dont know

TheWalkingMouth: Teaching for either biology or physics

Cowboy: huh it fits but what about chemistry??

TheWalkingMouth: Fuck chemistry.

Cowboy: oh thank god we’re on the same page

TheWalkingMouth: Anyway, I assume you’re more worried about whether you should apply rather then if you could get in?

Cowboy: i think so

TheWalkingMouth: Well if my opinion means anything to you

Cowboy: more than you’re assuming but yeah continue

TheWalkinMouth: Wait

Cowboy: nothing nothing continue

TheWalkingMouth: Okay-- I think you should go for it but you don’t need to dive head first into it and commit to everything 100% like virgil did.

TheWalkingMouth: You’re allowed to keep your options open, to have backup plans for back up plans

TheWalkingMouth: It doesn’t mean you’re not passionate about your art. Doesn’t mean you’re inevitably going to get a office job and abandon all your dreams. It means you’re being smart and not backing yourself into a corner

TheWalkingMouth:It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay not to have it all figured out

TheWalkingMouth: Nobody does.

TheWalkingMouth: Even if no one else gives you a second chance at least give yourself a second chance.

TheWalkingMouth: It’s perfectly normal to be afraid to fuck up and get fucked over TheWalkingMouth: That doesn’t mean you will everytime TheWalkingMouth: And it certainly doesn’t mean it's the end

Cowboy:

Cowboy:

Cowboy:

[...Cowboy is typing…]

---

@daflangstlairde

@ace-anx

@cataclysm-al

[aprettysonnetfic]

For Those Below Ch 1

Wild Heart Part 3

Kyle Brooks, unable to reach either Warren and Ben, has a bad feeling that something has happened to them. His search for answers reveals a witches plot to get revenge against The Grey Lords. Kyle and Mercy have to team up to rescue Ben, who has been taken as leverage while the rest of the pack is out of reach.

AU in the Mercy-verse

Rated T - please mind the tags

Kyle is a BAMF, and no one can tell me otherwise.

Read on AO3

As soon as Kyle Brooks leaves the courtroom, he looked at his missed calls and texts. He loosens his red Ferragamo tie as he pulls up the missed call from Warren, his werewolf lover and mate. He'll check the four texts from Ben, the British werewolf that had become very dear to both of them over the last few years, as soon as he's talked to his mate. He presses the first speed dial and Warren picks up after two rings.

"Hey there Sexy Cowboy, what are you wearing?" he asks by way of greeting. Warren is tall, lanky, rugged and 100% pure Texas, which thrills Kyle to his Gucci loafers.

"Hm.. as much as I'd like to answer that, Darlin', I'm in mixed company," he replies with his sweet Texas twang, all loose vowels and soft consonants. It's code for werewolf business is going down and I can't say anything. The smile on Kyle's face drops off.

"You okay, love?"

"Right as rain. I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Please do. Oh! Before you go, is Ben with you? He texted me and I haven't had a chance to read them yet."

"Naw, he's working on his car," which was code that Ben was with Mercy.

"Thanks, baby. I love you. Be careful."

"Will do. Love you, too, Darlin'."

Warren hangs up with a click and Kyle quickly opens Ben's texts.

10:28 am

Kyle, Warren said to tell you that he has to go out to Uncle Mike's. He knows I'm not his f*ck*ing messenger boy, right?

10:28 am

Nvm told him myself. He flipped me off I'm so proud

I'm being sent over to Mercy's f*ck*ing garage to keep an eye on her fyi

11:02 am

Something happened & Adam told her to stay put & now she's pissed about it. she keeps FIXING CARS in my direction like it's my bloody fault

11:17 am

send help. she's threatening to s*dd*ing teach me how to change an oil filter for my own good. I know s*d all about cars. . call me when you get out of court

Kyle looks at the time and sees that it's 11:47 then presses his second speed dial to get Ben's phone. It goes to voicemail.

"Ben, it's Kyle. I'm sorry I didn't call back in time to save you from Mercy, darling. If you come greased up to the house tonight I'll ask you to change MY oil, too," he says with a laugh and blows a kiss into the phone for extra effect before he hangs up.

At two he finishes writing a brief and realizes that he still hasn't heard from either Warren or Ben. He sends a text to both of them asking if they're ok and goes back to work.

A knock at his door pulls him out of his research on a case he isn’t sure he can win, and he looks up to see his secretary poke her head in his office, her coat and purse in her hand.

“Mr. Brooks, I’m about to head out, is there anything you need before I go?”

“It’s five-thirty already? No, I’m good. See you tomorrow,” he says as he fishes his phone out from under a stack of papers. He waves as she closes the door and heads home. He checks his phone and there’s nothing from either Ben or Warren. Concern grips his chest and he dials Warren. It goes straight to voicemail.

“Hey, babe, I haven’t heard from you or Ben. I hope you two are all right. I know you might be out by the reservation and not get this immediately. Call me as soon as you get this. I love you,” he says after the beep and hangs up. It’s not completely out of the ordinary that he can’t reach Warren so he quells the momentary panic. He could very well be in wolf form, or out of range, especially if he was out near the Fae reservation. Technology didn’t work reliably out there, so it could just be nothing.

Ben, on the other hand was more worrying. He hit the call button and heard it ring until it goes to voicemail and starts speaking at the beep.

“Benjamin, I’ve been expecting a call back. I haven’t heard from either you or Warren and I’m getting worried. I know how much of a trouble magnet Mercy is, so please let me know you’re okay. Right. Talk to you later, darling. Bye.”

He looks at the scattered papers on his desk and sorts everything neatly so he can get a fresh start in the morning. He’s too distracted to do any more work for the night, so he might as well go home. He plays with his phone, and makes the decision to call Adam’s place. Someone is always there and maybe they know what’s going on. He finds the contact number for the house phone and dials. After three rings, someone picks up.

“Hello, Hauptman residence,” a young female voice says over the line.

“Hi, it’s Kyle, is this Jesse?”

“Kyle! Hi! How are you? Yeah, it’s me,” she replies happily as she recognizes Kyle’s voice, “Are you looking for my dad or Warren?”

“Hi honeypie, I’m so happy to hear your voice. I’m looking for Warren, or even Ben. Are they there?”

“No, Dad and Warren had something they had to do at Uncle Mike’s and they haven’t come back yet. You know how bad the cell signal is out there, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I do. Ben was supposed to be with Mercy today. Are they back yet?”

“I didn’t know that. No, they’re not here. Why are you looking for that jerk anyway?”

“Oh, honey, what did Ben do now?”

“He’s just… ugh. He’s so mean sometimes. He told me yesterday that it looked like a mermaid died in my hair, because I dyed it blue and green.”

“That’s terrible, honey; I’m sure your hair looks beautiful! Do you want me to talk to him about it?”

“Why would you talk to Ben about being mean to me?” Jesse asks, baffled.

“You didn’t know we’re friends?” it’s Kyle’s turn to be confused.

“Nobody’s friends with Ben, except Mercy. You’re also a guy, Kyle. He’s not so mean to guys,” she says matter-of-factly. It makes Kyle sad to hear it.

“You’re right, and that’s a big problem with him. I do know he’s been trying to be better, sweetie, but changes that big don’t happen overnight.  You should just ignore him when he’s Ben the Grouch. I’ll ask him to be nicer to you if you want.”

“If you think he’d listen to you, which I don’t.”

“Well, I do,” he promises.  “Darling, I have to go. If you hear something about Warren and Ben, please let me know. You have my number right?”

“Yeah, I do. You’ll come by soon, right? You’re just about the only adult that listens to me around here.”

“Werewolves, right? I promise. Talk to you later, sweetie,” he says and disconnects the phone. He bites his lip and makes a decision to drive over to Mercy’s Garage, just in case something happened.

--

When Kyle parks his Jag outside of the garage, all the lights are on and the bays are open, which is odd as it’s past closing time. Mercy’s rabbit and Kyle’s truck are parked in the lot, which means they should be inside. He doesn’t see any movement in the shop, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t in the office. He pops the trunk and grabs the tire iron, just in case. The gravel crunches loudly under his feet as he walks to the closest open bay, loud enough that Ben should hear him coming. He looks inside and sees tools strewn about the floor next to a work bench, and the chairs from the waiting area are all flipped over as if they were thrown. There’s a werewolf sized dent in the hood of the old GTI that’s sitting in the second bay, and the window is smashed to pieces. He hopes that’s how the car came into the shop and not the direct result of Ben smashing into the car. His bad feeling goes from bad to worse, and pulls out his phone. He sends a group text to Warren and Adam.

6:25pm

At Mercy’s garage, looks like there was a fight. Will text again in five, don’t call til then Send help

He pockets the phone and hefts the tire iron. Its heavy weight is comforting in his hands and does a couple squats to limber up his legs. If he has to fight, he will. He had a black belt, after all, even though he was terribly out of practice, he could kick ass. Hopefully if it came to that, it was a human foe and not a supernatural one.

Kyle scans the shadows of the garage, looking for anything that could be hiding there and finds nothing. Slowly, and as quietly as he can, he starts walking to the office door.

The door is ajar, which is wrong. Mercy makes sure the door is always kept closed to keep it the comfortable  temperature of whatever she’s set the HVAC at. He looks into the room and it’s dark, which isn’t good. He doesn’t have werewolf vision, so he can’t see beyond the strip of light that shines in from the garage.

He thinks he sees a booted foot on the floor, attached to a slim figure which is Mercy-shaped. He pushes the door open with the tire iron and reaches for the light switch and flips it on. Suddenly the room is bathed in light and that is most definitely Mercy sprawled on the floor.

He quickly scans the office to make sure there’s no one else there and rushes in to check on her. He drops the tire iron with a loud clang and he checks her pulse. Thankfully, she’s breathing, her pulse is strong, but she’s got several ugly bruises on her face and a split lip that is still oozing blood into a pool on the floor. Whatever happened here wasn’t that long ago. He gently shakes her arm. She moans and starts moving around as she comes to.

“Careful there, Mercy, take it easy. Can you sit up? Is anything broken?” he asks as he gently helps her turn over.

“Kyle? Where’s Ben? There was a witch and then a fight,” she slurs as she sits up and rubs her head, “Ouch.”

“I didn’t see Ben. He’s not in the garage and both of your vehicles are still parked out front. I’ll go look around back. Here, your lip is still bleeding,” he says as he pulls a clean handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her, “I’ll be right back, so sit still and rest for a minute.”

“Thanks. Be careful.”

“I will. I haven’t been able to reach Adam or Warren, but I texted them to send help. Be right back.”

Kyle picks up the tire iron and does a quick perimeter search. He doesn’t find Ben, which scares him. He pulls his phone back out and sends the promised text to Adam and Warren.

6:31pm

Mercy’s here but was roughed up. Ben was probably taken. She says there was a witch. Call me ASAP

He walks back into the garage and Mercy has pulled herself off the floor and is sitting in the office chair pressing the handkerchief to her lip.

“He’s gone. How bad are you, hon? Can you walk?” He asks and rubs her shoulder gently. She winces and he stops with a muttered apology.

“I can walk. It’s going to hurt for a couple days, but I’ll be alright.”

“Good, now tell me what happened? Do you think they took Ben, whoever they are? God, please tell me he’s still alive!?”

“Ben’s still alive,” she says with certainty, “I can feel him through the Pack bonds, but he feels like he’s far away.”

“Oh, thank god,” Kyle says with relief.  “Can you find him?”

“I don’t know. I can try.”

“Does all of this have to do with the meeting that was going on at Uncle Mike’s earlier today?”

“How do you know about that? Nevermind, you’re Warren’s mate, of course you’d find out about it. The meeting was between Alistair Beauclaire and Adam, Darryl, and Warren. From what I understand, a witch named Euphenia has been seen near the Fae reservation and Alistair wanted to ask for help finding her. She’s got a bone to pick with the Grey Lords because they tricked her at some point. She wants revenge and she thinks that she can use the Walking Stick, though I’m not sure I know why; it’s not going to obey her. She has some sort of earth elemental under her control. That thing knocked me out. Ben fought hard but was knocked out while Euphenia kept me busy. She left without the Walking Stick, and probably wants to use Ben as leverage for it.

“Can you tell if he’s hurt?”

“I don’t… think… so? He alive and not happy, that’s about all I can tell through the pack bond right now. If we can get a hold of Adam, he probably could tell us more.”

“I texted them back and told them to call me ASAP, but so far nothing. Do you think they’re on the Reservation and just not getting service?”

“I can’t tell, but if they’re out there, that’s most likely. We may be on our own.”

“Mercy, we have to get Ben back. I don’t want to think about what she might be doing to him! He’s got enough issues without this on top of everything else.”

“You two seem to be pretty close. Huh. When did that happen? He’s never really said anything about you other than you and Warren make him come over for “shitty” movie nights.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. When does Ben ever really talk about himself? He bitches and grumbles, yeah, but he’s really good at not saying much about himself. He doesn’t have many friends in the pack from what I understand, and unfortunately, a lot of them think that being gay is a communicable disease. If they found out that we’re close, some of them might think he’s another one of us fags and start causing trouble. He’s got enough problems without dealing with homophobic werewolf assholes.”

“Good point, but still, I thought we were friends.”

“He respects you, Mercy. That’s more than most people get from him,” Kyle says gently.

Werewolf ideas of sexuality piss Kyle off, and he tries not to think about it most of the time. He and Warren get plenty of flack from certain members of the pack, and a small, but older, contingent of the werewolves still think that Kyle can’t be Warren’s mate because they can’t reproduce. That’s utter bullshit, he thinks, especially since Warren has explained that female werewolves can’t carry to term. It invalidates the whole argument of what makes a person a mate.

Ben, on the other hand, really doesn’t give two shits about who people sleep with. He’s of the new generation of werewolf that has the modern perceptions and acceptance of different sexualities. However, he learned to keep his mouth shut when confronted with homophobia in the London pack and has just skated along with the status quo.

Kyle thinks Ben is bisexual, but is so blinded by his misogyny and his past experiences that he’s repressed whatever sexual desire he might have. Or, he could be spaghetti and just not care about the gender of whoever he’s had sex with in the past because it was never anything more than fucking. Or not. Ben’s a mystery that Kyle puzzles over from time to time.

It really didn’t matter because being branded as homosexual while being a werewolf was a death sentence, according to Warren. Warren happened to be dominant enough and powerful enough to survive, but Ben most certainly wasn’t. He’d never risk it, even if he decided he liked men. Kyle hated that Ben had to deal with such archaic thinking, so he wasn’t at all offended if Ben didn’t make their friendship common knowledge.

“So what’s the plan, Mercy? We need to find Ben, but how?”

“I might be able to track him by scent if I become Coyote, if I can pick up a trail.”

“And then what? We charge into the witch’s lair, kick her ass, and save Ben? That sounds dangerous. I’m in,” Kyle tells her with all sincerity.

“Kyle, witches are incredibly dangerous, and you’re human. If we find her, we’ll have to wait for the pack to mount a rescue. I couldn’t face Warren if something happened to you.”

“I couldn’t face myself if she’s hurting him, Mercy. He’s my friend and I care about him. We have to try.”

“Alright. Let’s see if we can find them first, then make a plan from there.”

“No plan survives first contact with the enemy. We might be the cavalry.”

“Are you actually willing to die for Ben, Kyle?” she asks, amazed.

“Yes. Aren’t you?”

“Does Warren know how much of a badass you are, Kyle Brooks?”

“Of course he does. My ass is one of my best features,” he replies with a saucy wink.