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notlongtolove · 4 months ago

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away from home

you tried to focus, really you did, as introductions were made but the the air, heavy with expectation, proved to be too distracting. instead, you stood quietly as the introductions were tossed around, nodding politely, offering a smile where you could, silently trying to piece together who was who and how you fit into all of this. this work is part of the little red cap series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: flangst?

content: mentions of crime scenes and blood. lit student reader meets the team as she helps them understand poems leading to a startling discovery.

word count: 3.5k

note: thank you for all the love on part 1! i hope you enjoy part 2! please exercise a willing suspension of disbelief... #imjstagirl

a line: “Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, calm but with an unmistakable sharpness, “You brought her in without briefing her?” The disbelief in his tone was clear.

The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods Away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place Lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake My stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer Snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes - carol ann duffy

The glass facade of the FBI headquarters gleamed intimidatingly in the cold of the morning light—too polished, too perfect. You tugged awkwardly at your sleeves as you stepped through the doors following closely behind Spencer.

Inside was cooler than you thought it would be, though that made sense. Spencer had warned you without warning you, really—his rows of sweater vests and cardigans, each more sensible than the last, each dripping with practicality, had spoken for him.

Your turtleneck—cream, plain, nothing remarkable—had seemed like the right choice this morning, though now you felt absurd for caring. It was a little something you’d like to call the ‘Yes, I study literature, and yes, this is my life’s work, but if I get a detail wrong and someone else dies, please don’t throw me in jail�� look. Somehow it felt like the best you could manage under the circumstances.

The elevator ride was a tense, quiet affair. For a moment, neither of you spoke, till his fingers brushed yours—timid, tentative. A flicker of the timid Spencer you’d met many months ago—a nervous presence in the corner of a book club, flipping through pages with a reverence you still found endearing. The same Spencer who’d spent weeks tiptoeing around conversations about book spines and hardcovers, so cautious and shy, that you’d eventually asked him out yourself.

Today though, you’re the one on edge.

“You’re nervous,” he observed softly. "Don't be."

“Wow, Sherlock, how’d you crack that one?"

His quiet laugh melted some of the tension, and he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You tried for a small smile, but you were certain it came out as more of a grimace. Sensing your apprehension, he pressed on.

“They’re only going to ask a few questions after you’re done,” he said, his thumb brushing light, soothing circles against the back of your hand. “I’ll be there the whole time.” Before you could reply, the elevator stopped, doors sliding open with a quiet hiss.

One last squeeze, then his hand slipped from yours.

The bullpen—Spencer called it that once, you remembered—wasn’t what you’d imagined either. It was smaller, somehow, though not cramped. Papers stacked high on desks, smell of coffee lingering in the air. Maybe even a little quaint, albeit no less intimidating. A blonde woman by one of the desks looked up at the sound of your footsteps. She smiled, quick and warm.

“Hey, Spence.”

Oh. You didn’t know they called him that too.

Before her gaze could settle on you, Spencer stepped forward, the two of them exchanging in hushed conversation. You hung back, trying not to look as lost as you felt, your eyes roaming over the room as fragments of their conversation drifted your way.

“They’re all in there,” the woman said, jerking her head toward a nearby door.

“And the photos? I don’t want her seeing—”

“Took them down this morning. They’re only in the briefs.”

“Right, okay. Thanks, JJ.”

Spencer glanced over his shoulder at you then, a hint of something soft in his eyes before his expression shut down again, unreadable. “Let’s go.”

You managed a shaky exhale, pressing your lips into a tight line. Now or never, you thought.

The meeting room was dim, suffocating in its stillness. Blinds drawn, a table littered with files and mugs of what you assumed to be coffee—some half-empty, their rims stained. Names were exchanged, though too quick to catch. You tried to focus, really you did, as introductions were made but the the air, heavy with expectation, proved to be too distracting. Instead, you stood quietly as the introductions were tossed around, nodding politely, offering a smile where you could, silently trying to piece together who was who and how you fit into all of this.

It wasn’t until the blonde lady, who you now knew as JJ, spoke up again that your focus snapped back into place.

“...and she’ll be joining us for this case,” she said, gesturing toward you.

A man—Derek, you thought—grinned, leaning back in his chair. “As Pretty Boy’s plus one, or...?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Pretty boy? That’s a new one.

“Morgan,” the man at the head of the table cut in—sharp, commanding. That would be Hotch, you assumed.

Spencer’s answer came swiftly, without hesitation, “As a consultant.”

“And how exactly did you come across this... consultant, Reid?” A dark-haired woman purred. Her tone was light but edged with teasing curiosity. It was evident in the way her smile glinted, playful, though the man—Hotch, you were certain now—shot her a look that suggested restraint.

“At a bookclub,” you smiled, the words coming out steadier than you’d expected. It was a feeble attempt to navigate the tension or rather, to just get through it. Say something, say anything. It reminded you of school, moments when you’d latch onto the simplest question with the most straightforward answer just to feel like you were part of the conversation.

“Book club,” the woman echoed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Of course.”

“Reid,” Hotch said, drawing all attention back to the task at hand. “If you’d both like to start.”

“Yes, please,” Spencer said, the words slipping out a little quicker than he probably intended. “Garcia is the—”

“Pulling it up right now!” the redhead interrupted brightly. “All three Duffy poems annotated and transcribed as you requested—coming on the big screen in…”

You watched as she typed furiously for a moment before pushing a button. “Now!”, she finished.

Just like that, the familiar words flashed across the screen, casting the room in a soft, muted glow. “Printed yours on classic paper just for you, boy genius,” Garcia chirped, nodding toward the neatly arranged file in front of Spencer. He shot her a small, grateful smile. And while you made a mental note to ask him about the nicknames later, you couldn’t help but think how easy she—Garcia, you heard Spencer say—was to like.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The entire team seemed to sit straighter, their attention sharpening as the poems appeared on the screen. You forced yourself to meet their collective gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement.

“Well—” you began, standing slowly, but the word caught in your throat.

Taking a step forward, you willed yourself to focus, but the moment quickly faltered when your foot caught on a loose wire. The stumble was embarrassing as it was fast—awkward and ungraceful. Before you could even think about catching yourself, Spencer’s hands were there, steadying you with a firm grip around your waist. If you hadn’t been blushing already, you definitely were now.

It was—compromising, to say the least.

it was also impossible to ignore the subtle ripple of awareness that swept through the room. When you finally settled back into your chair—deciding that yes, sitting was definitely the better option—the awkward tangle of fingers and gestures only made it worse.

“Maybe I need to join a book club,” an older man teased, mock seriousness hiding his amusement. The flush on both your cheeks and Spencer’s was hard to miss.

Your cough broke the tension. “Right, um, well,” you said again, this time striving for steadiness. “I guess—Uh, I’ll start with the overall themes of the poems.” You winced internally as the words came out more like a question than a statement. Spencer met your eyes with a small, encouraging smile. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself.

Turning toward the screen, you were more than thankful for the familiar cadence the poems provided, a welcome anchor amidst your nerves. “Each of these poems,” you managed, your voice gradually finding its strength, “They explore different facets of longing, connection, and disconnection. They’re unified by Duffy’s ability to convey intimacy in a way that feels both personal and universal.” You shifted slightly, gesturing toward a specific line. “Her use of metaphors—like here in the second stanza of Warming Her Pearls—is subtle but evocative.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t leave you. You clung to his silent reassurance as you pressed on. “Note here, the words: ‘Slack on my neck, her rope.’ All three poems carry this underlying theme of violence—sometimes concealed, sometimes blatant.”

“Except in the last note.” Spencer added. You nodded fervently in agreement.

“All alone. Little Red Cap. There’s nothing subtle about it anymore. The violence in there is raw and deliberate,” You continued, glancing back at the screen. “As he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw. The glistening, virgin white of my grandmother’s bones.” You quoted the lines onscreen. “She’s angry. Vengeful, even.”

“It’s a significant escalation.” The older gentleman noted. Rossi, you ventured to guess.

“Right. The shift from subtle tension to overt aggression isn’t just thematic anymore.” Spencer added. “It mirrors the unsub’s own behavior in the crimescenes.”

Derek’s chair creaked as he leaned back, his arms folding thoughtfully across his chest. “And we’re thinking these poems are, what, a roadmap? A way to track how she’s falling apart?”

You hesitated, considering the question. “I wouldn’t necessarily say they’re a map, they’re not a reflection of her so much as an extension of her unraveling,” you said slowly. “We use this term often—It’s almost like a manifestation of how the violence is spilling out, consuming her.”

You glanced up at them, searching their faces for understanding. Hotch gave a subtle nod of approval, eyes fixed on the screen.

“And what’s most compelling,” you continued with growing confidence, easing the conversation back into analysis, “is how Duffy’s structure mirrors this emotional push-and-pull. For example, the enjambment here mirrors a lack of closure, a yearning that doesn’t quite resolve.” You point to another stanza, drawing attention to the jagged rhythm of the lines. “The abrupt stops and starts in her verse mirror a loss of control—”

“Sorry, enjamb—what?” Derek tilted his head, the unfamiliar term halting his question halfway.

“Enjambment,” Spencer interjected smoothly. “It’s when a line of poetry flows into the next without a pause or punctuation.”

The woman with dark hair—Emily, you learned—leaned forward, her brow furrowed as she studied the stanza on the screen, absentmindedly toying with a pencil in her hands. “So you’re saying the way the lines break—how they don’t resolve—it’s deliberate. It’s supposed to feel... incomplete?”

Spencer nodded again, eager to explain. “Yes, exactly. It’s a structural choice to keep the reader moving forward without any pauses.”

“Actually…” You paused, then glanced at him with a sheepish smile. “Yes and no. It’s not just about the movement. It’s also about the unresolved feeling it creates. The lines break without closure on purpose. It sheds light on the emotional chaos the speaker is experiencing.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone turning toward Spencer, who seemed momentarily taken aback.

“Well,” Rossi broke the pause with a dry laugh, “This is a first.”

Spencer blinked, surprised, then chuckled softly. “I guess I stand corrected.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t worry, Spence. We all have our moments.”

“Correcting Reid and cracking jokes?” Derek said, his tone teasing, “Oh, I like her already.” At that, even Hotch let out the faintest hints of a smile.

Once you found your footing, it was surprisingly easy to keep the momentum going, almost as if you were back in one of the classes you’d TA-ed for—a familiar, comfortable flow. It came with a blur of of questions, some serious, others lighter. That line, she meant it literally? No, Derek, we don’t know if Carol Ann Duffy actually gave her lover a real onion for Valentine’s Day. And yes, Garcia, I wouldn’t be too pleased either if that was my gift. Spencer’s gaze met yours time and time again. His smile was a little fuller, more open, and—dare you think it—proud.

As the meeting wound down, Spencer’s focus remained on you. You were speaking with Hotch by his office, nodding intently at whatever he it was he was saying. Spencer leaned slightly back against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, eyes following your movements. Even when Hotch’s phone buzzed, cutting the discussion short and pulling him away, Spencer’s gaze lingered on you.

“She really knows her stuff, huh?” JJ said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Garcia leaned forward, eyes sparkling with approval. “Oh, I adore her,” she declared with trademark enthusiasm. “Smart, funny—Spencer Reid, how on earth have you been keeping her under wraps?”

Emily quirked a brow, her smirk teasing. “Hey Reid, remind me again which book club this was? Might have to drop by myself.”

Spencer barely shifted, barely acknowledged their teasing. They’d caught him mid-thought, and his response was subtle but telling—a smile he didn’t bother to suppress.

“Pretty too,” JJ mouthed quietly, eyebrows raised, giving Spencer a playful thumbs-up as Hotch called her over with a sharp nod. She offered you a small smile as she passed you.

When you finally crossed the room to where they were standing, Spencer straightened, taking a step closer to meet you halfway. The fondness in his eyes was a quiet but telling softness that gave him away entirely. He couldn’t hide it even if he tried to—The way his expression softened as he watched you was answer enough.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice softer now, his hands sliding into his pockets as you stopped in front of him.

“Hey,” you replied, your smile mirroring his.

“You did great in there,” he said, his eyes holding yours.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile playful. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Spencer’s lips twitched into a small, lopsided grin, his tone carrying just the faintest touch of humor. Before you could roll your eyes at his cheesiness, he added, “No, seriously. Hotch had that smile—you don’t want to know what happened to the last consultant who didn’t impress him.”

You leaned in conspiratorially, lowering your voice. “He called me by my last name and all. That’s good, right?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “That’s basically your official BAU initiation,” he said, earning a laugh from you in response.

Nearby, Garcia and Emily exchanged knowing glances, their collective amusement barely concealed. There was an ease between the two of you everyone could see—comfortable in all the right ways.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked, leaning a little closer, your voice dropping into something almost private. “We can order in.” Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but Hotch’s sharp tone cut through the air.

“Reid. Meeting room. Now.”

Spencer’s head snapped toward Hotch instinctively, but not before he casted a glance toward you, worry etched faintly in the crease of his brow. Hotch’s gaze was intense, brows furrowed in a way that signaled urgency. JJ was close behind him, her own face taut with concern. Before Spencer could speak, Hotch’s eyes flicked toward you.

“Both of you.”

Spencer’s expression shifted instantly, his lips parting as though to say something else in protest, but the force in Hotch’s tone left no room for delay. Without a word, you followed them into the meeting room, Spencer falling into step beside you. He brushed his shoulder lightly against yours, just for a second—a brief moment of reassurance—before stepping ahead to hold the door open.

JJ wasted no time. She set the tone with her first words.

“The last note we received wasn’t the last crime,” she began, her tone marked by an undercurrent of urgency, “It was the first.”

The room fell into a stunned silence for a moment, then erupted into a flurry of questions.

“How the hell did that happen?” Emily asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was sharp, impatient.

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he replied grimly. “Pathology assumed the timeline was linear because the crime scenes were discovered only a day apart. But the toxicology report just came back—trace amounts of formaldehyde were found in the last one. Enough that it went unnoticed at first.”

“Preservation,” Spencer murmured, his brow furrowing. “The unsub kept the body.”

“So everything we’ve been assuming about the escalation—it’s off?” Derek asked frustratingly as he ran a hand down his face. “If the last note was actually the first crime, then we’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

You watched as Spencer leaned forward slightly, nodding in agreement. “The progression isn’t linear.”

“That changes everything,” Rossi said, “If this is just the beginning, then the escalation’s going to happen a hell of a lot faster.”

“That puts Warner first, doesn’t it?” Emily asked, “She was found along the trail off Route 74. So, that would mean her note is ‘All alone.’ Which poem was that from again?” she added, turning to you for clarification.

“Little Red Cap,” Spencer answered, finishing the thought for you.

“Who’s Warner?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew it was the wrong move. The room went unnervingly still, every pair of eyes shifting toward you.

For a moment, no one spoke. Hotch stopped mid-motion, his hand hovering over his face as if he had been expecting this but still couldn’t quite believe it. He let out a long, measured sigh, the tension in the room discernable.

“Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, calm but with an unmistakable sharpness, “You brought her in without briefing her?” The disbelief in his tone was clear.

Spencer froze, his posture stiffening, a mix of surprise and guilt flashing across his face. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then tried again. “I—uh,” he stammered, clearly flustered. “I thought— I thought it wasn’t necessary because—”

Hotch raised a hand, effectively silencing him with just a glance. “JJ,” Hotch added, his tone expectant. Without another word, she slid a case file across the table toward you. It was a clear, unspoken message. There was no turning back now. You were in this—whether Spencer liked it or not.

Hotch’s gaze softened ever so slightly when he turned to you, the reprimand fading from his tone. “Take your time. I understand it’s a lot to process.” You swallowed nervously and managed a small nod.

Hotch’s eyes flicked back to Spencer, narrowing slightly. “You know better,” he said, the reproach lingering in his gaze. Your heart tightened as Spencer winced visibly, his lips pressing together in an almost imperceptible sign of distress. His usually composed demeanor seemed completely undone, now clearly as rattled as you by the situation.

The team continued their discussion, voices overlapping in a controlled urgency as you turned your focus to the case file. The photos stared back at you, streaked with deep crimson, each image more brutal than the last. You flipped through the pages with bated breath as you fought to process the sheer violence of it.

Three crime scenes. Three murders. Three bodies.

Joni Munroe.

Nicole Jayson.

Eleanor Warner.

All women in their twenties. Young. Living alone. All stabbed.

A waitress. A dog walker. A student.

"Was there a connection between the—the victims?" you asked, the words awkwardly halting as they left your lips. It was a struggle to piece together the overwhelming flood of information let alone find the effort to form a coherent question. God, how does Spencer do this everyday?

JJ answered you, as if she’d been expecting the question. “They all attended Virginia West University,” she said, her tone steady. “But none of them had any ties to each other. Warner was the only current student. The rest had graduated, different years, different classes.”

You nodded slowly, trying to offer her a small, understanding smile. The room buzzed continued to buzz around you as Derek broke through the haze, his voice charged. “Babygirl, check reports for any bodies found in the past 48 hours.”

Babygirl? Okay, you definitely had to ask Spencer about the nicknames later. For now, it was a welcome distraction though, momentarily diverting your attention away from the unsettling splotches of maroon staining the photos in front of you.

“Bodies? No, the unsub wouldn’t have acted that fast,” Spencer corrected, his tone almost automatic. “Check for missing persons instead.”

Rossi didn’t miss a beat, nodding sharply. “Garcia, cross-reference recent missing persons reports. Check for females.”

“On it,” Garcia said, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. The clacking of keys filled the momentary silence. “Okay,” she said after a pause, her voice tight with focus. “I’ve got two reports from the last 48 hours. Marsha Williams, 63, homemaker, retired professor. And Jeanine Wayland, 26, worked at a gas station.”

“Wayland—She fits the profile,” Emily said, leaning in toward the glowing screen. “Young, low-income job. Garcia, do we know if she was from Virgina West too?”

“Give me a second.” Garcia’s voice was tight with focus as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

A shift stirred within you. If the last note was really the first, the team was right. It redefined everything. Little red cap. Your mind raced back to your conversation with Spencer last night. The wolf symbolized someone older, predatory. They were students, weren’t they? Yes—all three of them.

You swallowed. “Um, Garcia?” you asked hesitantly, your voice wavering slightly as the weight of the room’s focus pressed in on you. “Marsha Williams—what university did she teach at?”

There was a brief pause, the rapid tap of Garcia’s fingers on the keyboard filling the silence. “Hold on, let me check… okay, it says here she received the Action Teaching Award, Long service awards, 10 years, 20 years—Wanna bet she makes it to 30?"

"Garcia," Hotch said warningly.

"Sorry, sorry, and 25 years—all at—” Garcia's voice faltered, a sharp intake of breath following.

“Words, babygirl,” Derek prodded gently.

When she finally replied, her voice was taut with unease.

“All at Virginia West University.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader comfort

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little-lucub · 8 months ago

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HELLO OTHERKIN/THERIANS/ALTERHUMANS/NONHUMANS/OTHERLINKERS/OTHERPAW!! DO YOU WANT TO BUY AN ETHICAL TAIL BUT DON'T KNOW WHERE? IM HERE TO GIVE YOU TIPS!

Okay I'll stop talking in caps now, but here you have my tail guide for any and all people who just want a tail!

Cruel fur farms treat their animals badly, and it's best to avoid them. Here are some tips on how to spot cruel farms from the ethically sourced ones! (Most tips from here!)

Disclaimer: I would only be wary of items if they show more than 2 of these signs. Just do research before you buy!

Signs that indicate a cruel source:

- Sold/Sourced from Asia (Asia has bad animal cruelty laws, here's a list per country on how good their animal rights are)

- From Wish, AliExpress, Amazon, Temu or EBay (Even the 'faux fur' ones can be real and cruel)

- If they use stock photos

- Asian lobster clams (This does not always indicate cruelty)

- If they look thin, small, and generally unhealthy

- Any usage of 'mink farms' in desc.

- If they are bleached or colored

- If the price is low (Under 20-25)

- No info about source (Always ask the seller if you're not sure)

Signs that indicate ethical source:

- Scraps that were being thrown away otherwise (Should be in item description or FAQ)

- Lived long and happy lives (Item description or FAQ)

- Thick, healthy tails

- Population control/Legal hunters (With a permit)

Now I'll show a few Etsy shops I've confirmed to be Ethically sourced!

WolfBoyGirl

^ Cute animal tails with charms

Prices: €28,48 - €68,35

FoxintheForestAU

^ Coyote & Possum tails, would check each item separately to be sure :3

Prices: €11,49 - €38,30

Disclaimer! These do not come with clips, you have to add them yourselves

HandmadeFromNaturFur

^ Fox tails of all colors

Prices: €25,42 - €55,07

VeluwsCuriosities

^ Fox tails

Prices: €23,94

IowaFinestFurs

^ Raccoon, mink, coyote, raccoon dog/tanuki, skunk & lynx tails! (tw for a lot of animal pelts)

Prices: €8,57 - €19,98

Disclaimer! These do not come with clips, you have to add them yourselves

Etsy shops that sell faux fur tails!

scopermanstar

^ Variety faux fur tails with squeakers in them! Foxes/Canines, wild cats & nub tails!

Prices: €22,78 - €235,36 (Most are around €30-€40)

Cosearparty (Currently not selling items, sorry!) ^ Faux fur cosplay tails & ears (Mainly the bigger ones like cheetah, snow leopard, etc.)

Prices: €25,63 - €102,52 (Most are around <40 and are often tail + ears combo)

If you know any other ethical/faux fur Etsy shops, please link them and I'll add them here! :D

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kamayakya · 3 months ago

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How to Build a Diversified Stock Portfolio for Long-Term Gains

Building a diversified stock portfolio is an important strategy for investors looking for long-term financial success. A well-diversified portfolio helps manage risk, maximize returns, and protect against market fluctuations. While it may be tempting to enter the stock market on your own, association with professional investment advisory firms, especially those led by SEBI-registered research analysts, can provide you with guidance and expertise needed to make informed decisions.

What is a Diversified Stock Portfolio?

A diversified and broad stock portfolio of investments across different industries, industries, and assets to reduce the risk associated with investing in individual stocks by offering a mix of stocks from different sectors (e.g., technology, healthcare, energy, finance) holding, you protect against downturns in specific industries is one that can significantly affect your portfolio performance.

Diversification can also benefit from growth in various sectors of the economy. For example, if technology inventories perform well, healthcare inventories may not fluctuate as much, and vice versa. This balance of growth and strength can increase your chances of long-term gains.

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Stock advisory services provide expert guidance on where and how to invest based on current market trends, individual stock performance and economic conditions. One of the main advantages of using a business consulting service is that it helps you navigate the complexities of banking with ease. Here’s how these services can help diversify your portfolio:

· Expert analysis and recommendations: Stock advisory services, especially those using SEBI-registered research analysts, provide well-researched and data-backed stock recommendations. These analysts use advanced techniques such as technical analysis, basic analysis and macroeconomic indicators to find the best reserves for long-term growth and stability.

· Personal Investment Planning: A good stock advisory service prepares its recommendations based on your financial goals, risk tolerance and investment horizon. Whether you are a risk-averse investor looking for consistent growth or an aggressive investor looking for high returns, a portfolio can be diversified to meet your needs See the guidance of SEBI-registered analysts recognize that these procedures are consistent with industry regulations and best practices.

· Risk management: There is risk in any investment, but a diversified portfolio can help reduce it. A business advisory service helps you balance your portfolio by allocating assets wisely. They also ensure that the stocks you invest in don’t get too one-sided, thus protecting you from downturns in specific industries.

· Timely adjustments: Banks are dynamic, and financial conditions change frequently. A good advisory service will constantly monitor your portfolio and recommend changes when needed. For example, if the market.

Role of SEBI-Registered Research Analysts

The Securities Exchange Board of India (Sebi) plays an important role in regulating the securities market in India, ensuring that stock advisory services follow ethical guidelines and provide accurate information. A SEBI registered research analyst is a person or entity registered with SEBI to provide investment advice, analysis and recommendations.

These professionals hold the highest standards of transparency, accountability and accuracy. They must adhere to strict rules to ensure that their assessments and recommendations are unbiased and non-contradictory. When you opt for a stock advisory service that uses SEBI-registered analysts, you get reliable advice based on good research, reducing the chances of making poor investment decisions.

How to Build a Diverse Portfolio

· Set clear goals: Know your long-term financial goals. Are you saving for retirement, buying a home, or building wealth? Knowing your goals will guide you in building your portfolio.

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· Check and rebalance: Departments require continuous monitoring. A SEBI-registered research analyst will help you monitor market trends and suggest portfolio rebalancing if necessary.

Conclusion

Building a diversified stock portfolio is an important strategy for long-term returns and reduced risk. Using stock advisory services led by SEBI-registered research analysts provides you with expert guidance and well-researched recommendations tailored to your investment goals with proper advice you can build a balanced portfolio and collapse types that will lead to long-term financial success.

#best stock market advisor #small cap stocks #stock market advisory #stock market advisory services #top micro cap stocks

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indira-securities · 2 months ago

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Why Are Large Caps Falling Like Mid & Small Caps?

Traditionally, we assume that large-cap stocks are safer and more stable than mid and small caps, especially during a market downturn. They’re expected to fall less, right?

But right now, large caps are taking a hit just like mid and small caps. Why is this happening?

The Two Big Reasons:

Massive FII Sell-Offs:

Foreign Institutional Investors (FIIs) have been aggressively selling their holdings in India for months.

Since FIIs primarily invest in large caps, their exit is hitting large-cap stocks hard, even those associated with the top online stock broking company and other major financial players.

Mutual Funds Playing It Smart:

Many mutual funds had been holding cash in their mid & small-cap schemes, waiting for better entry points.

As the market dipped, they deployed this cash to buy mid & small caps at lower valuations, softening their fall.

Global Factors Adding Fuel to the Fire:

DXY Rising → A stronger US Dollar Index makes emerging markets (like India) less attractive for FIIs.

China Looking Better → FIIs are shifting capital into undervalued Chinese stocks.

US Bond Yields Rising → The US 10-year bond yield is offering safer, high returns, making Indian equities, including those from the top online share broking company in India, less appealing.

India’s Growth Concerns → Worries about GDP growth and expensive valuations are keeping investors cautious.

INR Depreciation → The rupee has hit an all-time low of ₹87/USD, raising fears of further devaluation.

What Could Happen Next?

FII Selling Slows Down → If FIIs reduce selling, it could signal a market bottom.

US Bond Yields Stabilize → A cooling-off in yields might bring FIIs back to Indian equities.

DXY Weakens → A weaker dollar could lead to renewed FII inflows into emerging markets.

INR Stabilizes → Currency stability boosts investor confidence.

DII Buying Shifts to Large Caps → If domestic institutions start favoring large caps, it signals renewed trust.

Retail Investors Step In → A steady flow of SIP investments could indicate the worst is over.

Final Takeaway: Stay the Course!

Market corrections are normal. Stick around, and they won’t feel as scary.

India’s economy remains strong. Corporate and national balance sheets are healthier than ever.

Long-term investors should keep buying during dips. Some of the best Indian stock brokers still see long-term potential despite the volatility.

Short-term investors, take note: Never invest money in equities that you’ll need soon. Stick to safer alternatives.

Stay patient, stay invested, and remember: market volatility is an opportunity, not a threat!

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chilling-seavey · 7 months ago

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hi hi i don't know if i already asked this and you're definitely going to write about this regardless but i'm still going to ask about this anyways :DDDDD *me, completely okay about this at a normal level: sending endless asks*

how did they meet? :')

↳ A/N For those of you who keep thinking that TWIG has to be some idealized universe where reader is some famous model with beauty and money to blow, here's a little reminder that us normal working-class girls can still get the guy <3

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 3.2k

↳ Warnings: None.

The lobby of the five-star hotel bustled with employees working to tame the swarm of fans outside the front doors. You stood at your place at the front desk, politely assuring well-to-do guests that their stay would not be impacted by the rambunctious crowds out on the sidewalk. As yet another unconvinced woman in a designer wardrobe stalked off with her nose high, you glanced back out the large glass windows that lined the front of the hotel, watching how the local police service worked to keep everyone behind the red velvet ropes.

You hadn’t been working there long—only a temporary summer gig since you had graduated university and decided to take a year abroad—and right off the bat you were faced with the divide that came with the upper and lower classes of society. Clearly, it didn’t matter which country you were residing in; it was everywhere. From humble beginnings yourself, you found yourself drawn to the crowd of ‘commoners’ outside the luxury hotel doors, seeing yourself in their passion, their craving to get a glimpse or a signature from someone they admired.

You had heard of Formula 1 before, seen a race or two here or there on bar tvs when you were out with friends, but never enough to call yourself a die-hard fan. So when your boss had gathered the staff and alerted you all that a few of the drivers would be staying at your hotel during their local race weekend, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited. It was a whole other way of life you weren’t familiar with; the glamour and stardom. Something so far away from your reality.

They were to be treated like royalty, your boss told you all very clearly in that meeting. Anything they want, they get. No matter what it is; make it happen. Some of their teams were sponsored by your hotel, after all, so there was no margin for error. The lobby had been meticulously cleaned, their suites had their bed sheets ironed, and everything was stocked and ready for whatever might arise during their stay. It was an almost insane amount of preparation just for people who drove fast cars, you thought, but who were you to argue?

You were alerted of the VIP’s arrival by the rise of volume from the fans outside the hotel doors. The excited screaming and chants of names and flurry of papers or caps being thrown around for a signature filled the sidewalk and you couldn’t help but try to raise up on your tiptoes to try and get a glimpse for yourself.

The front doors were opened by the doormen and two well dressed security guards ushered the group of young men into the lobby with bellhops following behind with their bags. You and the rest of the front desk crew put on your best well-trained customer service smiles as the small group of men each found their way to one of you.

You greeted your guest as you did any other; with your usual practice welcome and polite request of the name for their reservation booking.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted you in reply with a warm smile, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder, “My reservation is under Albon. A-L-B-O-N.”

You typed his surname into your computer to pull up the booking, skimming his details on his stay, “Alright, we have you booked into one of our executive suites with check-out scheduled for Sunday, is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s great.” he replied with a polite nod, pulling out his wallet to slide over his sleek black credit card to you.

You took down his details and processed the payment, slightly all too aware of how he stared at you with that almost too-friendly smile on his face. You cleared your throat and passed back his card, “There you are, Mr. Albon, you’re all set.”

The computer set his keycard and you scribbled down his room number in the pamphlet before passing it over as well.

“Inside you will find your room key, room number, and the Wi-Fi password. If there is anything else you need, we are only a call away and we will be more than happy to assist you.” you said genuinely, your usual spiel taken up a notch for the sake of your VIP guests.

“I appreciate it.” he offered you another toothy grin as he took the pamphlet from you.

Just then, one of the other drivers appeared beside him, giving him a clap on the shoulder, “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Alex slid his wallet back in his pocket. He then looked at you once more with a genuine, “Thank you.”

You smiled politely and gave him a respectful nod.

It was then that his friend glanced over at you from the other side of the front desk. You met his gaze instinctively, about to offer another well-practiced wish for a pleasant stay, but the words seemed to halt in your throat the moment his blue eyes locked on yours. He stood no taller than the lanky man you had just checked-in, both of them with impressive stature and casually expensive fashion sense.

But the one who had just joined, the one who was staring at you with the biggest, bluest eyes you had ever seen, took your breath away almost embarrassingly fast. This was your job. You were not going to let a man distract you from delivering peak customer service no matter how much he resembled a fairytale prince.

Much to your relief, he earned a smack against his chest from Alex who cocked his head towards the elevators with an impatient, “Let’s go.”

You exchanged pleasantries in parting with the two of them and you watched him walk off towards the elevators. You could have sworn that the handsome stranger glanced back at you as he disappeared across the lobby.

With the VIP guests successfully checked in and now out of your hair for the time being, the small group of your co-workers at the front desk gathered to talk hurriedly about who they checked in. You spoke about how Mr. Albon was so smiley and polite, another mentioning how her guest didn’t speak much but still offered her genuine thanks and a generous tip before he walked away, and another talking about how her guest acted like the most normal guy she had ever met that she wasn’t sure he was even a driver.

“Well, my guest was a little too distracted to spark up a conversation.” another one of your co-workers announced.

“Don’t tell me he was on his phone.” another groaned, “I hate that!”

“No, no,” the first smiled cheekily before gesturing towards you, “he was too busy staring at someone.”

Your eyes widened as they all looked at you with a chorus of ‘oooo’, and you stumbled out a disbelieving, “What?”

“Why do you think he came over to you after I finished with him?” she challenged.

“To meet his friend?! I don’t know!” you protested, your voice rising in pitch a little.

“Oh, girl, you’re so oblivious.” she tutted, “Seriously, he couldn’t stop staring at you from the second he got to my desk. I had to ask him twice for his credit card. It was embarrassing, really.”

“You’re such a liar!” you laughed nervously, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I have his room number if you want it.” she teased, elbowing you playfully.

You scolded her by name despite the flushed smile on your face at your shared banter, glancing behind you to make sure your boss wasn’t overhearing such risky conversation. Yet, your mind felt like mush upon hearing this new information, wondering what truth lay in her words. It was a ludicrous concept—there was no way such a high-society figure would set his eyes on the girl in the polyester uniform behind the front desk—but maybe it was fun to dream.

The hotel computers held all the information you needed to know about every guest that ever stayed there. It was a vault of confidential information from credit card numbers to private addresses; most of which you never needed to look at. However, when it came to the presence of your VIP guests, each of their files held important notes that one might need to know when it came to how to make them feel the most welcome. Likes, dislikes, little quirks, ways to calm them down when something went awry.

You were working the overnight shift at the front desk that Saturday night when the phone rang. It was almost midnight and the lobby was entirely empty apart from the doormen and a singular woman reading by the fireplace. You and your one other co-worker were manning the desk, both of your eyes flitting to the phone when it rang.

You quickly typed in the caller ID room number into the computer database to pull up the information on that guest. Of course, one of your VIP guests this weekend. This would be interesting. You lifted the receiver to greet him by name, “Good evening, Mr. Russell, how can I help you?”

Through the line, a calm and smooth British accent answered, “Hello, I ordered room service about an hour ago and I still haven’t received it. I tried calling the kitchen but there was no answer.”

“Oh,” your heart sank, anticipating backlash for such poor service, “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Let me handle this for you personally. Do you mind telling me your order again just so I can make sure the kitchen is working on it?”

You balanced the receiver between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed your notebook and a pen.

“I’d really appreciate that, thank you. I just ordered a chicken wrap and a mug of boiling water with lemon.”

You scribbled down the order in your notebook, “Perfect, I got that down. I will check on this right away for you.”

“Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Russell.” you replied before the line went dead and you hung up the receiver.

With one last glance to the computer screen and a few more helpful notes jotted in the margin of your notebook, you alerted your co-worker that you had to drop by the kitchen to make sure his order was being fulfilled. Leaving her alone at the desk, you made your way through the staff hallways and through to the kitchen.

The overnight chef—someone who barely saw customers and orders apart from the odd drunken request for French fries or cake—was leaning against the counter in the near-empty kitchen on his phone. The sound of the door closing behind you had him startling.

“Excuse me?” you said sternly, “We have a VIP guest who has been waiting for his room service order for over an hour. Where is it?”

“Oh-” the chef shoved his phone into the pocket of his apron and turned around in a circle as if he had completely forgotten where he was for a moment. “Yes, of course. Uh- what was the order?”

“A chicken wrap.” you replied in near disbelief. You then noted the kitchen phone left unattended and you walked over to it to note the ‘missed call’ light flashing. Turning back to the chef, you asked, “Where is the room service operator?”

“Smoke break.” he replied as he hurried to wash his hands and get to making the food.

“For an hour?” you gaped.

The chef just shrugged and tossed the chicken into the sizzling pan.

Although you had been starting to see the divide in class structures since beginning your job at such a luxury hotel, you also were learning that money couldn’t buy intelligence. There were going to be incompetent people anywhere and it just meant you had to take things into your own hands to keep things from falling apart.

While the chef prepared the wrap, you took it upon yourself to boil the water in the kettle and slice up a fresh lemon to add in the bottom of the mug. As per the computer’s notes, the guest’s favourite type of dessert was listed from the last time he stayed, so you sliced him a generous piece of cake and added it to the tray free of charge. (You figured avoiding the bottle of wine would be smart since he was in town to drive and those two things did not go well together).

Once the chef plated the wrap, added garnishes, and topped it with the metal cloche, you set it on the rolling table with the rest of your spread and made your way to the service elevator. You truly had to do everything yourself to get it done right, or so it felt.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ‘ding’ at the 24th floor and you carefully rolled the table out onto the plush hallway carpet. Silently, with your notebook in hand with all of your helpful scribbled notes, you made your way down to his suite near the end of the hall. Once you were outside the proper room, you pocketed your notebook and then knocked three times.

You weren’t sure who you were anticipating to answer the door but the handsome man who had been staring at you from the other side of the front desk only three days earlier was not your first thought. He wore a casual t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants, his brown hair still slightly damp from a shower and drying slightly at the ends in funny directions as it framed his face. It was endearing if nothing else. For a second or two, the two of you just stood there in surprise.

Finally, you cleared your throat, trying to remind yourself you were working, and you displayed the table-cloth lined room service table that held his simple late-night order, “I am terribly sorry about the delay, Mr. Russell. As promised, I made sure it was handled personally.”

“And delivered personally?” he replied with a small quirk of his lips.

“I- Well-” you let out a soft laugh, “Yeah, that too.”

“You’re too kind.” he said genuinely, stepping aside to hold the door open so you could roll the table into the suite. “Please.”

In the living area of the suite, only the floor lamp was on, casting a comforting glow around the room. His laptop was open on the coffee table to a paused F1 race replay, the computer framed in loose papers with various graphs and things printed on them, and an open notebook with colour-coded handwritten notes on top of it all. You stopped the table to the side of the spacious room and used your toes to lock the wheels so it stayed in place.

He appeared beside you as you lifted off the metal cloche from his plate, his eyes skimming everything as if making sure it was all in order.

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” he said gently as he gestured to the plate with the slice of cake.

“No, that is just something from us as an apology for the delay.” you told him.

His handsome face broke into an amused smile, “Cake on the night before a race? I would think you’re trying to sabotage me.”

Your polite smile fell quickly, your hands raising quickly to cover your mouth, stumbling over your words as you saw your job vanishing before your very eyes, “Oh my God, I didn’t even think- That was not my intention, Mr. Russell, I’m so sorry.”

He simply laughed, the sound warm and sweet, reaching out just enough to dust his fingertips over your arm reassuringly, “It’s alright! No harm, it was a kind gesture. Thank you,”

He glanced down to your name tag pinned to your collared uniform shirt, finishing his thanks with a gentle addition of your name.

You tried to take a breath.

As if he had now been introduced to you properly, he offered his hand out, introducing himself in return, “George.”

You accepted his handshake, momentarily speechless. Then, always trying to find solutions to everything—a habit you picked up since your first day at the hotel—you offered, “Maybe you can save the cake until after the race tomorrow. A little reward for winning or something.”

George’s face broke into a grin and his eyebrows raised, his hand still lingering in yours, “You think I’m going to win tomorrow?”

“Well,” you scoffed modestly, “I guess we’ll see.”

You shared smiles.

Your hands finally broke apart and he looked back down to the table, “I don’t see a cheque here. Is the charge just put on my room?”

You shook your head, “Oh, no. I can’t allow you to pay for it after the trouble. It’s on the house.”

“I cannot have you do that.” he chuckled, “It’s a chicken wrap…it’s, like, €14…I can pay it.”

“Mr. Russell-”

“I want to pay it. Please?”

You sighed.

He offered you a cheeky smile, “Either you let me pay for my dinner or I’ll insist you come to the race tomorrow as my guest.”

You hurriedly pulled your notebook out of your pocket to take the cheque from the inside cover where you had tucked it earlier and you shoved the paper at him.

He laughed, taking it and your pen, “Ouch! You hate Formula 1 that much?”

“No! Oh my gosh, no.” you said quickly, eyes on him as he bent over the table to sign it to his credit card, trying not to entirely offend him with everything you said that evening, “I just- the last thing I want to do is put you out of your way.”

George stood up again and folded the cheque in half to pass it back to you, “Well, you already bet over this slice of cake that I’d win tomorrow. What if you’re my good luck charm and you’re not there?”

You took the cheque and pen back from him with a reluctant, “I can’t. I work tomorrow anyway.”

“A shame. Well, you’ll find your way to a race someday, I’m sure.” he said like it was a genuine promise.

“Hope so.” you smiled in return.

The two of you lingered there for a moment, staring, staring, in the warm light of his suite at nearly 1am.

“Okay,” you took a step back towards the door, “I should get back to the desk…make sure no one is trying to set the hotel on fire.”

“Of course.” George followed after you to open the door for you.

The bright light from the hallway spilled into the hotel room and you stepped out into its blindingness.

George spoke again as you turned to face him, “Thank you again for your kindness.”

“Leave a good word with my boss?” you joked lightly.

“Gladly.” he chuckled, “Good night.”

“Night.”

He closed the door behind you quietly as you started back down the hallway. The grin that was spread across your face was almost entirely involuntary and you lifted your hand up to touch your cheek that was intended with the curve of your smile. Such a simple interaction with another guest and somehow it left you with this indescribable warmth across your skin as if there was so much still left unsaid.

As you waited for the elevator, you unfolded the cheque in your hand, skimming past his signature to the handwritten tip of €30—more than double his order’s total—and the little note in the margin punctuated with a phone number:

If I win tomorrow, you’ll have to share this cake with me x

And, if you were wondering, he did win the race the next day.

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hrizantemy · 13 days ago

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Nesta's boots.

In the second chapter of ACOTAR, Feyre makes a note of how shiny they are. In ACOSF, when Nesta returns to the cabin, her point of view shows them as being so worn that they had a holes in them. While the most obvious reason for this is retcon, I think there is a in-universe reason that's worth looking into, because it's not the first time something like that happened.

“I needed new boots, but Elain needed a new cloak, and Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed.” ACOTAR, Chapter 1

In the first book, Feyre is written as someone practical, who is doing her best to keep her family alive. She also believes her sisters to be frivolous in their spending, which is shown when she mentions in chapter 2, that she feels the need to hide money.

“No, she just spent whatever money I didn’t hide from her" ACOTAR, Chapter 2

So, going back to the first quote, the fact that Feyre herself mentions Elain's need for a new cloak, already paints a picture of Nesta in our minds, of being the worst of the two sister, with the implication that Elain actually needs it while Nesta doesn't.

“I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces.” ACOTAR, Chapter 2

This perception of Nesta is practically set in stone by the description of those boots, in comparison's to Feyre's. I do think it's worth noting that, while we get the description of the boots the second Nesta mentions them, we don't get a description of Elain's coat, and the condition it's in. All we see is her whining about how cold she'll get.

However, in ACOSF, the description of the boots that we get is entirely contradictory.

“There in the corner sat a pair of worn, half-rotted shoes. Her shoes. One of them was bursting at the toe’s seam. She’d worn those shoes—in public. Could still remember mud and stones creeping in.” ACOSF, Chapter 55

To begin with, I think it's important to consider what each pair of shoes was put through to get them in that condition.

Feyre, as a hunter, spent a lot of her time in the forest throughout the year. She's setting up traps, stalking potential prey, and carrying it back, either to town or to her cabin. I imagine that she also skins and preps the meat while wearing her shoes, especially during winter, meaning they often get covered in all sorts of substances that would cause them to fall apart faster.

Meanwhile, Nesta spends her days, largely, in the cabin. Perhaps she steps outside every now and then, perhaps she goes into town some days. But, for the most part, she doesn't put her shoes through half the amount of stress Feyre does.

If we also consider that neither of them probably have particularly good quality shoes anyway (I'm sure in such a poor village, there's a cap on the quality of the products they sell, since most people wouldn't be able to afford them at a certain point, so there wouldn't be a point in stocking it, if vendors even have the ability too), then it makes sense why Nesta's shoes may seem better off than Feyre's, from her perspective.

This wouldn't be the last time Feyre's view on wealth is skewed.

"Velaris was by no means poor, its people mostly cared for, the buildings and streets well kept. My sister, it seemed, had managed to find the only thing relatively close to a slum." ACOFAS, Chapter 4

'Relatively close', she said.

So not a slum. Not even particularly run down. Maybe somewhat outdated, I imagine, but not violating health or safety codes, in any way. The streets themselves don't seem to be particularly dirty either. It's very likely that the area itself is safe too. I mean, this singular city has the, supposed, most powerful fae in their court living there. They all see their High Lord regularly, you never know if the spymaster is lurking in a dark corner, and the entire IC seem to have way too much time on their hands. Mor spends half the books at Rita's, for God's sake. And they all treassure Velaris on a personal level, so it's understandable that crime would be very low there, and why crime rates in places like Illyria and the Hewn City are much higher.

Both of these instances show just how skewed Feyre's perception of wealth is, which shouldn't be surprising. Feyre's inability to read shows how uneducated she was, even before her family lost their wealth. Frankly, I think Nesta has a better perception of money than Feyre ever did.

Nesta was raised to be a Queen. The human lands seem to be based off of Medieval Europe, so the roles of Queens in universe are likely to reflect that. Mor confirms at least the second part in ACOWAR.

“But she was human. And a queen—who needed to continue her royal line, especially during such a tumultuous time.” ACOWAR, Chapter 66

This means that a Queen's main role, aside from providing heirs, would be running the royal household, managing the finances, hiring staff, etc. There were times when they may take part in religious ceremonies, and, depending on their circumstances, politics. But, largely, their main duty was to run the royal household.

“You would need ten thousand ships,” Nesta said, her voice breaking. “You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here.” ACOMAF, Chapter 57.

Nesta proved in ACOMAF, when she calculated the number of ships that would be needed to evacuate the people inhabiting the mortal lands on Prythian.

So, logically speaking, who would've been running their household while living in the cottage? I doubt their father, who's track record shows how terrible he is with money, would be doing it. Feyre's perception of wealth has been shown to be skewed too. This leaves Nesta and Elain. Weather or not Elain has the skills to do that is unclear, at this point, which means the most likely person was Nesta. Even after they were given money by Tamlin, the person running their newly restored household would, probably, be Nesta. After the last time it's unlikely she would trust him with such a sum of money again. Nobody would be there to help them if he lost it.

This leads me to the question, what exactly was Nesta spending money on?

When Feyre mentioned hiding money, she mentioned that she did it because Nesta spent it, but, to the best of my memory, we never learn what she bought with it. Is it possible Nesta struggled to adjust after losing their wealth, and made some impulse purchases? Yes. In fact, I'd say it's likely that she did, which may be what Feyre is basing her opinion of Nesta's spending habit on. However, it's also likely that as time went on, she started to help manage finances. Replace things that Feyre refused to because she didn't think they needed to be replaced, like Nesta's boots.

We also know that it was likely Nesta, and perhaps Elain, who handled domestic labour in their household. This would include fixing torn clothes. It's unclear exactly how long Nesta and Feyre had the same pair of boots, but even for someone who didn't leave their home much, they would begin to rot eventually, especially if they're low quality. It also wouldn't be surprising if, as part of the domestic labour, Nesta tried to clean, fix or polish their clothes and shoes however she could, but with Feyre heading to the forest every day, I doubt it would work as well on hers than Nesta's or Elain's.

With all of this in mind, it makes sense why, from Feyre's point of view, Nesta's boots look fine, better than fine, even, from her perspective. And now, with sudden access to hoards of wealth, Feyre has essentially gone from zero to a hundred in less than a day. She never experienced the middle ground, that most people live with, leaving her feeling entitled, and out of touch by the time we get to ACOFAS, and maybe even in ACOSF too. Its why she seems so jarring, like she forgot her roots entirely.

1. The Boots as Narrative Symbol: A Mirror of Perception

The contrast between Feyre’s perception of Nesta’s shiny boots in ACOTAR and Nesta’s actual memory of her “half-rotted” shoes in ACOSF is more than just a continuity oversight — it reflects a fundamental truth of the series: that Feyre is an unreliable narrator.

That line — “Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed” — comes from Feyre’s internal monologue, not from Nesta’s actions. Feyre is projecting resentment. Her situation is horrible, and she’s young and desperate. And instead of seeing Nesta’s refusal to adapt as a trauma response or a psychological defense mechanism (which we later learn it was), Feyre interprets it as selfishness.

“I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door.” — ACOTAR, Chapter 2

But then in ACOSF, we get:

“There in the corner sat a pair of worn, half-rotted shoes. Her shoes. One of them was bursting at the toe’s seam.” — ACOSF, Chapter 55

That is a full-circle moment. It's not a contradiction — it's a correction. A window into how one character (Feyre) perceived things through her own bias, and how reality was far more complex. This shift matters because it reframes how we’re meant to understand Nesta. It’s the moment where the “spoiled, cold sister” trope begins to fracture, and the truth of her silent, lonely survival comes to light.

2. Wealth, Class, and Skewed Perception

You're absolutely right that Feyre’s perception of wealth is deeply skewed, both before and after her transition into High Lady. Her family was rich once, but she was a child — likely shielded from the logistics of how wealth was managed. When that wealth collapsed, she learned one thing: survival requires control. Her obsession with control — of food, money, her sisters’ choices — became a coping mechanism.

“No, she just spent whatever money I didn’t hide from her.” — ACOTAR, Chapter 2

But what Feyre sees as “frivolous spending” could very well have been basic necessities. In a household that was falling apart, with no income, and no parental guidance, it would have made sense for Nesta to try and replace things. To buy soap. Or fabric. Or, yes, a slightly better pair of boots to last the winter. And Feyre’s disdain isn’t rooted in logic — it’s rooted in resentment, which becomes increasingly clear with time.

Let’s not forget:

“Velaris was by no means poor… My sister, it seemed, had managed to find the only thing relatively close to a slum.” — ACOFAS, Chapter 4

This isn’t Nesta seeking out squalor — it’s Feyre projecting class-based judgment. It’s Feyre, who now lives in palaces and wears Night Court couture, acting like someone who used to be poor but now has the luxury to sneer at others from a safe distance. Her “relatively close to a slum” line isn’t just ignorant — it’s classist. It’s a reminder that Feyre hasn’t actually unlearned the trauma of being poor; she’s just buried it under wealth.

3. Nesta’s Financial Role and Domestic Responsibility

You hit on something truly important when you said Nesta was raised to be a queen — because that would have included education in household management. Queens in medieval and early modern European societies often oversaw everything from royal expenses to household inventories. They were expected to know how to run a court, a kitchen, and a staff. Even without fae-level magic, Nesta likely had early training in reading ledgers, assessing quality, and making judgment calls.

“You would need ten thousand ships,” Nesta said, her voice breaking. “I have calculated the numbers.” — ACOMAF, Chapter 57

Feyre, in contrast, couldn’t read at the beginning of ACOTAR. She admits this. So why is she the one assumed to be the practical, financially literate sister?

It’s because Feyre tells the story. She frames herself as the martyr, and her sisters as burdens. But who’s doing the mending? Who’s buying the salt? Who’s maintaining the hearth while Feyre is in the woods?

It’s likely Nesta did what she could — in a home where she had no real resources, no parental support, and no mental health help. Her “frivolity” may well have been the bare minimum of caretaking — but because Feyre sees it as excessive, so do we.

4. Symbolic Labor and Feminine Expectations

The boots symbolize more than class — they symbolize expectation. Feyre was expected to labor physically, while Nesta was expected to serve aesthetically and socially. When Feyre’s labor was visible (bruises, blood, boots falling apart), it was “real.” When Nesta’s labor was invisible (sewing, budgeting, scrubbing a floor, fighting to maintain dignity), it was “useless.”

Sound familiar?

It’s a gendered double standard that echoes through both human and fae society in the series. Feyre became the “masculine” heroine — bow-wielding, hunting, sacrificing. Nesta was the “feminine” failure — bitter, cold, broken, and ornamental. But both girls suffered. Both survived. And only one was allowed to be praised for it.

5. Feyre’s Arc Toward Elitism

By ACOFAS and ACOSF, Feyre isn’t just removed from her roots — she’s romanticizing them. She frames her past as a hardship she alone endured, without acknowledging the nuances of what her sisters went through. Her judgment of Nesta’s apartment, her flippant dismissal of Illyrian or Hewn City culture, all reflect a Feyre who has adopted the classism of her new station. She means well. She’s trying. But she’s also deeply out of touch.

And here’s the hard truth:

Feyre never had to learn how to live in the middle. She jumped from poverty to divine wealth, from hunter to High Lady. She never had to rebuild slowly — so she can’t fathom what it means when others do.

Conclusion: The Boots Were Never Just Boots

They were a symbol. Of perception. Of judgment. Of class. Of trauma.

Feyre’s narrative taught us, early on, that she was the only one struggling — that her sisters were dead weight. But as the series unfolds, and we finally get the chance to see through Nesta’s eyes, we realize the truth is so much more complicated. Nesta didn’t just let her boots rot. She let herself rot. She wore them into the mud and let them fall apart, just like she did with her body.

Because that’s what happens when nobody saves you. And nobody sees you.

So yes — the boots matter.

#anti acosf #anti inner circle #anti acotar #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti cassian #anti azriel #pro nesta #nesta archeron deserves better #anti amren #anti morrigan #anti nessian #anti night court

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digitalsanshta · 1 year ago

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Best Small Cap Chemical Stocks in India -2024

In the dynamic landscape of the Indian stock market, small-cap chemical stocks offer a unique opportunity for investors seeking growth potential. As we delve into the Best Small Cap Chemical Stocks in India -2024, the spotlight shines brightly on these gems of the chemical industry, poised to deliver substantial returns. Let’s explore some of the best small-cap chemical stocks that India has to offer this year.

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Resilience in Volatile Markets: The resilience displayed by Best Small Cap Chemical Stocks in India -2024 chemical stocks during volatile market conditions is commendable. These companies have demonstrated the ability to weather economic uncertainties and emerge stronger. With a focus on operational efficiency and strategic planning, they have successfully navigated through challenging times, making them attractive investment options for risk-tolerant investors.

Market Expansion and Global Presence: The expansion of small-cap chemical companies into international markets signifies their growth potential. By tapping into global demand and establishing a strong presence overseas, these companies are poised to capitalize on emerging opportunities. Investors seeking exposure to international markets through domestic players can consider investing in small-cap chemical stocks with a global footprint.

Environmental Sustainability and Regulatory Compliance: In an era characterized by heightened environmental awareness, Best Small Cap Chemical Stocks in India -2024 chemical companies are increasingly prioritizing sustainability and regulatory compliance. By adopting eco-friendly practices and adhering to stringent regulations, these companies are mitigating risks while contributing to environmental conservation. Investors with a focus on sustainability can align their investment portfolios with companies that prioritize environmental stewardship.

Valuation and Growth Prospects: Despite their relatively modest market capitalization, small-cap chemical stocks offer attractive valuation metrics and promising growth prospects. With a focus on fundamentals such as earnings growth, revenue diversification, and competitive positioning, investors can identify undervalued stocks with significant upside potential. Conducting thorough due diligence and analyzing key financial metrics are essential for making informed investment decisions in this segment.

Risk Management and Diversification: While small-cap chemical stocks offer compelling growth opportunities, it’s essential for investors to exercise caution and implement risk management strategies. Diversification across multiple small-cap stocks within the chemical sector can help mitigate individual company-specific risks. Additionally, maintaining a balanced portfolio with exposure to different sectors can further enhance risk-adjusted returns.

In conclusion, the Best Small Cap Chemical Stocks in India -2024 presents promising prospects for investors eyeing small-cap chemical stocks in India. With a focus on innovation, resilience, market expansion, sustainability, valuation, and risk management, investors can unlock the potential of this dynamic segment within the Indian stock market. By carefully evaluating individual companies and diversifying their portfolios, investors can position themselves to capitalize on the growth opportunities offered by the best small-cap chemical stocks in India.

#best small cap chemical stocks #stocks

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silenzahra · 6 months ago

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🌜 Super Mario Odyssey: post-ending headcanons 🌛

Today marks seven years since the release of my FAVORITE 3D Mario game:

🌜 Super Mario Odyssey 🌛

This game really means EVERYTHING to me, so I wanted to make a little something to commemorate this date. I have to admit I didn't have any ideas at first, but then I remembered what @pepperycar commented on this post... and was suddenly inspired 🤭 Thank you so much, my friend! I owe you this one 💖

So, here I bring you a few ideas that I had on what could have happened after the end of Super Mario Odyssey. There will be Mareach, brotherly love, and SPOILERS, so if you haven't finished this game yet: beware!! ⚠

(And please go play it because it's AWESOME.)

@vulpixfairy1985 @bberetd @megamagimugi @peaches2217 @itsavee4117 @roscolate @smokszyvverstar @kelbreyworshipper I thought perhaps you might be interested, so I hope it's okay that I tag you 🥰 Of course, no worries if you're not! Feel free to ignore this post and please forgive me for bothering you 😅

EDIT: @pinkcreamypeach hope you'll like my Odyssey headcanons! Get ready for some brotherly love + Mareach 🥰

Also, I took a bit of inspo from this adorable post that I remember reblogging from my old account. Please have a look if you haven't yet because it's absolutely CUTE 🥹

Without further ado... Let's-a go! ❤️

👑 Peach's wardrobe 👑

Princess Peach has a large and varied wardrobe. So far, Mario only remembers seeing her wearing her signature pink dresses, her favorite. She has several that are very similar to each other, with only a few small differences between them, such as puffed sleeves that her summer dress does not have, or an older design in which almost the entire skirt is a darker shade of pink. Peach always appears before him and his subjects wearing one of these outfits as pink is her favorite color, and one that, in Mario's opinion, suits her very well.

Recently, however, Mario has found that his beloved princess has a wide variety of outfits and has decided to start wearing them to visit the various kingdoms that Bowser has taken her to during her kidnapping, now that she finally has the freedom to choose where, when, and with whom to go.

And Mario loves to dress to match her.

The first time they did it, Mario ran into Peach and her friend Tiara almost by accident as she, as brave as ever, explored the lonely Forgotten Isle in an outfit worthy of Indiana Jones himself. Shorts, a backpack on her back, boots prepared for the earthy soil of the place... and her hair in a bun that was hidden under her explorer's cap.

Mario didn't take half a second to run back to his Odyssey ship and put on his own explorer's outfit to join her and continue exploring the island together.

When he met her in New Donk City, Peach was wearing one of Mario's favorite outfits of all the ones he had seen her in so far: a long pink flying skirt that, unlike her dresses, left her feet exposed; a gorgeous white blouse with a scarf around her neck, in a pastel pink shade that matched her pristine skin; and a wide hat over her abundant blonde hair. She looked beautiful and very comfortable, and the best part: she loved the black suit with matching fedora that Mario put on to go with Peach’s outfit. She told him he looked very elegant, and Mario thought his smile would overflow on both sides of his face since his cheeks hurt so much.

To him, on the other hand, the one who looked tremendously stylish and graceful was Peach when he met her in Bonneton. Her attire was dark, composed of a grayish coat, black stockings and gloves of the same color, which she combined with a beret that adorned her long hair. Mario kept watching her for a while, unable to help it, and he did the same thing when he met her in Shiveria, since the black and gold of her figure stood out among so much blinding white.

On that occasion, Mario felt that he’d never measure up to her with his orange, quilted coat, as opposed to Bonneton, where he was able to look at least a bit elegant with his black tuxedo, his red bow tie and a top hat that gave him the look of a magician. Or, at least, that's what she told him, while letting out a giggle that made Mario think of the softest and sweetest crystal bells.

Another one of his favorite outfits for the princess was her farmer attire, which was the one she chose to wear to visit the Luncheon Kingdom. Mario wasn’t surprised to find her picking turnips to help the locals prepare their famous soup, as it wasn’t the first time he’d seen her pulling vegetables from the ground. When she saw him dressed in his chef's outfit, she immediately applauded him and prepared to hand over the vegetables to him, thus naming him the official in charge of preparing the delicious best dish of the kingdom.

As for the last three outfits the princess has worn, Mario is unable to choose, as all three have provoked various sensations in him that made him wish he could stare at her forever, without having any other worries or mission to carry out. The Yukata with the fire flower pattern was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of them, a beautiful and lovely vision that gave him back some vitality and joy when he ran into Peach in Bowser's Kingdom. He, as bold as brass, put on his samurai outfit, ready to defend her from any evil, and she, always so demure, covered her face with her hand-held fan to hide a soft giggle. Still, watching her hair pulled back in a ponytail and the Boo-shaped buckle adorning her head, Mario knew he’d never measure up to her.

And he felt the same way when, while strolling along Bubblaine Beach and enjoying the coolness of the water with his doggy friend, he found her there, wearing that pretty white sarong adorned with pink power moons, the sunglasses on her blonde head... and that bikini that exposed more porcelain skin than Mario had ever seen. He felt completely ridiculous in his red swimsuit with white polka dots and wanted to sink to the depths of the crystal-clear waters of the kingdom just to prevent her from seeing him like that.

However, that couldn't overcome how stupid and embarrassed Mario felt when, just after rescuing her from Bowser's clutches, he got caught up in an absurd competition with the king of the Koopas to try to get Peach to agree to marry him. They may have both been wearing the perfect outfits, Peach in her beautiful white dress that made her look like an angel and him in his tuxedo of the same color and matching hat.

But Mario realized too late that this was not the right moment.

Still, he is content to have had the opportunity, albeit brief, to stand next to Peach while they both wore what would possibly be their wedding outfits. Mario knows that this will never happen again, that it’ll never come true, because the idea of trying to propose again wouldn’t even cross his mind. It took him a long time to forgive himself for his huge blunder, even though it took Peach only a few minutes to do so, and he’d never be able to be at peace with himself if he bothered her again.

Peach's friendship is very precious to Mario. He loves to meet her on his travels and share a few moments with her, full of fun and trust, which he wishes he could extend in time forever. In addition, on more than one occasion, Peach has asked him to accompany her to Lake Lemonade to make a new dress, and sometimes she has also invited Toad and Luigi. The people there are experts in haute couture, and Mario is always spellbound as he watches Peach pose for the seamstresses, who, in a matter of minutes, are able to create a new dress for her, each one more beautiful than the last.

And, on each occasion, Peach always turns on herself so that the dress can be appreciated in all its splendor, making her look more dazzling than a star and more radiant than the sun itself.

🎈 Balloon Brothers🎈

Shortly after he saved Peach, Mario made two decisions when he continued to travel the kingdoms on his Odyssey ship. The first one was to adopt his loyal doggy friend, the clever Shiba that has helped him find so many power moons during his adventure. He named her Hattie, as she adores wearing a hat on her head no matter where they travel to, and also because her favorite game is chasing after Mario's cap and bring it back to him.

And the second one, as soon as he ran into Luigi for the first time, was that he'd always play Balloon World with him.

Every world he travels to, whatever his purpose or the mission that takes him there, Mario always has time for his little brother and loves to play Balloon World with him. He adores seeing his sibling so cheerful and excited, and the way he claps and cheers him on always causes Mario’s unstoppable energy to soar and his heart to melt with tenderness.

In Fossil Falls, Luigi was so scared of the T-Rex that organizing the game for Mario served as a distraction and a way for him to release some stress, something Mario was extremely relieved about. In Forgotten Isle, the same bird that had captured Cappy was threatening to pop the balloons that kept Luigi in the air and that were an essential part of his outfit as the game organizer, which only motivated Mario to chase the darned bird with the help of his loyal Hattie, until, at last, and to the relief of both brothers and Cappy, he managed to scare it away.

However, as soon as Mario ran into Luigi in the Snow Kingdom, shivering with cold in his shirtsleeves, but still smiling at his brother and inviting him to play while hugging himself, Mario did not hesitate for a moment: he hurried to get rid of his orange coat and, ignoring Luigi's faint protests, threw it over his twin, taking care not to accidentally pop his balloons. Despite his initial reluctance, Luigi couldn't help but close his eyes as he snuggled into the garment, trying to get warm, and Mario, his heart shrinking, hugged him with all his might as he gently rubbed his arms and back. Luigi cuddled up to him and Mario stroked his hair gently, his mind flooded with memories of when they were both little and Luigi would run to hide in his bed because he thought there was a monster under his bed. Sighing as he held his sibling in his arms, trying to shield him from the cold and icy drafts, Mario didn't agree to play until after he had taken Luigi inside his ship to wrap him in a blanket and offer him a hot drink to warm up inside.

Nevertheless, the opposite thing happened in Tostarena: Luigi, always determined to stay true to his original outfit as the game's creator, was too warm for the scorching desert heat. Before playing Balloon World, Mario decided that his little brother needed a change to feel more comfortable. So he grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the shop. Luigi had to bend down so that his balloons could go in with him, and Mario immediately tried to convince him to, like him, put on a typical costume of the land, poncho and wide hat included, to feel comfier while they played there. His twin resisted a little, always wanting to maintain the elegance a game show host should always display, but when Mario assured him that he could keep his green bow tie, Luigi finally gave in. And, seeing them both in matching outfits, Mario also managed to convince his brother to play Balloon World together, to which Luigi agreed only after gifting him one of his balloons for Mario to wear on his wrist.

And they've done it many more times since then: in Peronza Plaza, in Bonneton, in New Donk City... even on the Moon! Also, whenever they play in the Mushroom Kingdom, the Toads join them and Luigi ends up giving them as many balloons as possible so they can have fun playing on their own, being the kind-hearted person he is.

Of course, Mario is well aware that his sibling knows the locations of the balloons, being the organizer of Balloon World, but he equally enjoys touring the various worlds with his little brother by the hand, dragging him along while Luigi floats after him and simply lets himself go. Mario’s heart sings for joy with every laugh that escapes his twin’s throat, especially when Hattie also joins the fun and runs with them in search for the balloon, only to pop it as soon as they do. Mario also loves the way Luigi guides him, or often misleads him, to make his search for the balloon easier or more complicated. Mario likes to be challenged by the game and Luigi knows it, so he appreciates it when his brother tries to trick him to divert him from his initial goal. This lengthens the game, as well as the time the brothers spend together, thus increasing the fun.

However, when it's time to say goodbye, Mario can read in his brother's face that he’s just as reluctant to part with him as Mario himself. His complicated missions through the kingdoms and, also, the longing to be reunited with Peach and spend some time with her as well have caused Mario to have to leave his brother's side without really wanting to, his soul screaming in the depths of his being that he should not do so, that he should turn back and return to Luigi's side.

When the same thing happens to him in the Moon Kingdom, Mario finally stops before entering his ship and turns on his heels. He sees Luigi raise his head, confused to see him turn around, and the surprise on his face only grows when Mario starts running towards him, although a little slower than he’d like due to the moon's gravity. A smile breaks out on Mario's face as he speeds up as fast as he can, and he stretches out his arms as he approaches his little brother. Luigi barely has time to open his arms as well before Mario pounces on him.

Luigi's gasp causes Mario to burst out laughing as he spins around with his brother in his arms, holding him tightly. It takes him a few seconds to realize that both of them are now floating in the air, propelled not only by Luigi's balloons, but also by the lack of gravity prevailing on the moon. His sibling clings to him as he laughs shyly, and Mario pulls away from him a second before his feet touch down again.

Holding Luigi's hands tightly and energetically, Mario offers him to board his Odyssey ship and accompany him on his travels, so that they can continue playing Balloon World together as his adventure progresses. And, perhaps, Luigi could also help him during their missions, just like in the old days, when they visited faraway realms, such as Pi’illo Island or the Beanbean Kingdom, and even became partners in time.

As he speaks, Mario is very aware that his eyes are shining, full of excitement. His whole face must be, in fact, as euphoria bubbles up inside him like a river of unstoppable lava. He’s unable to keep completely still, so he inadvertently shakes his hands and, with them, those of his brother, as he explains his idea to him. And his enthusiasm undoubtedly rubs off on his twin, as Mario can read in Luigi's blue eyes, identical to his own, which are filling with a special glow that can only mean he shares Mario's eagerness.

And so it was that the brothers began to travel together.

✨ The Golden Trio ✨

In some of their first trips together, when the brothers are about to play Balloon World, Peach meets them and becomes a spectator of their games. Luigi welcomes her with open arms and quickly explains to her what Mario has to do, and while his brother is searching, Luigi reveals in whispers to the princess where the balloon his twin is looking for is hidden.

Although, at first, Mario is a little embarrassed that Peach is going to watch him while he searches, he quickly decides that he must do everything he can to impress her, so he puts more effort into finding the balloon quickly and on his own, despite Hattie's attempts to help him. Whenever he succeeds, Luigi praises him enthusiastically and gives him a big hug, which Mario reciprocates joyfully and heartily. Peach, after applauding him a little more demurely, leans over to place a kiss on his nose, causing Mario's whole face to light up until it looks redder than his shirt. This always happens under the watchful eye of Luigi, who doesn't miss the chance to give his sibling a playful nudge while trying to silence his giggles, causing Mario's blush to increase.

However, the third time Peach meets the brothers, Luigi has the idea of inviting her to participate in the game, which he eagerly puts to her. Both she and Mario are delighted, and Luigi immediately rearranges the game so that Mario and Peach can play in competition against each other.

Of course, respect and friendship prevail in the game. Mario continues to play as usual, but Peach often beats him, as she’s quick and smart, and he can only admire her more and more every time this happens. In fact, he’d say that he enjoys the occasions when the princess beats him the most, as he loves to see her so happy and enjoying herself when playing with him. Needless to say, even though Luigi is a most enthusiastic audience, Mario is the one who always applauds Peach the most, which makes her blush, something that doesn't happen to her when she thanks Luigi's compliments.

When the game is preparing to take place for the fifth time since Mario and Peach started playing together, Mario can't help but notice the way his brother is wringing his hands and fiddling with his fingers as he watches them. The game is about to begin, but he can't take his eyes off Luigi. He can read his face like an open book, something that has happened practically since they were born... and he doesn't like what he sees.

It's not that Luigi is sad. He's happy to be with them and eager to see them play Balloon World again. He's ready to cheer them both on and shower them with praise, as always, for, after all, his little brother is one of the sweetest and gentlest people he knows.

However, Mario can see in his gestures, in the way he bites his lower lip, in the way he fiddles with his own hands, in the way his eyes sparkle, that Luigi misses being able to join the game despite knowing the location of the balloons beforehand.

So even though Luigi gives the start command just a second later, Mario doesn't move.

And it pleases him greatly to realize that Peach, next to him, hasn't moved either.

When he turns his face towards her, Peach does the same. Mario barely needs a few seconds to realize that the princess, always as perceptive and as concerned about Luigi as he is, almost as if she were some sort of big sister to him, has also noticed the longing that shines in his little brother's eyes.

The two hold each other's gaze for a moment before smiling determinedly and giving one another a mutual nod. In unison, the two turn to Luigi, who looks from one to the other, his face the spitting image of bewilderment. As he and Peach start walking towards the game organizer, Mario can't help but let out a laugh in anticipation of what's about to happen, and he hears Peach let out a small giggle next to him that only makes his heart swell.

Decisively, they both hold Luigi, each with one hand, and Mario puts his other arm around Luigi's shoulders while Peach wraps her free arm around the younger plumber’s back. Luigi doesn't understand anything, but he doesn't resist, since, of course, he trusts them completely. Peach and Mario start walking while dragging him along, and the princess proclaims that, by royal order, Luigi must play Balloon World with them. This finally gets Luigi to relax and even laugh, and Mario feels his little brother squeeze his hand as he and the princess laugh together.

For a moment, Mario simply watches them. His heart fills with joy whenever he sees them getting along so well. He loves that Luigi has found in Peach a friend he can trust and be himself with, and he loves that the princess, in each of their interactions, shows that she truly cares about Luigi's well-being and wants only the best for him.

And he just loves them both so much that his heart could burst.

He couldn’t live without either of them.

When the game concludes, shortly before the brothers return to the Odyssey ship, Mario summons the courage to offer Peach to join them. That way, the three of them could travel together, keep each other company and help one another in their adventures, and they’ll always have the chance to play Balloon World together.

As he speaks, however, it occurs to Mario that perhaps he should have consulted Luigi before inviting Peach, so he throws a sidelong glance at his brother to try to apologize to him without words.

But Luigi, ever so sweet and kind, ever the man with the purest heart, is nodding eagerly as he hears his brother speak, and as soon as Mario concludes, Luigi turns to Peach and takes her hands while expressing how much he’d love for her to join them. Mario can't and won't hold back the look of intense love and adoration he gives his twin as he talks to the princess. Who, of course, gladly accepts.

Thus, Mario, Luigi and Peach, accompanied by the inseparable and always loyal Hattie, Cappy and Tiara, embark on the Odyssey to a new world. And, as they travel, the three of them look out the window, Mario and Luigi with their hands on the glass and looking at the clouds with excitement, and the princess, with a hand resting on the shoulder of each of the brothers as she joins in their excitement at the sight they are contemplating.

Their adventure has only just begun.

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anna-hawk · 2 years ago

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The Eggnog Effect

Nicomund the Red | Santa Claus x F!Reader

Summary: You passed out on your friend's couch and wake up to find Santa Claus leaving a gift for your godchild.

WC: 6.2k // Explicit 🔞

Warnings: Christmas smut, bad jokes and cheesy wordplays

For @roguesandsaviors who's love for David Harbour triggered me into trying my hand at writing smut for someone else than Jon 😁

Also on AO3

You frowned as you slowly woke up, wondering about the small tinkling sound that got you out of your slumber in the first place. Cracking one eye open, you tried to make out your immediate surroundings, but your face was smushed into a pillow. A throw pillow, to be more precise.

Ever since the birth of your godchild, your best friend and husband had started asking you to spend Christmas Eve with them. How could you say no to witnessing the kid’s eyes growing big with wonder after discovering the presents lying underneath the Christmas tree?

Usually, though, you spent the night in the guest bedroom and not on the living room couch. You berated yourself for the sore neck you were likely getting from the sleeping position and grumbling internally about the long hours spent at work today that resulted in your exhaustion when you heard that noise again.

Blinking and opening both eyes now, you glimpsed some movement to the side of the couch, where you knew the Christmas tree to be. As you twisted to your back, your eyes caught onto something red and large and…

“Oh God, I really need to leave off the eggnog next time… I’m actually seeing Santa now,” you groaned and quickly rubbed over your tired eyes.

Except that there was that tinkling again, more agitated, which made you open your eyes once more only to be met by the sight of a large man standing stock still just a few feet away from you. His wide eyes stared at you with a mix of panic and annoyance.

“Oh shit,” you breathed as realization sank in, and you understood that your brain wasn’t playing tricks on you but that there was a stranger in the house and… You opened your mouth to scream, but the man was on you in a fraction of a second. A large palm covered the entire lower half of your face and stopped you from uttering any sound, while the other hand held the man up on the armrest under your head.

“Shhh,” he hissed, his eyes lifting to the entrance of the living room to check if anyone was coming, before they bore into yours.

Oddly enough, and maybe it was still the eggnog talking, you didn’t try to fight, despite the way his large frame loomed over you. You didn’t move at all, actually, as you met his gaze. The only thought going through your mind was, oh, he’s got blue eyes. You stayed in the same position for several more seconds, his eyes never leaving yours as he assessed the situation. Realizing that you weren’t going to out him, the man slowly removed his hand from you and stood. You stayed where you were, observing him curiously; the white blond curly beard and hair under an askew red and white cap, the deep red leather coat lined with white fur spanning over a wide chest and shoulders, a pair of shiny, black boots. Everything about him screamed Santa Claus, but he was also nothing like the various men playing Santa in malls and other places. Those other Santas had also never elicited such a strong response from your body, either.

“Who are you?” you breathed, mindful to keep your voice down, when really, the question should have been what are you doing here? Or, what do you want?

“Who do you think I am?” he grumbled, while you watched him glare at a small bag and rummage around in it with a frustrated expression.

Your eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets when the man thrust his whole arm into the bag, and it just vanished inside, which should have been impossible given how tiny the bag was compared to his arm.

“Where the fuck is it?”

“I didn’t know that Santa swears,” you snorted at the absolutely crazy sight in front of you.

“He does when the presents aren’t where they’re fucking meant to be,” he muttered, before his face turned into a satisfied grin. “Aha.” His arm slowly came back out, followed by a large, neatly wrapped present.

You blinked in rapid succession as you took in the size of the present and the size of the bag again. Yup, something was definitely up. A bicycle, for a five-year-old or not, would never fit in that bag if something… You snorted to yourself as the word magical ran through your mind. Don’t be ridiculous, you thought to yourself. But then the man pulled out an actual scroll of parchment, which started to glow as he pulled it apart. Sitting up, you stared at the man as he scanned the contents of the scroll with a thoughtful look.

“What’s that? Your naughty and nice list?” you sniggered, while pulling your legs under you on the couch and letting your eyes drift over him appreciatively.

“Mmhm,” he replied absently, seemingly looking for something in particular.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise at his easy admittance, before you began laughing under your breath.

“Tell me, Santa. Am I on your naughty list?” You leaned your head against your palm and rested your elbow on the armrest, smirking as you drawled the word naughty.

“Nope,” he answered instantly, while your flirty expression went completely unseen since he still didn’t look at you.

You frowned curiously at his reply and tilted your head to one side before slowly getting up and approaching him. This, at least, seemed to catch his attention because his eyes snapped to you as soon as you moved. He watched you with a slight frown. Curious.

“You sure?” you grinned.

This was all absolutely crazy. There was a fucking stranger in your friends’ house, pretending to be Santa and looking damn fine in that role, yet here you were, flirting outrageously with him anyway, when flirting usually felt awkward to you. The eggnog definitely was at play here.

He chuckled and said your name. Your full name, which had you stopping dead in your tracks as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“You’ve never been on the naughty list once,” he finished with a shrug.

“How… Who…”

How could he know your name? If he were a burglar, he’d probably only know your friends’ names since they were on the mailbox. He could have looked them up and seen your name popup in your best friend’s feeds on social media, but to what end? He’d just left a goddamn bike for your godchild instead of taking something. And that bag? That wasn’t a trick.

The man sighed deeply. “Adults,” he muttered, before thinking for a second. “Do you remember what you wished for on Christmas when you were eight?”

Taken aback by the question, you frowned and thought for a second before memories hit you, and you nodded as you opened your mouth to reply. Except that he said the same thing as you did at the exact same time as you. You took in a sharp breath of surprise. How could he know that? It was far too specific to be a random guess. Only if…

“So what are you going to do when you leave? Pull a Men In Black and wipe my memory or something?” You crossed your arms with a chuckle as your brain accepted the crazy truth.

He snorted and shrugged. “Trust me, the very few people who have actually seen me have never talked about me. And if they did,” he trailed off with another meaningful shrug that clearly said, who’s gonna believe them?

You nodded faintly at his logic. He wasn’t wrong.

“I’m curious, though… What’s your actual name? Santa? Kris? Nick?” You headed to where your godchild had left the cookies and milk and picked up the plate with the cookies. You chose one for yourself and offered one to… Santa.

He took a cookie but didn’t look away from you, his head shaking in amusement a second later.

“Really? Of all the things you could ask, that’s what you wanna know?”

You shrugged and bit off a piece of cookie, the man doing the same before he glanced down at it with an appreciative sound and nod, then looked into your expectant face again.

“You can call me whatever you want. The list is pretty long.”

“But none of them are correct,” you surmised, watching him reach for the milk glass and taking a large gulp. “How about… Daddy Christmas?”

You had to hold back your loud laugh as he sprayed his mouthful all over his front at your words. He tried to cough as silently as he could and shot you a death glare as you stood there with a satisfied grin on your face.

“Am I on the naughty list yet?”

His nostrils flared as he wiped crumbs and milk off his beard and coat before he stalked over towards you until he was in your face.

“You should be more careful with what you wish for, girl,” he growled, yet instead of feeling threatened, you felt more than turned on.

“Oh? What are you gonna do? Give me your big lump of coal?” you breathed, loving how big and tall he was.

Santa blinked at you once, twice, then burst into laughter, which had you smiling broadly.

“Gotta admit, this was a new one.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but something chimed close by, which had him checking his watch. “Fuck!”

Picking up two other cookies, he headed towards the fireplace and lifted a finger to his nose, sparks firing as he did so, but then he looked back at you.

“Nicomund,” he said softly, which had your eyes widen at the revelation of his name.

He smiled and pressed his gloved finger against his nose.

“Merry Christmas.”

He was gone in a swish of golden sparks a second later.

One year later

Dressed in a festive pair of pajamas, you yawed widely as you looked at the clock sitting in the midst of Christmas decorations on the mantelpiece. You stretched your arms over your head and shook your head to try fending the sleepiness off.

You were back at your friends’ house and sitting on the same couch as last year. Last year, when you’d met the actual Santa Claus. You’d spent weeks doing research on the origins of Christmas, yet none of the results had been conclusive in any form. You’d guessed that people truly didn’t usually see him like he’d told you. After a while, you almost wanted to believe that the whole thing had only been a dream, coming from too much eggnog and sleep-deprivation. Except that he’d given you his name. Nicomund. You couldn’t have dreamed that up. The name had actually given you some vague results as you’d given it in. Nicomund the Red, a former viking warrior. Who was supposed to have lived over a thousand years ago. Considering what you’d witnessed, you didn’t even think it that farfetched that they could be one and the same person. The way he’d talked had clearly hinted at the fact that he’d been doing this for a very long time. He knew who you were. Even as a child. Yet, he didn’t look older than his late forties or early fifties.

As much as you enjoyed loosing yourself in fantasies in books and so on, you considered yourself as a pragmatic person in real life. You liked facts and magic, while a fun concept, had never seemed like something real. And yet… After what you’d seen…

That’s why you wanted to stay awake on Christmas Eve. Prove that you hadn’t actually dreamed everything up. And you might have also wanted to see him again, just because. It was ridiculous. You hadn’t been able to go on a date the whole past year, Nicomund popping up in your head at random times. The way you’d felt attracted to him had left you reeling. He’d been in full Santa gear, yet all you’d been able to see were his blue eyes, his large frame and drawling deep voice, the combination lighting your entire body up.

Your eyes drifted to the clock again, watching the time slowly approach one in the morning. Resting your head against the couch, you closed your eyes and sighed. A very comfortable bed was waiting for you just down the hall, and your body wanted nothing more than to sink into it and sleep after the long day you’d had again. But what if you missed him? Your fingers curled around a folded up piece of paper resting on your lap. Just in case, you’d written him a note, requesting him to wake you up if you were to fall asleep. With your eyes still closed, you smirked to yourself at the few lines you’d written. Maybe you could tell him yourself later. You would open your eyes in a second. You were just resting them a bit.

Weren’t you supposed to be asleep for Santa to show up?

The next thing you heard was a loud and excited scream coming from close by, having you jerk awake in your bed… Bed? Sitting up quickly, you realized that you were lying in the guest bedroom. When had you moved there? The last thing you remembered was that you’d been sitting on the couch and fiddling with the note. The thought of the note had you looking all around yourself and the floor, yet there was nothing there. Quickly getting up and slipping into a pair of warm slippers, you almost ran to the living room to look for the note. The only thing you found was your godchild gushing about the presents sitting under the tree, your friends standing around him with broad smiles.

“Merry Christmas,” they called at nearly the same time as they saw you walk in.

Tearing your eyes away from the couch and the floor, you schooled your features into a bright smile and replied in kind, hugging the couple and then kneeling to do the same to their kid. You helped rip into the wrappings and forced yourself to focus on what was going on around you.

As the day went on, you never found the note, but you were still absolutely certain that Nicomund had been the one to get you into bed. You might have been exhausted, but you would have remembered it if you’d gotten up to go to bed on your own. Disappointment shot through you at the realization that you wouldn’t get the chance to see him again until the next year. If at all.

Later that same day, you had dinner with your family, which served to take your mind off things for several hours. It wasn’t until later that night and once you’d returned to your place well after midnight and gotten ready for bed, that you sighed dejectedly again. In your pajamas and leaning against the counter of the open kitchen that looked into the living room, you slowly sipped water from a glass when your fireplace made a sputtering noise. Frowning, you put the glass down behind you and walked into the living room, only to yelp in surprise when golden sparks appeared and formed into the shape of a man a few feet away from you.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, eyes wide and heart racing.

Nicomund met your gaze and smirked at your gobsmacked expression.

“Merry Christmas,” he rumbled.

Your mouth moved silently as your eyes slowly took in his appearance. Gone were the red coat and hat, instead he was wearing a loose, off-white colored shirt and had his hair pulled up in a messy bun, showing off more of his handsome face. The V in the shirt’s neckline revealed the beginning of circular tattoos with what appeared to be runes. All the air rushed out of your lungs at the whole sight. He definitely wasn’t Santa right now, meaning that it really wasn’t the outfit that did it for you, since you were getting even more turned on than the previous year.

“What are you doing here?” you croaked, your mind having a hard time realizing that he was standing in your living room. “Christmas is over.”

“It is, yeah… I thought you wanted to see me.” He put his bare hands into the pockets of his red pants and tilted his head at you.

Your eyebrows lifted at that. “Why didn’t you wake me up then?” you muttered, pursing your lips slightly.

“Not enough time,” he answered easily, eyeing you slowly.

“For what?” you breathed, swallowing at the way he was staring at you. The way he'd said it hinted at more than just him running behind schedule.

“I got your note,” he said instead, and pulled the neatly folded paper out of one of his pockets, scanning it lazily after unfolding it. “You got real creative.” He lifted his gaze to yours briefly, the eye contact and implications of his words having heat rushing to your face.

Biting over your bottom lip and taking strength in the knowledge that he came to find you once he’d been done with delivering presents, you grinned at him cheekily.

“You said that I was never on your naughty list, so I figured that I could get a reward for having been such a good girl over the years.”

You took a step closer to him, seeing him watching you attentively, expression unreadable.

“And that’s what you had in mind?” His eyes went back to your note. “Dear Santa, I’ve been particularly good this year. Please let me play with your Christmas ornaments and suck on your candy cane. And while Santa Claus is coming to town, I’ll be sure to show how good I can go to town on Santa Claus. And please don’t forget to stuff my Christmas stockings with your big present. Hoe, hoe, hoe, Merry Christmas.”

Hearing him read the note out loud in that husky drawl had all the heat from your face rushing down your body. You couldn’t even feel the slightest bit of embarrassment at your silly wordplay, especially when you could see the corner of his mouth pulling up as he read, while his voice deepened by the end. His eyes lifted to yours once he was done, before he let them travel over your body. Slowly, taking all of you in, his blue eyes dark in the half light cast by the living room lamp. Your lips parted as soft pants left your mouth, your heart rate picking up at his intense perusal.

“May I have my Christmas present now?” you breathed after taking a step closer and leaving you only a few inches away from him.

He huffed out an amused laugh, but you didn’t miss the way he lightly leaned towards you, his large chest moving up and down faster.

“Show me how good you can be,” he rumbled, as he let go of the note, which fluttered to the floor.

As you reached for his face with one of your hands, you caught his surprised expression when your fingers gently ran along his bearded jaw and towards the back of his head to pull him towards your mouth. Considering the low sound he made as your lips met, he had nothing against kissing, he seemed more surprised by your gentle touch, that you wanted more than just something frenzied and fast. But you did want. Corny and over the top sexual Christmas wordplay aside, you really wanted the man. All of him.

Slipping your tongue along his while slightly pulling at his hair, Nicomund growled and pushed into you, his hands moving into action as they travelled around your waist and down to your ass. His beard tickled deliciously around your mouth as he kissed you back fiercely. The first physical proof of his arousal pressed against you, making your breath catch at the size you could feel. Taking a step back away from him, you quickly found his eyes as you sunk to your knees before him. Nicomund’s breath came in short pants as his dark eyes watched you lifting your hands to the fastenings of his red pants. You took your time pulling the golden buttons from their respective holes, while you could see his erection straining the fabric just below. After you were done, you tugged the pants and underwear down enough to reveal his length. Unable to keep your eyes away, you finally looked at his gorgeous cock, proudly standing away from his body, the head red and shiny with pre-come.

“As red as Rudolf’s nose,” you muttered lightly, almost to yourself, except that Nicomund heard every word.

“Fuck, you’re terrible. Don’t make me change my mind,” he grumbled, sounding between amused and exasperated.

Slipping out of the top half of your pajamas to reveal your breasts, you glanced up at him with a smirk.

“You really wanna stop, Daddy Christmas?” you teased, right before leaning forward to lick up a long stripe from the base to the top of his cock.

His body went rigid at the touch, while he groaned. Suddenly, one of his hands was in your hair, the fingers sliding against your scalp and moving your head up, so you had no choice but to look at him. A long moan slipped free from you at the treatment, which had Nicomund grinning in satisfaction.

“You’re not really being a good girl right now, y’know. Bein’ a lil tease and all. Thought you wanted to show me how good you can be.” His voice was low and washed over you in a delicious wave, stoking your lust further.

Nodding instead of replying verbally, you let your mouth fall open and your tongue peek out in invitation. Nicomund hummed, pleased, and guided you towards his cock.

“There we go,” he rasped, as he slowly slid over your tongue, stretching your lips with his girth.

Once he was as far as you could manage without gagging, he stopped moving. His hand remained in your hair, but he neither pushed nor pulled, waiting for you to decide what to do next. You kept him like this for as long as was comfortable before you slowly drew back and gently suckled over the head, while you wrapped your fingers around him. Nicomund groaned as you angled his cock up for you to tongue and suck under the head, teasing the sensitive nerves. You took your time sucking all over him, savoring the sounds you could get out of him, your body heating whenever he cursed under his breath when you did something he particularly enjoyed.

Listening to his breaths picking up speed and feeling his hips jerking as he got closer to release, you were surprised when he gently removed you off him with the same hand as before. Lifting your head since you had expected – wanted – him to come in your mouth, you gazed at him in confusion. He reached for one of your arms and pulled you to your feet before he was kissing you hungrily. Which you didn’t mind in the slightest, as you folded your arms around his chest to answer in kind, your nipples hardening as they rubbed against the material of his shirt.

“Wanna be inside you,” he admitted roughly, talking against your mouth.

You keened in the back of your throat and nodded fervently. How could you not want that?

“Yes,” you hissed, kissing him deeply.

“Bed?” he rasped, and it took your brain a second to get your body to move.

“Yeah, okay.” You took his hand and pulled him out of the living room and towards your bedroom.

Inside the room, Nicomund drew you back to him for a quick kiss before he bent over to pull down your pajama pants and get them off you. You clutched at his shoulders as he divested you of the clothes.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he ordered, having your move instantly.

You observed him through hooded eyes and pressed your legs together at the tingle of anticipation running through your core as you watched him undress. You would have loved to do it for him, but this gave you the opportunity to let your eyes feast on him as he revealed his tattooed body, the shirt falling to the floor. He was large and strong, but with a softness around his belly that had your fingers prickling with the desire to touch. His hair was a mess of curls, in and out of the hairband holding it back. You expected him to remove the rest of his clothes and stared into his face questioningly when he didn’t, only to realize that he was already watching you. Stepping towards you and making you spread your legs for him to stand between them, Nicomund towered over you as he gazed down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Thought you might want me to keep them on. So you don’t forget who exactly is fucking you.”

Your whole body heated with lust and embarrassment alike. You wanted to open your mouth to explain that you didn’t have a Santa kink, that you’d never thought of Santa in that way, but after the jokes you’d made, you couldn’t fault him for teasing you about it. Only, you didn’t care who he was. You’d have wanted him the same way had he been the Sandman, or just a normal man as well. And to be honest, having him almost fully clothed while you were naked was also turning you on.

“Is it time for your big present, then?” You bit over your bottom lip as you stared up at him with a hopeful expression.

Chuckling, Nicomund leaned down to your eye level.

“Not yet,” he hedged, and knelt between your legs. “First I gotta get a taste of your…” He thought for a second. “Cookie.”

Your eyes widened at the unexpected wordplay and what it meant. He didn’t give you the time to further react as he grabbed your hips to pull them halfway over the edge of the bed and sink between your legs. You barely had the time to catch yourself with your hands behind you on the bed at the first swipe of his tongue over your wet folds. Crying out at the hotness of his tongue combined with the soft scratching of his beard on your sensitive skin, you fought to keep your eyes open to watch him. Heat ran through you at the way he so clearly took pleasure in eating you out. He took his time doing it too, at first only giving you broad licks that didn’t hold that much strength and mostly served to wind you slowly up as his tongue became more precise. Your eyes fluttered, and you panted once he began using the tip of his tongue to run maddening circles around your exposed clit. As you were getting louder and louder the stronger the pressure of his tongue became, Nicomund suddenly stopped and, instead, focused his attention on your inner thighs, kissing and teasing his beard across your skin. Your legs quivered from the change of pace, and you wanted nothing more than to bring his head back to where it had been. He seemed content to keep torturing you, however, and you knew in that moment that you would be dealing with beard burn the next day.

“Nicomund… please?” you breathed on a whimper, gazing down at him and catching his eye as he looked up at you without stopping his ministrations.

Your expression seemed to trigger something in him because his mouth and tongue were back on your clit in the next second. You had to throw your head back at the explosive pleasure shooting through you as his lips surrounded that little bundle of nerves, and he sucked on it enthusiastically. You screamed in bliss and tangled your fingers in his hair, silently begging him to stay right there. From the way he growled, he had no intention of going anywhere anyway. He pressed his thumbs into your thighs, pushing your legs further open and pulling your folds apart as his mouth ripped more and more delirious sounds from you. As two of his fingers slowly sank into you and curled up to start fucking you, your whole body wrapped over his head, your orgasm hitting you with such intensity that your legs locked against Nicomund’s shoulders.

While you were slowly coming back to yourself, Nicomund kissed his way up your mound, hip and belly, his soft touches making your body shake with more than just the aftershocks, your entire body feeling sensitized. When he reached your stomach, you cupped his head with your hands and leaned down to kiss him deeply. His beard was damp, while his lips still tasted like you, having a new shiver of desire going through you. Nicomund grunted into your mouth as he knelt up, curling one arm around your waist while the other held him up behind your back. Without ever breaking the kiss, he got to his feet and leaned over you until you were almost lying on the bed. You moved up the bed with his help, just enough for him to get his knees on the mattress and pull your legs over his thighs properly. Meanwhile, your hands took their time exploring his body, running all over his back and sides, reveling in his size and comforting weight on top of you. Your fingers encountered a few scares as they went, bringing the reminder of your research back to mind. Only fights and battles could explain the size and placements of some of them. And then there were the tattoos. Santa Claus was an ancient Viking warrior. The concept was absolutely wild, but you put the wayward thought to the side in favor of focusing on the whole man on top of you.

Nicomund lifted his head a few inches and held himself over you to look into your face. He was breathing hard, sweat starting to form at his temples, his eyes traveling between your lips and eyes. You looked at him dazedly and smiled before lifting your head, keeping your eyes open, to press your mouth against his. You repeated the action a few more times, seeing his chest rise and fall faster each time.

“Are you going to make me beg again?” you whispered, your lips grazing his.

He chuckled and stroked a thick thumb over your jaw.

“Please, Santa, pour your milk all over my-”

His mouth crashed into yours, effectively shutting you up, but unable to stop you from giggling.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he growled, shifting on top of you.

“But cookies always need – oh fuck!”

This time, his method was more convincing, as he used your momentarily distraction while you teased him to line up with your entrance and push inside you in one long and powerful slide.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and threw your head back as he had you crying out with each snap of his hips, his length making you feel as full as you’d wished for. Nicomund mouthed around your jawline, grunting into your skin as he thrust into you repeatedly. Leaning your head forward again, you drew his mouth in for an open-mouthed kiss, sucking and biting his bottom lip, trying to give back as much as you could in your position. It seemed to be enough for him, since he slammed into you harder, groaning as you moaned even louder while your inner walls pulsed around him.

“Feel so good,” you moaned, your voice breathy and high-pitched, your legs curling over his thighs as extreme pleasure unfurled inside you again.

“Fuck,” he gritted out roughly, staring down at you with burning eyes. “You gonna come for me again?”

You nodded. “Please? Nicomund… Please!”

You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of this man on top of you, making you feel needy like never before. With his large frame, glistening with sweat and strong arms holding him up at your sides as his hips drove you higher and higher, piercing blue eyes roving over your face.

“Yeah, come on, go ahead. Been such a good girl for me. Such a good-”

His words cut off as you exploded around him at the praise, a long wail of ecstasy coming through your mouth, before you pulled his mouth back onto yours for a desperate kiss. After several more thrusts, Nicomund groaned as one of his hands shifted to your hair and formed a fist in it. He tugged at it to expose your jaw to breathe against it as he fucked in and out of you at a fast pace. Still overwhelmed by your second orgasm, you let him move you the way he needed and only linked your arms tightly around his shoulders, small, pleasured whimpers leaving you. When he came, his whole body shuddered over yours, his hips jerking repeatedly as he emptied himself inside you with a long groan.

Neither of you moved as you simply rested for a few minutes, savoring the afterglow while you gently combed your fingers through his hair.

“Mmh… this was definitely worth waiting a whole year for,” you mumbled sleepily, the long day catching up to you at last.

Nicomund chuckled warmly and raised his head from where it had been resting against your shoulder. You grinned up at him and stroked your fingers along his beard before letting them trail down his shoulders, your eyes following their path, as he moved further up.

“Nicomund the Red,” you muttered quietly, swirling an index over a circular tattoo on his chest. They were all gorgeous and reached down to both of his arms.

You felt him go still under your hands and met his stunned gaze. You smiled softly, keeping up your exploration.

“I like research,” you explained with a small shrug. “Didn’t find much, really, but I couldn’t…” You looked away from his face.

“Couldn’t what?” he asked in a quiet rumble.

“You read the note, Nicomund… I didn’t start thinking about writing it only yesterday,” you hedged.

This was as much as you wanted to reveal about how often you’d thought about him this past year. Sure, you’d been attracted to him from the get go and had fun with all the wordplay, but you’d also been genuinely intrigued by him.

Nicomund didn’t say anything for a beat, but then shifted your bodies until he was slipping out of you and rolling you to your side to face him.

He cleared his throat. “Well… I was kinda wondering if you’d be at your friends’ again.”

You uttered a small, happy laugh at his admittance and closed your eyes. The feeling only lasted a moment as you realized that he wouldn’t be staying, however. Nicomund was still Santa Claus, for crying out loud. Your smile turned sad as you fully realized that this couldn’t go anywhere. Opening your eyes and staring at his chest, you kept tracing the tattoos quietly, thinking.

“Will you come back next year?” you finally brought yourself to ask, your eyes still downcast.

A warm palm stroked over your jaw and tilted your head up to meet warm blue eyes.

“Only if you stay off the naughty list,” he said, going for humor to lift the suddenly heavier mood, but his smile was slightly off.

You couldn’t help but snort anyway and gave him a small smile, the implications of his comment clear. You’d always been on the nice list, so surely…

“No promises,” you whispered, having him huffing out a small laugh this time, while his fingers ran along the back of your neck in a wonderfully soothing way.

Your eyes slowly fell close, your fingers stopping their path on his skin as his touch lulled you to sleep. You were completely unable to fight it and soon, the last thing you felt were soft lips on your forehead.

With no surprise, you were alone the next morning.

One week later.

Two hours past the new year, after your friends had left, and you’d put the night’s dinner leftovers in the fridge, you sank onto the couch with a glass of eggnog. You stared at the liquid with bleary eyes, smiling to yourself as you thought of Nicomund. It was a bittersweet thought, but you tried to keep any sadness away whenever you thought of him. Still slightly tipsy, you berated yourself for missing the opportunity to make a bad joke with eggnog. Maybe you should write it in next Christmas’ note. You could already see him rolling his eyes at you and grinned.

Taking a sip and leaning your head back over the couch, you let your mind drift to the moment when you’d been lying face to face, his hands in your hair.

A whoosh of air suddenly went through the living room, having you gasp and sit upright again. Your mouth fell open at the now familiar golden sparks coming through the fireplace. A few seconds later, you were looking into Nicomund’s face.

“Happy new year?” he rumbled tentatively.

Standing and looking at your glass, you put it down on the coffee table and tilted your head at him.

“I should really, really leave off the eggnog,” you said as you approached him. “I’m starting to see Santa at New Year.”

“Maybe you’ll see me at Easter too,” he smirked, leaning towards you as you cupped his face to kiss him.

#Nicomund x reader #violent night #santa x reader #reader insert #violent night fanfiction #david harbour #christmas smut #yes I'm aware it's August 🤣

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