#I wonder how many are floating around from the early years of this blog

[billpottsismygf]

Scrolling through my old posts to check my current companion tags and I found my reaction to the series 8 trailer and it's so wild seeing me of 10 years ago say I'm not convinced by Peter Capaldi yet, who is my favourite Doctor of all time.

Like, I know he takes a while to warm up and I know it took me even longer to emotionally accept the fact that David Tennant had been knocked off the top spot, but it's just so weird to see!

[yeoldenews]

hello! i was wondering if you (or any blogs you think might know?) had any resources for edwardian fashion, more precisely edwardian teen fashion? i'm writing a story centering on two edwardian ghosts and would like help on their style of speech as well if you can't help on the fashion aspects. thank you!

In my opinion, if you want to be able to portray the authentic feel of a time period, there is nothing better than diving head first into primary sources.

Whenever I start any large research/writing project that’s centered on a particular year, I usually spend at least a couple of days just immersing myself in the era.

We live in an extraordinary age when it comes to primary source research (especially for the early 20th century) - there are literally millions of period newspapers/books/magazines/films/recordings floating around online.

Find out what books were popular and check them out! Read the newspaper! Listen to popular music! Watch silent movies or newsreels!

For teenagers, school yearbooks are a particularly great source to get an idea of how young people spoke, their senses of humor, common slang, casual fashion, as well as the daily routines and general vibes of the time period. Most universities have their yearbooks digitized and available online and can be pretty easily found on google (try searching: [year] [location if desired] yearbook digital collections).

As for fashion - there are so many great fashion history tumblrs, that it’s pretty hard to go wrong if you just explore the “Edwardian” or “1900s” tag a bit. One thing to keep in mind though - most dresses that end up in museums were owned by very, very rich individuals. So, though a great place to start, scrolling through blogs full of museum pieces to learn about fashion history is roughly the equivalent of learning about modern fashion by only watching Chanel runway shows.

By the Edwardian era most young people were wearing pretty much the same thing as adults by the age of 14/15. You were, however, starting to see the very beginning of what would become the modern “juniors’ section” - usually termed “Misses’” for girls and “young men’s” or “collegiate” for boys. Here are a few examples of this can be seen in period catalogs from 1912, 1911 (starting on page 21) and 1908. 

It’s also important to keep in mind that fashion changed much, much more quickly than it does now. A woman in 1906 and a woman in 1911 would have noticeably different styles and silhouettes. I'd recommend scrolling through some fashion plates (going to shout out chic-a-gigot here who has a great collection of French fashion plates organized by decade and year) to get a basic handle on how the silhouette changed year by year.

In my past life I was fashion history specialist for high-end auctions, so I could go on in A LOT more detail about this subject, but I'm going to end it here before this gets too long.

[neowinestainedress]

between us — jn.s (preview n visuals)

pairing: husband!johnny suh x wife!oc x fem!reader | professor!johnny x lawyer!oc summary: you find yourself tangled in the life of the Suhs after Mr. Suh starts working as an English professor at your father’s university. You don’t understand why they float around you so much, but soon enough, you can’t get enough of that secret, dirty game anymore. genre: smut, fluff, plot, mxfxf, married couple, established relationship, age gap, bisexual characters, aged up johnny (to his early 30) warnings: in the full fic | READ HERE

THE CHARACTERS

the suhs

the reader

PREVIEW

“He was in the swimming team in high school,” Aaliyah explains, covering her eyes from the sun with a hand and squeezing them so she can watch Johnny. You mimic her, humming at her words. “He was so good, I think I fell in love on the bleachers watching him swim.”

You chuckle tenderly and try to imagine a younger version of them, and you can almost see them. You wonder if their personalities were the same more than ten years ago, you wonder how they looked, you wonder if they would’ve ever imagined to still be here after so many years. But in any version you come up with, you still don’t fit. Actually, it makes you look like a stain even more.

“Your love is… strong,” you whisper when Johnny finally dives in and she cheers before bringing her attention to you.

“It is,” she agrees, a sweet smile showing her straight, white teeth, “even though weird things happen sometimes.”

You giggle, frowning. “Weird things?” Your voice is shaking, and you don’t want to connect the two dots that are so vivid in your head.

“What are you talking about? Praising me?” Mr. Suh asks, grinning while running a hand in his wet hair before hugging his wife from the back and kissing her cheek.

“Not about you, nothing impressive about that jump,” she jokes. “About us.”

“Us?”

She hums. “I was telling her how I fell in love with you, and she said our love is strong.”

You want to ask about the weird things, you want to ask so much more, but you don’t. And you simply stand there, watching Mr. Suh’s hands wrap around her body, feeling jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

And that’s the first time you cry at night about it. You don’t want to listen to him, but you can’t help but question why they would choose you. Even if it’s just a game, even if it means nothing, you can’t find a reason why. You don’t know who started this first, but it’s not like it would be any different, they’re both hot, smart, talented and successful, and your father is right, you’re not half of her, or his, worth.

Yet, you can’t let it go.

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© neowinestaindress; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. you can find my works on ao3 (neowinestaindress) and wattpad (winestaintedress_; currently inactive).

[saleintothe90s]

490. The 1980 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, November 27, 1980

(the whole parade is here, if you just want the commercials and highlights, it's here)

Randy Hamilton from the soap opera Texas sings "Deep in the Heart of Texas" with a small child? Who is this small child. I want it to be a random child that they chose three minutes before turning the cameras on. Randy doesn't have a Wikipedia page! Sadness.

Ahhh!! Is that a baby Mark Linn Baker in the GE commercial?!

I love the crowd whooping it up for the cast of One 'Mo Time. I was wondering what was behind them --- I think it was the broadcast booth for host Ed McMahon! Just ... there with the saddest looking Woolworth decorations ever.

What a weird closing card (what do you call that?) for this Child World / Children's Palace commercial that aired constantly. Ok, the bear didn't fall on his butt? That was the best shot we could get?

For some reason Marilyn Michaels takes off her gloves while singing "Watching the Parade go Byyy". That couldn't of waited, Marilyn?

Todd Bridges sang a song about the Summer. I felt bad for Todd, he had no back up dancers, just dancing in the street. Was this a time filler? Loved the song!

A baby Glenn Close was there with the cast of Barnum. I feel like Ed is auditioning for the Star Search hosting gig with this parade. I love his energy.

I love the juxtaposition of Bryant Gumbel thanking the Museum of Natural history for letting people warm up in their building with Doodlebug.

Ed sang a song! When was the last time a host SANG.

I thought Cootie ran over a clown, but the clown deliberately laid down in front of him??

Just for us Hampton Roads girlies, Busch Gardens of Williamsburg had a Loch Ness Monster float! It's still at Busch Gardens! The cast of Brigadoon was on the float.

Ed was trying to find a date for Happy Dragon. He said "I guess now that he's 21, he's free to go out in the evening and date whomever he chooses. So if you have an eligible dragon hanging around your house moping, we might be able to set them up and in the years to come, who knows how many dragons we might have in the parade!"

There was a float for everyone's favorite box office flop, Popeye! I think that's supposed to be Olive Oyl?!

1980 was electric football's year. It felt like it was the only toy advertised!

"Tonka's Bear in a Box! Everyone's favorite!"

Finally, a game that looks like one of my dad's vintage fire scanners.

Cowboys were HOT this year, due to the movie Urban Cowboy, and the TV show Dallas. Modern equivalent to this would be this past Summer's Western Barbie! We even had Dean Butler from Little House on the Prairie sing "Don't Fence Me In" while riding a tortoise. The Lone Ranger even showed up. Oh, and even the McDonalds commercial with Ronald was western themed.

While Snoopy couldn't fly this year due to a leg injury, we had Underdog.

Can we discuss how a station wagon is pulling a float. Later on, I saw an Oldsmobile sedan towing the float with the Spinners on it.

This beautiful phone store.

I feel like by the time we were growing up in the late 80s/early 90s, Kermit had more bad days at the parade than good, but 1980 was a good year for him. Just look at him.

Casper is over here looking like the baby from Ally McBeal.

Bob from Sesame Street sang a song while Bert & Ernie danced. Even Oscar liked the song.

Unfortunately, the entire parade isn't on YouTube. Looks like the recorder only set their VCR for two hours. One of the final things you see is Linda Ronstadt and the cast of The Pirates of Penzance. "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" slaps.

Related: previous thanksgiving entries.

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[redsoapbox]

The Third and Final Volume of Have Yourself a Merry Indie Christmas is Released Tomorrow

So, I've reached the end of a rather wonderful journey. When I had the idea of curating a Christmas album, almost two years ago now, I didn't really have a specific project in mind at all. However, the best decision I took early on was to ban cover versions (I adore all the great Christmas classics, from Bing and Nat to Noddy and Elton) but anybody can round up a crappy cover version of an all-time classic. I wanted to see if there were undiscovered Christmas songs floating around in the ether that had simply never had a fair hearing, songs good enough to be future classics, at least within the genre of Indie music.

That meant a lot of back breaking and heart breaking (there are still moments when I full-on curse a record company for not consenting to the release of a track!) work along the way. I must have listened to every Indie Xmas compilation ever recorded - day after day spent trawling through Bandcamp, Discogs, label catalogues, you tube, Xmas podcasts and blogs.

On the subject of the latter, it was chancing upon the phenomenal Christmas Underground – We are the War on Christmas (Music) that allowed the fanciful vision I had of compiling the 'Best Indie Xmas Album Ever' to crystalize into a realistic proposition. I was discovering song after song there that I was falling in love with. These songs were from bands (mostly unknown to me) from all parts of America and all over Europe (Scandinavian Indie Xmas songs is a really flourishing sub-genre), it was incredibly exciting and lead to dozens of punch the air moments as, one by one, bands agreed to participate.

In addition to discovering new songs, I also set about tracking down bands that I admired and who I knew had an Xmas song in their back catalogue. I was lucky enough to get hold of songs from Dodgy, Girl Ray, White Town, bis, Pete Astor and many more. It was around this point that my idea for a 20-30 song album began to trend to the mammoth 108-track compilation that was released last Christmas. There were just so many unbelievable songs that I had to try and track down.

An example of the obsessive hole that I was digging for myself came when I read a write up on a Minneapolis band called GLOSS (who became Poshlost) before splitting up. Christmas Underground called their song 'Gifts Received' 'the best Joy Division/New Order Christmas song of all time! From the baseline, to the vocals, to the lyrics, GLOSS have hit the nail on the head when it comes to writing a dark, pulsing, disturbing Christmas song'. You can imagine, as someone whose favourite band is JoyDivision/New Order how much I wanted that song, because, unbelievably and against all the odds, it did sound like a Joy Division Christmas song. The band had long since split up though (the song dated back to 2015) and my bandcamp messages met with silence. In the end, I tracked down a band member on Facebook and received an immediate and favourable reply. That wild goose chase was repeated dozens of times through 2022.

Volumes I and II succeeded in raising £5,800 for Crisis, nearly treble the target I had set myself, having been played on BBC6 Music, BBC Scotland, Radio X and BBC Radio Wales (each volume was named Album Of The Week by Huw Stephens). In addition, the songs were played on "indie" stations around Europe and America (thanks to Sandra and Alice for constantly playing the albums on their shows from Berlin) but also in Canada, Hong Kong and Australia. Have Yourself a Merry Indie Christmas was also shorlisted as a (Welsh Origin) AOTY by Wales Arts Review.

The main aim accomplished then, but what of my personal ambition to compile an album that would be played at Christmas for years to come? Here is the verdict: A REMINDER OF THE INCREDIBLE REVIEWS FOR HAVE... (tumblr.com). I don't think there is anything else to touch it. For example, Rough Trade, as good an Indie label as there ever was, released a Christmas comp this year (some five or six tracks are on HYAMIC too), but it comes nowhere near the quality of any of the three volumes that constitute Have Yourself a Merry Indie Christmas.

Speaking of Volume III (you may have read the tracklist already at Have Yourself a Merry Indie Christmas Vol III: Line Up Reveal - Wales Arts Review), it matches the standard of its predecessors, featuring The Wedding Present, The Futureheads, Helen Love, Euros Childs and Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard.

The project closes then, having rounded up 143 distinctive, thrilling Christmas earworms into a three volume compilation that raises money for a cause which demands urgent support. This is the 21st Century and no one should be homeless in the United Kingdom. Thank you all for your generosity in helping others and for giving these forgotten songs a home too.

A track from Volume III "Xmas Trip" by Run On

You can purchase all three volumes here Music | Various Artists (bandcamp.com) If you do that on December 1st (after 8.ooam UK time) bandcamp waives its commission, raising more money for Crisis at Christmas.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Poe Dameron x Female Reader (Armitage Hux too if you squint.)

A/N: I actually set this in my Somewhere in the Dark, Your Light Finds Me fic. You don’t have to read it to know what’s going on I do try and cover the basics so it all makes sense. On the other hand if you did want to read the fic this is full of spoilers 😅 Writer Wednesday (I bet you always look forward to my sadness….) @clydesducktape @autumnleaves1991-blog

Warnings: Possible gaslighting, mentions of infidelity, Poe is a bit of an ass. Mention of baby/pregnancy loss, mention of PTSD, arguments, alcohol mention, broken down engagement. Oh yeah it’s all sadness up in this house.

Word Count: 4276

You stared at your computer screen, the words and numbers all blurring together. Your heart was heavy, still ringing with the hurtful words from your fiancé yesterday. You hated fighting with him, you were due to get married next week but right now that was all up in the air. He had been so angry, his words like poison as he dripped them all over you. You’d seen Poe’s temper before, you’d experienced his hurtful words when he was having his PTSD moments but nothing could have prepared you for the last few months. The constant nit-picking at everything you did, trying to trip you up in a non-existent lie. This year has been awful for both of you, in fact it has been a rollercoaster since you’d met but you had hoped, together, you’d battle the darkness that threatened to cloud your relationship. Only he seemed to be feeding it now and you didn’t know what to do. There were only so many times you could tell him you weren’t cheating on him, you weren’t having an affair with your boss. You ran a hand over your forehead, didn’t they say the one doing the accusing was usually the one doing the thing they were accusing you of?

“Are you ready for some lunch before you run off and get married?” You looked up to see your boss standing next to your desk, his hand was fiddling with his cuff as he looked at you with those green eyes. His red hair was placed perfectly as always, ever looking the part as the owner of a profitable business.

“Right, lunch,” you mumbled and he smiled slightly.

“I can’t let my best accountant go without a decent lunch.”

“Is it Friday?” You asked and his gaze flickered over you quickly, the smile faltering as he saw how exhausted you were.

“Yeah it’s Friday. You were supposed to finish half an hour ago. I thought I’d missed you.”

“Oh right,” you mumbled again, going through the motions and switching off your pc. You flinched slightly when his hand brushed your elbow, your fiancé’s words suddenly loud and accusing in your mind. Armitage walked you to the lift in silence, the handles of your bag felt heavy in your hands even though there was barely anything in it. The ride was a couple of minutes long, the silence almost deafening as your boss clearly couldn’t think of anything to say and you were too trapped in your thoughts to even make a sentence let alone conversation. When the doors opened the noise of the foyer almost deafened you, Armitage let you out first and suddenly you felt like everyone was staring at you. All the chatter became whispers, accusations, rumours and you wanted to run and hide, your heart fluttering with anxiety. The sound of your name made you start slightly only to find Armitage staring at you now with real concern.

“Is this wedding jitters, or something more?” You felt frustrated with yourself which made the increasing pressure behind your eyes worse.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered.

“Ok let’s skip lunch, there is a little van by the river where we can grab a hot chocolate and have a chat.”

“Yeah ok that sounds good,” you felt yourself relaxing already. The idea of someone seeing you out for lunch with your boss was much harder to explain away than a simple drink by the river. Because you had to think about these things, what with Poe now driving himself crazy you were having an affair and you just wanted to prove you weren’t. Because you weren’t. The street your building was on was just a short walk from the river, and took you both less than a couple of minutes. Trees lined the street all rich in orange, red and gold, their leaves littered the pavement like discarded jewels. Nature had put on her autumn coat and it showed in such wondrous glory. There was a slight nip in the air but it wasn’t constant enough to warrant a coat, not this late in the day.

You leaned on the railing looking down into the water as Armitage ordered the drinks, already you felt better being out here, the smell of the water carried on the breeze and the freshness that came with the river compared to the rest of the city already blowing the cobwebs from your mind.

“Here,” you took the cup he offered you with a quiet thanks, the heat of the hot chocolate bleeding through the sleeve and you rested it on the railing. You pointed at the marshmallows floating on the surface and shot him a quizzical look. He shrugged, that telltale blush creeping over his cheeks as he leaned next to you. “You looked like you needed cheering up.”

“Well thanks,” you bumped his shoulder and he bumped you softly back.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on?” You sighed loudly, trying to expel all the bad feelings you had tumbling inside you but it didn’t work, nothing would.

“Poe thinks I’m having an affair.” There. You said it. Now it was real, taking shape out of your body. Your fiancé had been accusing you for months, but last night it had really blown up all because you worked late trying to tie everything up for leaving early today.

“What?” Asked Hux angrily. “What gives him that idea?”

“Well he’s been accusing me for months,” you swallowed some hot chocolate, hoping it would ease the emotions that were forcing their way out of you, but it didn’t. “I stayed late last night to try and finish up, you know because I’m the best…” you tried to joke but the sound of your voice made it fall flat. “Anyway, when I got home he started immediately, demanding to know where I’d been, accusing me of all sorts he just wouldn’t drop it no matter what I said and then….” You looked up at the sky desperately trying to stop the tears from falling but they did anyway, big fat ones rolling down your cheeks. “And then he left,” you said thickly. “And I haven’t heard from him since.” Armitage sighed loudly looking down at his hot chocolate.

“So he thinks you’re having an affair with someone from work? How daft is he?” He shifted next to you, turning so his back was to the river and he looked up and down the street trying to figure out what to say next. “I’m so sorry, why didn't you say something? I’d have shortened your hours or I don’t know….helped?” He offered but you shook your head.

“That wouldn’t have helped Armitage,” you replied softly, dabbing at your eyes and sniffing loudly.

“Who does he think you’re having an affair with anyway? All you do is sit at your desk, crunch some numbers, write a report and go home,” he gestured with the hand holding his hot chocolate and you tilted your head to look up at him letting out a quick bark of laughter.

“Armie, if my job was that easy I wouldn’t be having problems, anyway…”

“But what gave him the impression you’re having an affair?” He asked angrily before holding up his hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be prying but this has got my back up, I see how hard you work all the time you love your job.”

“I do,” you whispered.

“Why…I don’t understand?” You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth debating whether to tell him but it burned in your mouth and you wanted to see how he would react, you supposed.

“It’s you, Armitage. He thinks I’m having an affair with you.” Hux froze, his hot chocolate halfway to his mouth before he made an expression of disbelief and lowered it again.

“Me?” He turned to face you, a finger pointing into his chest. “I’m sorry, me? Poe Dameron…curly haired, finely chiselled jawline, god amongst men, Poe Dameron thinks you would choose me over him?” He leaned back against the railing, a smile playing around his mouth. “Oh yeah he really has lost the plot,” he chuckled to himself. He took a sip from his cup as you both stood there letting the news sink in, filling the cracks of the silence you both found yourself in. “But you’re getting married.” He stated, almost in quiet disappointment.

“I’m supposed to be, but how can I, if I don’t even know where he is, who he’s with.” Hux looked down at you as you leaned over the railing looking at your reflection, rippling in the water.

“He wouldn’t…” Hux started but you snorted in disbelief, cutting him off.

“He might. We’re all capable of it aren’t we?” You mused. Hux’s arm jostled you slightly as he leaned in next to you, his bright red hair almost glowing in his reflection. You turned to look at him, he was so close and you found yourself recklessly wondering what would happen if you kissed him, here, now. You’d been accused of it enough, so why not put some weight behind those accusations? For all you knew your fiancé was out doing god knows who right now….so why not right?

Hux turned to say something else but you found yourself tipping forward just at the right time and your lips met his in a surprise kiss. A kiss that neither of you pulled away from straight away. Hux backed up a step, his eyes wide with surprise and you instantly felt the flush of guilt roil through your gut.

“Oh god. Armitage I’m so sorry!” You stumbled over your own feet, clutching the railing to steady yourself. “I should go home. I need to go home.” You turned, throwing away your half empty cup into the bin and striding away before Hux could say anything to stop you.

When you opened the door to your flat you were surprised to see Poe standing in the kitchen. His arms were crossed over his wide chest, his thumb gripped between his teeth with worry and his eyes were wide when he looked up, raking over you quickly. You softly shut the door, so many questions were filling your mind you didn’t know where to start. You dumped your bag and keys on the side, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine.

“Bit early for that, isn't it?” He asked darkly. You ignored him and opened the bottle, not even bothering to get a glass. “Where have you been?” He asked.

“Work.”

“But you had a short day today?” So it begins… You turned and pointed at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“I’ve got a better question. Where have you been?”

“I stayed on Finn and Zorii’s sofa.” You nodded, taking a long swig from the bottle letting the lie settle before you tackled it.

“Mmm, do you want to rethink that answer or are you sticking with that story?” You saw his expression change at the not so veiled accusation.

“Damn it, why don’t you believe me?” He glowered.

“Like you believe me?” You shot at him. “When I stand here baring everything to you screaming at you that I’m not having an affair and still, still, you don’t believe me.” You felt the tears again and you bit down on your lip. “We’re supposed to be getting married in about 5 days. But right now you’re the last man I’d want to marry.” Poe rolled his eyes to the ceiling and you smirked, it always went like this. Now you were the emotional one, the dramatic one, the one who lost her head and made the argument more than it should be.

“You’re so dramatic…”

“Am I? Am I though?” He watched you with distaste as you took another gulp of wine. “Just so you know I rang Zorii last night, now either you tiptoed in when they were asleep or you’re fucking lying to me.” Poe shifted uneasily against the counter and you just knew. “You might want to start talking, flyboy.” He shrugged and for a moment you felt a blazing white hot anger course through you. Without waiting for an explanation you were never going to get you marched into the bedroom, slamming the bottle down on your bedside table and dragging out the suitcase from under the bed.

“What are you doing?” He asked heavily.

“Well I’m just deciding if it should be my stuff that goes in here, or yours.” His face twisted as his own anger boiled to the surface.

“Why don’t you fill it with your shit and then you can scurry off to Armitage!” He shouted.

“Maybe I’ll fucking do that!” You shouted back, throwing up your arms.

“I knew it!” He snarled, stepping forward and pointing at you. “I knew it, I was right you’re having an affair with him…”

“For fucks sake Poe I am NOT!”

“You pretty much just said it! So come on! When did it happen? Months ago? Maybe when you started the new job? Come on, I want details!” You ignored his ranting, gritting your teeth as you filled the suitcase with your own stuff. “Oh my god you’re actually going? I’m sure he’ll be so happy to fucking see you.”

“Oh god enough!!” You screamed, dropping more clothes into the suitcase. “You really want the details?” You asked. “You really want to know what’s been going on?”

“You know I do baby,” he sneered sarcastically. “I love it when you prove me right.” You took a quick breath, trying to steady yourself and not fall apart right now. Not yet.

“Nothing has been happening, he is my boss…”

“You’re such a lying bitch…”

“I’m not, I'm not lying!! But…” you choked off mid shout. You had to tell him, didn't you?

“Well, I’m waiting.” He rested against the door frame, his posture full of arrogance and anger as he waited for you to finish what you were saying.

“Today, we had hot chocolate by the river,” tears filled your eyes as the guilt reared up inside you. “I kissed him,” you sobbed. “It was just a peck but honestly you’ve been accusing me of worse for months and months and I thought, why the fuck not? He didn’t even see it coming, it was all me.” You looked up to see he hadn’t moved and more hot tears spilled down your cheeks. “Do you see how these accusations are hurting me?? You’re forcing me away and I don’t want to love anyone else Poe! But you make it so hard…it-it feels like we don’t fit together anymore.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He said calmly.

“What?” You whispered.

“You’re right, we don’t fit together anymore.”

“Poe…?”

“I just feel like we’re going through the motions, we’ve been through too much, it’s been damaging for us, maybe it’s time to give up.”

“I-I don’t understand?” You whispered suddenly feeling slightly woozy and you leaned heavily on the dresser. “After everything… the accident, Ben, our-our daughter and this…you asked me not to give up on you! So I didn’t, I kept fighting for us, for this! And this is how you repay me?” You turned to face him. “I gave everything to you. EVERYTHING!” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face.

“Confession time?” You nodded, not liking his grim tone and expression. “I wasn’t at Finn’s last night…”

“No shit.” He glared at you before continuing.

“I was with Rey.” Your brain stuttered to a stop. Rey. A laugh erupted from you until you realised what he was saying.

“Oh, you were with Rey…” your hands shook as you carefully sat yourself down on the bed. Rey. She had taken Ben from you a few years ago and now….now she was taking Poe. A sob beat your chest as despair ripped through you, after all the darkness the pair of you had endured, this was how it was ending. You clutched your stomach trying to hold yourself together, everything you’d been holding back came spewing forth, the sobs were loud and fast barely giving you time to breathe.

“I’ve packed a bag already. Look,” he sighed. “I didn’t want it to come out like this.”

“Like this?” You cried. “5 days before our wedding? How long were you going to wait for Poe?” You sniffed and wiped your face. “Were you going to leave me at the altar? Or were you going to wait until we’d consummated the marriage? Or maybe you weren’t going to tell me at all!!” You shrieked.

“I would have told you, before it was too late,” he stated but you’d heard enough.

“Too late??” You stood, pointing frantically as you struggled to get your words free. “Out I want you out!”

“Listen…”

“JUST GET THE FUCK OUT!” You screamed, clawing at your own face in anguish. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!” You followed him through the flat, screaming how much you hated him, how much he’d hurt you until he slammed the front door in your face leaving you alone with only the sound of your wailing to keep you company.

You slid down the door, all the strength leaving your body and you slumped there sobbing. Finally your cries dwindled as you watched the sky through the window, seeing how it changed from the crisp blue colour with white cotton like clouds to a rich navy colour, the clouds now gold as the sun set. The need for wine drove you to get up and you hated how familiar this all felt, except when Ben had left you had turned to gin. At least when Ben had left it was more out of the blue, sure it had been hard to come back from but you hadn’t gone through the same earth shattering things with Ben as you had with Poe. But then, some things a couple just can’t come back from, you guessed. You had never stopped believing the fun loving Poe would come back to you after his accident and he did, for a time. But then the pregnancy…

The bedroom suddenly felt so empty and you noticed how certain things of his were missing, like his phone charger and his favourite pair of trainers. You sat back down on the bed, gently teasing open the drawer to reveal the tiny pink hat that had belonged to your 16 week old daughter. Running a finger over it you remembered the heartache as though it was yesterday, you hadn’t been yourself since giving birth and then losing her immediately after. You’d spiralled, quitting your job, staying at home, refusing to see anyone. It was no less than what Poe had done when he was suffering from his PTSD, but one rule for him it seemed and a different one for you. Maybe it was your fault Poe ran off with someone else, but still the bitterness filled your throat and you grimaced at the taste. You had nursed that man, looked after him, got him through one of the toughest moments of his life and he could barely do the same for you. But fucking Rey? You hiccuped slightly trying to laugh but it just came out as another sob, what a joke.

The engagement had been a bandage on a broken limb, now you thought about it. This would never have worked whether Rey had been on the sidelines or not. You slammed the drawer shut, making your way back into the kitchen you picked up your phone seeing the missed calls and messages from Ben and Zorii, Poe had obviously told them what happened. A reckless idea formed in your mind and you raced back into the bedroom, packing your suitcase in earnest as the phone rang loudly in your ear.

“Hello?”

“Armitage, I have a question for you.”

“Is this about earlier, because I really think we should talk about it more…”

“I agree. But hear me out. What if we talk about it on a plane?”

“A…what are you suggesting?”

“I have a holiday coming up…”

“You have a honeymoon you mean.”

“Not anymore.” You toyed with your lip not enjoying the silence from the other end of the phone. “Anyway, I am going on that holiday and I have a spare ticket. I’ll send you the details and you can decide if you want to come or not.”

“Alright….” He sounded hesitant but you didn’t care. He either came and you had a great time together or he didn’t and you had a great time anyway.

“I’m heading to my parents for a few days, but I will be at the airport on Wednesday. Come, or don't, it's up to you.” Putting the phone down you let out a long exhale not believing what you had just done. You just invited your boss to your honeymoon? What on earth were you thinking? God, you were so damn reckless at times! You dialed another number, sitting your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you packed everything you could.

“Mum, don’t freak out but I have some news….”

You got to the airport early, you were always early. The fear of being late was an absolute curse especially when it came to catching planes, trains, busses or basically anything that could leave without you.

You stood in the airport car park enjoying the way the cooler autumn air rushed over you. Soon you’d be replacing it with heat and sun but for now you were going to remember this. It was cleansing in a way, the freshness of it dancing over your skin, the rich rustle of the golden leaves in the crisp breeze. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your fluttering nerves before heading inside.

You tried not to look at your watch, you tried not to scan the crowd every 5 seconds looking for that shock of red hair. You hadn’t contacted him and he hadn't contacted you which was fine. It was fine.

The few days you’d had at your parents had been fraught, your mum cried more than you did as you cancelled as much as you could trying to get a fraction of the money you laid out back into your bank account. Your Dad, he been quiet, stewing over a man he’d accepted into the family had done this to his baby girl….he asked you not to date anymore because his heart couldn’t take the strain. You’d had a conversation with Zorii and Ben, talking them both down from hunting Poe down and ripping his balls from his body, well that's what Zorii said. Ben had been quiet, too quiet and you wondered if he remembered the way he left, with the same woman. You didn’t care, you were going on holiday by yourself it seemed. Ok you did care, you cared so much it threatened to consume you, to rob you of all function as you walked through the airport but you shoved it all aside. You’d deal with it later, that was a problem for future you, post holiday you.

You cast one last look around for that head of ginger hair, disappointment filling your chest and you blinked back whatever was happening with your eyes because you refused to shed more tears here. You handed your ticket over and strode into the plane with your head held high. Settling in your seat you immediately put your headphones in and watched out of the window trying not to think of how different this should be. You should be happy, newlyweds, all excited and flushing with joy. You should be holding hands and performing hideously embarrassing PDAs, you should be giggling and loving life, not slumped here with your face pressed against the window.

The music blared loudly in your ears, you didn’t notice when someone took the seat next to you, too lost in your pit of despair you barely managed to wipe your face dry. Something tapped on your arm and you ignored it wishing whoever it was would get the message and piss off. It happened again and you sat up ready to spew some horrible words but they all choked and died in your throat when your gaze locked with his pale green eyes. A soft smile rested easily on his face but it slipped when he saw your distraught expression, you pulled the headphones off not even daring to believe he came.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Oh…hi.” He reached out and swiped a thumb under your eye, catching the fresh tears that welled up and trickled down your cheek.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted to be here earlier but…work.” You gasped through a sob and nodded.

“It’s ok.” You pressed the heels of your hands firmly into your eyes creating those white splodges all over your vision as you fought so hard to bring yourself back from the edge of that black pit that called your name all the time. “I’m ok,” you sobbed. Armitage snaked an arm around you and pulled you into his shoulder.

“Listen, we are going to enjoy this holiday, we are going to have a great time and drink and eat, we are going to go to the beach and you are going to sunbathe while I hide in the shade,” you chuckled though another sob. “So good times only, until we get back and have to face the music of reality. Deal?” His finger and thumb gripped your chin lightly making you look up at him and you managed a watery smile.

“Deal.”

[a-fluffer-nutter]

The Fox And The Turtle

A/N - Hey guys, this was such a fun fic to write! This was prompted by a lovely anon who commissioned me on my Kofi! To that wonderful anon, I really hope you enjoy and thank you so much for helping me out a bit, my boyfriend and I used the money to buy a celebratory dinner after we got accepted for an apartment! If anyone else would like their own amazing fic, let me know or head on over to my Kofi and let’s get the process started. 

This is a Miraculous Ladybug fic featuring Nino and Alya. Please Enjoy.

Word Count: 4,034

           The first time was unexpected, an accident really. She never expected to get that close to him, to want to be so close to him.

           Alya Césaire had invited Nino Lahiffe to a nearby café to talk. She had arrived early in the morning, wanting to finish some schoolwork and to get started on a new blog post. There was so much she needed to catch her blog up with, especially with what had happened the week before.

           Lady Wifi.

           She never wanted it to happen, why would she? She idolized Ladybug, most of her blog was dedicated to the hero, but she had been the cause of another fight Ladybug and Chat Noir had to undertake. It all happened because of her.

           The autumn breeze rustled the sleepy trees, sending leaves of orange, red, and yellow floating toward the ground. The air was just beginning to have a chill bite at the bare skin of passersby, but this didn’t faze the people of Paris, most of them thrilled that the summer heat was fading, and autumn was taking over again. Kids had just returned to school, most of the teens excited to spend their weekends at the mall hanging out with their closest friends.

           Nino was on his way to the café to visit Alya. He hadn’t seen much of her that summer, though had followed her online presence closely. It was hard not to, when Alya seemed to run a major blog in basically every topic. In fact, Nino had been browsing online forums about Donkey Kong a few days prior, wanting to prove some sort of point to his younger brother, when he stumbled upon a Donkey Kong fan blog Alya had made a few years before. Sure, she hadn’t touched it in a long time, but the fact that Nino had accidentally found something made by her had made him laugh at the time.

           Humming to himself, Nino danced between small puddles of water that speckled the sidewalk. Staring at his phone, he tried to think of a good playlist for the next school dance. It was that time of year again; the dance wasn’t going to DJ itself.

           “Britney Spears or Lady Gaga?” Nino muttered to himself, staring at the blank note page he just opened on his phone. He may have had Lady Gaga playing in his headphones at the moment, but that didn’t mean Britney Spears wasn’t a favorite of his.

           A church bell chimed in the distance, Nino looking up from his phone in panic.

           “Oh no,” Nino said to himself. He was late to his meeting with Alya. Nearly tripping over a stroller with a screaming toddler inside, Nino jogged toward his destination, still considering what Lady Gaga song would be the best to dance to.

             Alya recoiled as she burnt her tongue again. She had just sat down with her steaming mug, her third pumpkin spiced latte of the day. She might have enjoyed making fun of people who drink pumpkin spice lattes, but they were too good for her to resist.

           “Ow,” She moaned, her tongue sticking out slightly between her plump lips. She had a habit of just rushing into things, being impulsive. From risking it all to get the next big scoop to instantly taking a drink of something she knew would burn her tongue, Alya had a penchant for impulsivity.

           The chime above the door rang, Nino throwing it open with so much force that it startled everyone inside in the café. Giving an embarrassed smile, Nino gave a short wave to the older lady who spilt a bit of coffee down her dress. Looking up from her computer, Alya rolled her eyes at the sight of Nino, though she couldn’t help the smile on her face.

           “Hi Alya,” Nino grinned, pulling off his headphones and slipped them down his neck. “Sorry I’m late, I got distracted.”

           “It’s fine,” Alya replied, waving her hand, motioning for him to sit.

           “Before we start,” Dropping his backpack to the floor, Nino plopped down into his seat, sitting across from Alya. “Do you prefer Britney Spears or Lady Gaga?”

           “You can’t choose between the two of them,” Alya let out a laugh, thinking about her fan blogs she has created for both of them in the past.

           “You’re no help,” Chided Nino, Alya simply replied by sticking out her tongue, still numb from burning it.

           “Anyway, I wanted your help with something,” Alya quickly changed the subject, getting down to business. Nino smiled expectantly, tilting his head ever so slightly. “I need to update my blog about Ladybug, but I don’t really know how to do it.”

           “Oh, I thought this was going to be something important,” Nino laughed, laughing harder when Alya shot him a death glare. He lifted his hands, “I kid, I kid. But how can I help you with your blog? You know more about Ladybug than anyone else I know. Wait, this isn’t about Chloe, is it? If so, I’m not helping you snoop on her more. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

           “Oh no, I’m definitely never snooping on Chloe again, she definitely isn’t Ladybug.”

           “Then, what do you need?” Nino leaned back, glancing up at the drink menu above the front counter. He may have been interested in whatever Alya was talking about, but he was torn between whether to order a strawberry smoothy or a chocolate caramel latte.

           “Lady Wifi,” Nino’s eyes shot down at her words.

           “Why are you asking me about her, you are her,” His voice dropped, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear him.

           “That’s the thing,” Alya looked down at her keyboard, fingers circling the keys. “I don’t remember it at all. I guess that’s good, because I could’ve hurt someone really bad and I would have to live with remembering myself doing that, but I don’t, which is really weird. I just feel bad about battling my idol, like I could have really hurt her! I don’t want to do that, besides, what would I do if I can’t blog about her?”

           “Work on your other eight hundred blogs. Or you know, schoolwork,” Nino rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a short laugh when Alya shot him another glare.

           “Come on, Nino,” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Please help me.”

           “Okay, sure thing,” Nino smiled, leaning forward, placing a hand on her knee, giving it a small squeeze. “What do you want to know?”

           Instead of replying, Alya let out a stream of giggles, instinctually scooching back in her chair. Shocked, Nino pulled his hand back, lips parting.

           That was adorable.

           “Don’t tickle me, Nino,” Alya said, rubbing her knee, numbing the area of the ticklish shocks that just jolted through her muscles. “This is serious.”

           “Sorry,” Nino rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed by the blush he could feel painting his cheeks, crawling up to his ears.

           “Anyways,” Alya went on, ignoring Nino’s discomfort, and went on talking about Lady Wifi. Nino answered as many questions as he could, but he couldn’t stop the image of her giggling face from being at the forefront of his thoughts. Nino wanted to see it again but didn’t know when he would have the chance to.

**

                       “Nino!” Alya giggled, attempting to curl into herself.

           The attack had come unexpectedly, but there was not much she could do. Fighting back could give herself away, and it wouldn’t be for another few months that Nino would learn the new truth about her. She let him get away with the attack, though with her new strength, it was much harder to hold back.

           Nino sat over her, his knees straddling her thighs and hips, putting just enough pressure to pin the legs to the bench without crushing her. He sat triumphantly on her thighs, fitting perfectly between the hem of her jeans and her knees, which happened to be exposed that day thanks to the fashionable tears that came with them. He held her wrists together in one hand, surprised by how tiny her wrists were in comparison, he laughed victoriously once he had them pinned to the wooden bench, her hair messily entangled beneath.

           “Something wrong?” Nino teased, his free hand resting on her knee, feeling the short stubbly hair on her skin. Why shave in the winter when nobody was going to see it?

           “What are you doing?” Alya asked, voice trembling. The skin on her legs were coated with anticipatory goosebumps.

           Nino simply responded with a curt grunt and a slight shrug, then proceeded to squeeze the knee cap. Giggles filled her belly, rising to her throat like bubbles blowing in the wind. Alya bit back the laughter, her teeth pressing into her plump bottom lip, ruby lipstick painting a thin layer of gloss onto her teeth. She managed to hold back the laughter for a bit as he focused on squeezing just the kneecap but lost her composure a bit as he slipped his hand through the hole and hooked his fingers beneath her leg and scratched behind her knee.

           “Nino,” Alya squeaked before the vast number of giggly bubbles slipped through her control and turned into one of the most beautiful sounds Nino had ever heard. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away so he couldn’t see her smile as well, though she fought the urge to tug at her arms.

           “Wow, Alya,” Nino cooed, his short nails still scratching at the skin, his fingers moving swiftly as if helping her scratch a persistent itch she couldn’t reach. “If you’re this ticklish here, you must be super ticklish everywhere else too.”

           Letting out a little yelp, Alya continued to giggle as Nino crawled his hands a little further up the leg and lightly traced swirls into the back of her lower thigh.

           Alya decided not to give him the satisfaction of conceding at all, of begging. Ladybug had just given her own Miraculous, which hid beneath her shirt, but she wasn’t afraid at this moment that Nino was going to see it. It would have to take a lot of thrashing for it to make an appearance, and Alya knew that wasn’t going to happen. Speaking of her Miraculous, Trixx was still hiding in her fanny pack, which thankfully was sitting next to her backpack on the ground below the bench. Lucky for Trixx, as he would be crushed by Nino if Alya hadn’t taken the fanny pack off before this all went down.

           “How about here?” Nino let out a small laugh as he quickly reached forward and latched onto her hip bone. Despite it not being that ticklish of a spot, Alya still let out a giggly gasp and a short kick. She dug the heel of her shoes into the bench, giving her something to focus on, grounding her just a bit.

           “Her giggle is adorable,” Nino thought, ecstasy flowing through his bloodstream, her smile and giggle like a drug to him. Though she was hiding her face, he could still see enough of her face to take in the beauty of it all, her lips curled up into a smile bright enough to rival all the stars in the sky.

           Needing more, Nino walked his fingers up just a bit to poke at her sides. Each poke elicited a giggle of a slightly higher pitch led Nino to the conclusion that this spot was a bit better than the last. Curling his fingers into a mimicry of claws, he pressed them into the softer flesh and began to vibrate his hand. This turned out to be a great technique.

           “No!” Alya nearly screamed, the dam finally collapsing and out flowed her wonderfully boisterous laughter. She let out another kick, then dug her heel back into the bench, trying hard to get control again.

           Ticklish shocks resonated through her body, sending surges from her side through her chest and into her throat, which continued to pour out waves of contagious laughter. Despite all this, she still did not tug at all at her arms. This was not satisfactory, not at all, to Nino. He wanted to watch her struggle, to writhe and laugh underneath him, under his ticklish touch. Alya, though, could not let this happen. She was a heroine, after all. A new hero, but still a hero that shouldn’t be taken down by something as silly as tickling. She knew she could fight it until Nino grew bored, she had to.

           “This a good spot?” Nino beamed, tempted to pull his other hand down to do the same to her other side, but thought against it. He won’t let go until she pulls free or begs.

           Nino didn’t know why he was being so sadistic all of a sudden, but he liked it. He liked seeing Alya like this, so flustered, so adorable...no. He didn’t want to admit it yet, he couldn’t like her like that, at least he didn’t think so. But she was so pretty, with eyes that glowed like gold coins and her lips as beautiful as rubies.

           “It tickles,” Alya broke Nino out of his thoughts, bringing out a laugh from him.

           “Well, I hope so,” Nino grinned, fingers stilling briefly before walking up to the base of her ribs.  “That’s kinda the point.”

           Alya let out a squeak as he gently prodded between her bottom two ribs. Nino’s grin spread wider as a devious idea flickered into frame in his mind.

           “Do you know how many ribs the average person has?” Nino asked, mindlessly tapping the same spot between the two ribs over and over, enjoying the small flinch each poke provoked.

           “Twenty-four?” Alya asked after a moment of thinking it over. Something like this should’ve come quickly, but she was a bit distracted at the moment.

           “Yep,” Another poke. “Let’s see if you have twenty-four, too.”

           Without a second to protest if she had wanted, Nino scratched at the lowest rib. Alya let out a breathy giggle, turning her head back so she could see him.

           “One,” Nino said before walking his fingers up to the next one. “Two.”

           “Three,” Alya found herself saying between nearly silent giggles. Nino raised an eyebrow, surprised by her participation. He briefly wondered if she was enjoying it but thought otherwise. Though maybe.

           “Four,” Her giggle became a bit more desperate. “Five.”

           “Six,” Alya startled Nino again, though pressed her face into her arm, hiding from him as much as she could.

           “Seven” Alya cackled, wiggling a bit in anticipation.

           The next three were in her armpit, which is standard anatomy. Alya knew this was going to be hard but tried to hold back as much laughter as she could. Unfortunately for her, it was not much.

           “It tickles!” She squealed, beginning to hysterically laugh as Nino counted the eighth rib. She couldn’t help but toss her head back, laughter pouring from her widely grinning mouth.

           “Nine,” It was hard for Nino to hear himself over her laughter, though he didn’t mind it all that much. That and he knew he wouldn’t be able to count a proper twenty-four. Alya likely didn’t know this fact, or at least Nino hoped so.

           Hands tightly balling into fists, her nails dug into the palms of her hands. It took a lot of effort to not struggle, her armpit being ruthlessly attacked by now, Nino having just announced the tenth rib, but didn’t really seem to be attacking it. Instead, he just scratched all five fingers along the exposed area. Nino was lucky that the day had been unusually warm for the end of autumn, as Alya opted to wear a tank top under a light jean jacket today, which she had taken off earlier into their hangout. This left nothing to protect her sensitive bare skin from his dull, scribbling nails raking up and down this one armpit.

           “Want me to stop?” Nino asked, wanting to see what she would do. She responded by glaring daggers at him, though due to the current situation, these daggers were more like pencils, not very dangerous, but still hurts a little if stabbed by one.

           “Sure,” Was all Alya could say. She wouldn’t beg for him to stop, not wanting to concede. She could take it, but she wouldn’t mind at all if Nino was bored and wanted to stop. This, however, was definitely not the case.

           “That wasn’t very convincing!” Nino let out a laugh as he wore a goofy grin. “If you want me to stop, you have to say, ‘Yes, Nino the Great and Wonderful, please stop tickling me!’”

           “Never,” Alya exclaimed, then let out a shriek as he suddenly attacked her other armpit. The pads of her fingers teased the shaved skin, the sensitivity of this armpit higher than the last thanks to the long anticipation Alya had to endure. She knew it was coming, but still could not brace herself for it.

           “Well, that’s no fun,” Nino pouted, sticking out his lower lip ever so slightly. His fingers stilled for a moment, contemplating his next move. “Hm…how can I make you beg for mercy?”

           “You can’t,” Alya chided, stretching her fingers as she breathed heavily, glad to have fresh air circulating through her lungs once more. “You can’t do anything to make me beg.”

           “Is that a challenge?” Nino sneered, raising an eyebrow. “Alright then, I accept that challenge.”

           Sucking in as much air as she could in anticipation, Alya tightened all her muscles and clenched her fists once again. Her heels dug back into the bench, ready to be a physical support in this endeavor.

           “Hm…” Nino poked the tip of his tongue out, contemplating his next move. Her armpits were a good spot, but she would probably expect that. He could sit on her arms and attack both at once, but that wouldn’t give him any other options for tickling her, except for her neck. Her neck seemed promising, but for some reason, he just felt something was telling him not to, like something in his brain nudging him another way.

           He glanced down at her stomach, a very easy spot for him to reach in this position, and one she couldn’t defend whatsoever even if she tried.

           “Does this tickle?” Nino asked as he reached down as if to tickle her armpit, but then withdrew his hand quickly and went for her belly.

           “Yes!” Alya let out a snort after a shrill scream, her heels pounding against the bench. Nino’s hand teased at the softer skin from her hips to right below her naval, poking at just the right spots to make her cackle and throw her head from side to side. “It tickles so much!”

           Nino was shocked by how toned her stomach was, the faint outline of abs could be felt through her shirt. 

            “Have you been working out?” Nino admired her belly, tracing his fingers over the muscles. “I’m a bit jealous. Maybe we can work out together. But oh well, it sure isn’t stopping you from being super ticklish!”

            “Shut up!”

           “Are you going to beg me to stop?” Nino asked, his nails now skittering over an overly sensitive spot just beneath the left side of her rib cage.

           “Never,” Alya repeated, her hands hurting just a bit from how tight she was straining her fists. It just tickled so much; her belly being one of her worst spots. That and… “No!”

           “Aw, does Alya have a ticklish little belly button?” Nino cooed, single finger wiggling in her belly button like a worm wriggling around on a fishing hook. Alya’s laughter was loud, likely heard by all who resided in Paris. She flailed her legs, not able to steady or ground herself any longer, her heels bashing the wooden boards beneath her. Her hips bounced as she thrashed and turned, trying to get her wrists free without hurting him, but Nino wouldn’t let go. She still knew she could get free, but she didn’t want to use all of her newfound strength, not wanting him to know that she was as strong as a heroine now.

           “It’s so ticklish. It’s so cute!” Nino’s voice was cutesy, adorable, as if he was talking to a puppy. As his index finger swirled around in her navel, his other fingers scratched at her tummy, Alya letting out a howl of ticklish mirth and agony. “How can such a tiny little thing be so ticklish?”

           “Shut up!” Alya let out another snort as she shot her retort.

           “You want me to stop?”

           “I’m not begging.”

           “Fine,” Nino grinned, devious plan forming in his mind. Without any hesitation, Nino let go of Alya’s wrists and thrust his hand down under her arm and began to tickle her armpit at the same time as her belly was being obliterated.

           “Stop!” She finally let out, bringing her arms down, trapping his hand in her armpit.

           “I will only stop if you say the magic words,” Nino laughed, dipping his middle finger into her belly button to help his index finger. Letting out another few snorts, Alya shook her head.

           “No,” Alya repeated over and over, smacking his chest, though not very hard. “Stop.”

           “Nah,” Nino let out a chuckle as he bent over, his fingers on her belly stopping momentarily to lift her shirt up to the bottom of her ribs. Sucking in the deepest of breaths, Nino planted his lips onto the skin around her belly button and blew the largest raspberry he could.

           “Mercy!” Alya tapped her fingers against the bench, tapping out.

           “You’re welcome,” Nino winked, thinking his pun was pretty funny. Alya simply responded with a half assed glare. He pulled his hands and face away from her body and looked over her, his head tilted a bit to the side. “Are you okay?”

           “Yeah,” Alya said as she gasped in more air, her lungs trying to catch up from the lack of oxygen she has had for the last half hour or so, or at least she thinks it was that long. Her current perception of time was definitely a bit messed up. “That was a lot.”

           “Sorry,” Nino let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He lifted himself off her, standing up next to her. “I guess I went a little overboard.”

           “You think?” Alya smacked him with the back of her hand, finally feeling like she had the strength to sit back up. She rotated around to face him and put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to get you back, Nino. Mark my words.”

           “I’ll remember,” Nino winked, but he didn’t remember for that long.

**

           “You’re so mean!” Nino cackled, his head thrown back, his armpits being tickled by Alya, who was sitting behind him, her legs crossed, wrapped around his torso.

           “This is revenge, Nino,” Alya teased, quickly blowing a raspberry against his neck, eliciting a loud laugh.

           “It tickles so much,” Nino squeaked, wiggling around, but despite being the superhero, Carapace, he is not nearly as strong as Alya. She has been in the game for much longer, which he had just learned and was amazed that she didn’t literally kill him when he last tickled her. He was incredibly fortunate, but here he was, getting the worst punishment of his life.

           “That’s the point, Nino,” Alya grinned, slipped her left hand down and reached forward, grabbing at his knee, and squeezed.

           “Stop!” Nino yelled, his laughter louder than ever. “It tickled too much!”

           “Well, maybe you should have thought about that when you tickled me first.”

           “That was months ago,” Nino wheezed, too ticklish for his own good. While Alya had, quite possibly, the most ticklish belly button in the whole world, Nino was definitely more ticklish overall. Every inch of his body was ticklish, and his knees were quite bad.

           “Well, I like to hold grudges,” Alya gave a villainous laugh, now attacking his ribs and thighs.

           “I give, I give!” Nino let out a snort, unable to take any more tickling. “It’s too ticklish!”

           “Say that I am the best tickler in the world.”

           “Alya is the best tickler in the world,” Nino repeated, though thought about being snide, though thought against it. He really couldn’t take much more.

           “Good,” Alya said, withdrawing her body from his and stretched. “I think we’re pretty even now. Don’t you?”

           “Definitely,” Nino replied, unable to shake the phantom tickles he still felt. “We’re even.”

[georgemackayhey]

And I’m Coming For You

a/n: I think I’ve gotten at least a dozen vauge requests to write something for Ned over the year I’ve had this blog and I finally figured something out! 

warning: This wasn’t supposed to be nsfw but it’s Ned Kelly so it got a little steamy. Proceed with age appropritae caution or else! Basically 18+

gif by @hold-fire​ 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The Kelly’s. You knew the family name. Heard it through gossip in the village shops. Heard men on horses declare their mission to cease one of the gang’s latest schemes. Heard ladies worry over husbands who got mixed up with the lot. But never did you imagine any of the Kelly’s to be so handsome. 

But you didn’t know he was one of them… not right away. In your mind, The Kelly’s were a group of savages who hid out in the bush, waiting for passersby to torment. That’s the way all the rumors made it sound, anyway. So when a well-built man with piercing blue eyes strolled up to your stall, you didn’t second guess his status. You could hardly conjure up a polite greeting when you first laid eyes on the guy, only because of how alarmed you were by his beauty. He was sculpted by the angels, surely. You must have passed out in the deadly summer heat and a vision came to keep your comatose mind company. Till he spoke, in a voice that snapped you back to life.

“What have you got?” He asked like he was worried you wouldn’t have any of the things your booth advertised. But you understood his tone all the while. The summer was the driest yet, and the country's crops were long past suffering. You sold a farmer’s seeds, while the man was busy off bartering for more. If anyone was lucky enough to afford a bundle, the seeds still weren’t guaranteed to sprout in the dry barren world you’d found yourselves in, this year.

So with the sliver of hope you held fast to, you listed off the supplies in your sock, and avoided the man's piercing eyes as he watched you speak. When your spiel was finished, he shifted, and you pretended not to admire the way he moved- even the minuscule change in his stance seemed like a sight you were lucky to behold.

“I’ve only got these. Give me whatever they’re worth.” The guy laid two coins on your stand. They were barely worth handing over. And you’d been getting better at turning folks away, even given the circumstances, you had to eat too. But the thought of upsetting the tall brooding fella across from your stall made your stomach turn. So you gathered a reasonable collection of seeds and handed them over.

“There are too many here.” He glanced down to the bag, and then back up at you, like you’d wronged him. Like you, he had to eat too. So you added an extra few in, hoping some of the extra meant he’d surely have success. 

“Take them.” You pressed, sitting back on the stool that kept you in the measly shade.

The man sighed and tightened his grip on the small sack of seeds before turning away. He gave you a nod and the flex of his structured jaw before disappearing. You noticed his hair was a bit longer in the back as he drifted away, while you tried to memorize his every move in hopes you’d better spot him again one day.

The weather started to let up after then. Like your interaction with the handsome stranger set the world to spin right, again. How silly of you, dreaming of a face you’d likely forget about by the next burning summer. But even when a few gentle breezes passed by, the heat nearly sent your mind to melt out of your ears, and you seriously considered packing up your things and hiding away till winter came. 

The farmer you worked for was away longer each week, and your supply was running low. But even the most selfish and demanding customers seemed to understand though. Everyone was doing whatever they could, and most of the time that was nothing at all. In the beginning, you didn’t mind sitting around, waiting for someone to pass by. You were pleasantly occupied, and getting paid for it. But as the summer dragged on, and the community had taken to staying in, you loathed every new minute behind your stall.

Even when the barmaid brought you a cool drink, you could only smile at her thoughtfulness before regressing back to melting. Even when someone came by for some of the withering veggies you’d started trying to sell; you couldn’t be coaxed into feeling much more than dread.

Then he came back. The man with the icy eyes and choppy hair. He floated toward you with an all new vigour, like he’d known exactly what he’d come back for.

“Here.” He said, extending his long hand toward you. You straightened, and opened your palms at the command without question, though you had many.

“You gave me more than I needed, and we’ve had more than we ever had before. I must repay you.” His voice was full, and your palm was now heavy under the weight of a golden ring. An emerald set sparkling in the middle of the gaudy band, and your eye’s went wider the longer you admired the thing.

“This is a bit much for a few extra crops, don’t ya think?” You stammered and shook your head, and shoved the jewellery back toward the man who you’d lost hope of seeing again. As soon as your reach met him, the man grabbed your wrist with a lithe urgency. You watched as he took the ring from your grasp, looked back up to you, and slid the thing on your finger.

You gapped, watching the guy watch you, the feeling of his remaining grip warmer than all of summer, firmer than the ring he put on you, out of the blue.

“Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be harassing the townswomen, Kelly?” A distance voice cut in, from an officer high upon a trotting horse. 

At the man's word your mind spun a mile a minute. Your blood ran cold- and then it started to boil as you noticed the flash in the eye’s of the man; The Kelly who still held your hand like a prized flower.

“You’re the only one disturbing the peace, officer. Now do ya need seeds or shall we see you on your way, then?” You spoke sternly, shooting a glare to the officer. He grumbled and tightened the reins of his horse and turned to leave, keeping an eye on your interaction for a moment longer still.

“What’s your name?”  The man with sapphire eyes wondered, quickly taking back his hand yet standing still nearer than ever.

You told him and he repeated it, taking a dragging step back. And then another. You watched each other in the dry summer heat for what felt like forever.

“Ned.” He nodded. You smiled and watched him walk away with a fiercely beating heart, wondering why no one ever had a good thing to say about those Kelly’s.

__

A day passed, full of girlish bliss and silly daydreams bold enough to distract you from the heat. You wondered everything about Ned. Who you hadn’t thought of was the officer who seemed so eager to catch the guy in some kind of compromise. But it was the officer who came back the next day. He waited in line behind an elderly couple as you gave them what they asked for. And when they shuffled toward the closest indoors, the officer stepped up and seemed more keen on taking what it was he wanted than asking nicely for it. 

Before you could so much as ask how his day was going, the guy reached past your counter, grabbed your hand and yanked you eye to eye. 

“Nice ring you’ve got, here.” He glanced down to your finger in his vice grip, the ring from Ned placed proudly on the finger he himself adorned. “Too bad it’s stolen.”

“Are you implying I’m a thief?” You guffawed, trying with a sudden might to yank your hand away. Your strength was lacking, and the officer was quick to haul you away from your stand. You went fighting, cursing the man who dragged you down the block toward the police house at the end of the row. You didn’t care who might have seen from the windows of their cool shelters. You hoped somebody might have, in fact, and would race to your defence.

How dare he accuse you of taking what wasn’t yours.

“I know you saw as this ring was placed in my possession. How can you drag me in here and say I stole it?” You spat, fighting the officer’s grip all the way through the door of the jailhouse. He threw you toward the office with his name displayed on the door, but it might as well have been a cell.

“Oh, I know you didn’t steal it, las.” The officer grinned, giving your shoulder a harsh push so you sat in the chair across from his desk, as high and mighty as the horse he could usually be spotted upon. The officer leaned there, with a boot propped on the arm of the chair you’d been confined too. You gawked at the man in anger that boiled over your confusion.

“Ned Kelly stole the ring. Right from my very own pocket. He beat me bloody in a boxing match and decided on his own that my gold was his preferred prize for the attack.” He explained with a queasy smile. You started to sink in your chair, only attempting to distance yourself from the way the officer slinked closer and closer toward you.

“I want it back.” He grinned, right before you. He grabbed your hand in a gentle way that was equally as nauseating as his clawing at you had been. And then he regressed back to the only way he must have known, or prefered, ripping the ring from your finger in a way that caused you to subdue a shriek. You weren’t about to let your guard down. 

“And I’ve got it back.” The officer kept his slimy grin, leaning back against the desk and sliding the ring on his smallest finger. The jewel seemed so ugly now.

“I could have done that just as easily back at your stall. But I’ve brought you here because I just have this burning feeling that, when I ask you where Ned’s gone off to, you’re going to pretend not to know. And unfortunately, you can’t leave until you tell me.”

“What?” You asked through your teeth, sitting up with an all new rage sparking inside of you. 

“Tell me where that Kelly devil has run off too this week, and you can be on your way.”

“I don’t know Ned Kelly. Though it makes me curdle to admit to you I wish I did, he only gave me that ring in exchange for the seeds I sold him.” 

The office chuckled darkly, slamming his foot back on the chair you started to lean too far away from to hiss your honest truth.

“That game isn’t going to work.” The officer bent so his eyes burned right into yours and you knew he was right. You also knew if you lied, and gave away some random coordinates, that Ned most likely wouldn’t be wherever you imagined he might have been, and the officer would come back to treat you much worse than he was now.

“I don’t know where he is. Your ring is back on your finger now let me go.” 

“This was never about the ring, was it?” The officer cocked his head, and you realized there was no real way out of this.

“If it’s revenge you want you’re no better than a Kelly yourself.” You sneered. You’d come to reevaluate your mental image of the gang you’d only ever heard rumors about. You came to wonder if the officer was to blame for spreading most of them. But your insult was his final straw. His nails dug into your arm once more and he pulled you away from the office to a hole in the wall of the next building over. 

“You can’t do this!” You shouted, trying harder than ever to escape the man's grasp. He was strong enough to throw you behind bars, and fast enough to lock them before you could stand.

“I’ll find Ned one way or another,” The officer assured. “But you’ll stay here until you speak the truth.”

You wanted to cry but the summer heat had dried you from the inside out it seemed. You lingered for a while near the bars, hoping someone would pass through the barren land and you could talk them into breaking you out. And when the sun started to go down, a breeze came to chill the evening. What small hell, being falsely prisoned in the heat and finding no shelter in the night's cold. You grew tired of worrying and sat in the empty space watching the stars decorate the horizon. If you listened closely enough you could hear the sounds of the town coming alive in the distance. You could see flickers of lanterns and hear the ruckus from the pub, and even a few horses carrying people to parties that weren’t too hot to throw at this hour.

But the sound of trots became unmistakable gallops and as you tried to imagine what was happening, the horses seemed to stall somewhere near. You heard voices and the thud of feet on the ground and the shout of the officer whose voice was grossly familiar to you now. You stood to peer from the bars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the comotion, but no sooner than you rose to your feet, someone appeared on the other side of your cell. His hair was long and black and there were keys in his hand that he jammed into the lock. 

“What’s happening?” You asked, in a frightened hush. You didn’t know this man or why he’d chosen to break you out. And with the way the evening had gone, you were afraid of where it might have been going now. The man swung open the gate and waved you to freedom with a wild look in his eye. You hurried from the cell, but before you could turn in the direction of home, the sound of gunfire rang from just around the corner. 

You started to scream, but the man who’d freed you pressed his hand over your mouth and demanded you stay silent with one bone chilling look. What the hell have you gotten yourself into? As you wondered what was to become of you and what you might be able to do to decide your own destiny, the deafening quiet was broken.

“Get off of her. We’re done here.” Ned Kelly approached calmly, leading a speckled horse toward where you stood. The man with dark hair let you go and followed Ned’s command to get gone. But you stood, taking the sight of him in, trying to wrap your boggled mind over what was going on. You were much too scared to ask.

He was brooding as ever, his clothes seemed a size too small and his brow seemed permanently furrowed yet it seemed like the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. 

“How’d you know I was here?” You asked, hardly having processed that you’d ended up where you had yourself.

“Someone wiser would have sold off that ring for something better,” Ned spoke, looming before you. Was his bold presence what shook the townspeople so? Was it only you who felt safe when he was near?

“You could have done the same." You pointed out.

"I gave it to you." Ned seemed to reason, in an endearing way that he didn’t even seem to realize.

"And I couldn't take it off then, could I?" You couldn’t help your small grin, considering everything.

Ned seemed to consider your words and then offered to take you home. You perhaps agreed too quickly, but you were on the back of his horse before you had time to second guess your eagerness. And though you longed to cling to Ned on the ride, you didn’t take your gentle hold on him for granted. You only hoped that once his horse rode past the mess of trees to your humble little home, that Ned would agree to stay for dinner. 

You talked the guy into leaving his horse in the stable near the woods, and promised you had more than enough of an evening meal to share with him.

__

Ned sat quietly in the corner of your place, a glass of water in his hand. Though the evening was chilled, your fire put on to cook dinner was reminiscent of the daytime temperature. You didn’t have to do very much but mix a few things in a pot and leave it to simmer. So when your task was finished for the near future, you turned your sights to the man you’d invited in.

“You saved me.” You said, walking toward the chair Ned waited in. Your statement was a sort of thanks and a question as to why all wrapped up in one. And while you sat in the seat at his side, Ned turned his head your way but didn’t look at you.

“I also got you into trouble. I shouldn’t have mixed you up in my way of things.” Ned countered, keeping his glass of water in a tight fist and letting his eyes travel up your figure until they locked with yours.

“You didn’t. I was already pretty mixed up with your way, myself.” You couldn’t help but admit you hadn’t stopped thinking about him from the moment he showed up that first day. When he came back, you were done for. And now here he was, in your home, his sapphire eye’s gazing into yours after he’d somehow come to your rescue.

You leaned in, and when Ned didn’t move away, you kissed him. Just a slow and sweet. He didn’t kiss back, not really. He just sat frozen, like you’d stalled time. You pulled away, hoping your blush could be excused but the temperature in this shack of yours. Just the heat getting to your head, again. You rose from your chair with a meek apology, and padded toward the fire to check on the stew. You killed the flame and scooped some of the meal into bowls and toted them toward the table. When you moved to refill the pitcher of water, your mission was halted. 

Ned’s fingers were around your wrist, gently yanking you closer to fill the space between the two of you. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and you could feel his breath on your lips, his eyes fluttered away from yours like he didn’t really want to look away from you. His nose nudged yours as his free hand rose to your jaw, and then he kissed you. 

It was slower and sweeter than the first time, totally unexpected. You smiled when you realized this mysterious rumored neerdowell was hardly any of the things the rumors surrounding his name made him out to be.

Because even as you snaked your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, Ned’s hold on you reamied tender. 

“You’re not going to hurt me, Ned.”  You chuckled, taking one of his hands and pressing his fingers around your waist. “I trust you.” You nodded gazing up to the guy who searched your eyes with the slightest furrow of his brow. And maybe it was because your hands rested there but you swore you could feel some kind of weight lift from the guys shoulders. He leaned in for another kiss that traveled to your neck. You leaned into the wall and pulled him along too, and it seemed he wasn’t afraid to hold back after then.

His lips bruised yours and his rough hands trailed toward your chest and you already seemed to float closer to heaven while his touch had yet to meet your skin.

“Let me repay you for coming to my rescue.” You sighed, hooking a finger in the hem of his trousers. 

“Only if I’m to repay you in turn, and we might forever be in each other's debt.” Ned’s breath hitched in your ear, one hand daring to creep up your thigh below your dress. 

Dinner went cold as you pulled Ned toward your bed. You thanked him in more ways than one, and tugged at the hair that grew longer around his neck. You watched his brilliant blue eye roll as your hips met and soon forgot how to speak in the middle of telling him how best to use his hands. Yours stayed gripping the sheet and your mind wandered and made itself up. Even though you barely knew more than rumors about Ned Kelly, you learned the truth all night long, in a way. And if one day you’d come to find a reason to nod along with the townspeople while they gossiped about the Kellys; you prayed it might be because you’d become more than familiar with Ned’s mysterious ways

───※ ·❆· ※───

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

Hi!! I've just found your blog and really like how you write! If it's no trouble, how would either the blue lions or black eagles react to an s/o that wants to drop out of the academy? Like, would they try to stop them or let them go? (pre-timeskip of course lol)

[Hello and welcome to my blog! Thank you for the compliments, they truly mean the world to me. For this i’ll write for BE considering that I haven’t gotten a request for them in particular recently.You can always tell which characters I write for first because the imagines gradually get longer as I become more invested lol. Hope you like it!] 

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR BLACK EAGLE RUN BELOW

Edelgard: 

Edelgard would approach the situation cautiously. She will not act until she somehow pries every detail out of you.

“I understand my dear...but may I ask why?” - Will lead you through a roundabout interrogation. If there’s any possibility that you’re being cohered to leave by an external source she will find out

Hubert may receive a mission to do some digging

Her course of action also depends greatly on timing. If this issue suddenly appears around when she plans to invade the monastery then she will let you go with a grain of salt. She does not want to fight you in battle if you decide to side with the church 

If she is already certain that you are on her side then she will offer you refuge in Enbarr before the war begins.  

Is also very understanding if one of your reasons for dropping out is not wanting to fight your friends and/or develop emotional attachments 

Whatever you decide will not change anything. One way or another you’d be leaving Garreg Mache, who is she to call the shots on how?

Dorathea:

“I will not stand to let you go without an explanation” - Please do not let her find out through a secondary source 

Seriously. 

Dorathea is not the loose girl that people peg her to be. She is kind, headstrong, and will whip your butt if you plan to just up and leave her 

Depending on your reasoning she will try to stop you. It’s such an effort to earn a place at the academy, and leaving is truly a waste in her opinion 

Might actually drag the professor into the conversation if you don’t convince her fast enough. Yes, she will resort to any tactics necessary

Being away from you might actually break her heart. She knows it’s selfish but if you leave then the chances you’ll ever be together are slim 

In the end she’ll give in, saying that she loves you. If you end up staying she’ll be overjoyed

If you leave...well, she won’t change. To the average eye she’s the same person but to those close the fire behind her actions is gone 

Find her after garreg mache falls. Please, don’t leave her wondering if you lived  

Bernadetta:

She’s at a loss. One of the closest people she has is leaving and she can’t do anything

The only way she finds out is through the professor. There’s a knocking on her door that won’t go away, and on the outside there they stand. They ask her to try and convince you; naturally, she attempts to get out of it

“Me?! Isn’t there someone better you could ask?” Initially she’ll freak out before the realization sets in. 

“I can’t do anything...they won’t listen to someone like me”- and with that she’ll hole herself away from everyone. In her mind there won’t be a need for a goodbye if you two don’t meet 

Even if you come to her door every day she won’t open it. Instead she’ll cling to her bear stuffie with bated breath until you walk away

Until one day you don’t show 

She waits, and waits, and waits, and waits. She waits till the sky is dark yet you still haven’t come

Then she’ll creep out of her room, maybe you fell asleep outside while trying to trick her out? When she sees an empty courtyard her stomach drops

She’ll walk to your room in a haste only to see boxes stacked outside. Her heart shatters

“W-w-wait! P-please, please d-don’t go” - Hear her out and talk. She’s sorry for ignoring you, just don’t leave 

Petra: 

Her position is one that doesn’t offer much freedom.

Not enough to travel Fodlan, not enough to help her country, and not enough to follow you. If you leave then that’s it. You’re gone 

Petra will listen to your argument in full. She knows the feeling of being somewhere you do not feel welcome. She wants you to forge the path you wish to walk

“If this is not the place of being in which you call home, then you must do the leaving. I will not be stopping you” 

Petra will want to know what your plans are after you go. Where can she find you? Would you perhaps like to come visit Bridgid after she graduates? 

Petra does not view it as an end, but as a path to a new beginning. If anyone tries to tell you otherwise then she will honestly fight them. They will not take away your right to be free and make your own choices

On the inside she is hurting, greatly. There are not many people at the academy that made her feel at home, with you gone there will be even less. 

She plans to send you letters often. On pen and paper she conveys her thoughts easily, and it will be good practice for learning the language of fodlan 

If you end up staying she will reveal how you leaving would have hurt her, but if you go the relief is still there. 

Knowing you were far from the monestary during the fighting puts her at ease. 

Caspar: 

“You can’t leave! We’ve worked so hard here, and there’s people that need us! Why give that up?!” 

Caspar is not happy. In fact, his entire day is completely soured. When you tell him he won’t even take it seriously at first. He’ll laugh like it’s some kind of ‘twisted joke’. You know, give you a pat on the back and continue talking about something else. Basically he avoids the conversation lol give dima a run for his money why don’t ya

Then he gets defensive. Why even bother enrolling if you’re just going to give up half-way? He honestly rambles so fast that getting a single word in is harder than convincing linhardt to train 

Just let him get it out.

 When he’s done listing off all the reasons you should stay he’ll be out of breath and leaning against one of the nearby tables. Hopefully you chose to have this conversation in private because he does not control his volume

It’s best to not say anything more. When he sees that you’re not swayed he’ll leave to go be alone. Give him some time and then go talk again 

You’ll most likely find him sitting with his head in his hands by the peer. Very ‘uncaspar’ behavior 

“I know it’s your choice- I do, but...I don’t want you to leave” 

This is when you can explain your reasoning to him. He’ll just sit there and take it in silently. Though at the end he’ll reinstate the points he brought up before, and ask you to rethink the situation again. He knows that he makes rash decisions, but that doesn’t mean you have to 

If you decide to stay he’ll try his best to help remedy any issues you have while at the academy, and beyond that he’ll ask you to stick by him during the war 

If you leave he still won’t accept it, but he knows that it isn’t his choice. Just be safe. 

Hubert: 

Hubert knew of your plans long before you brought it up. The moment you two entered a courtship he did an extensive background check, and now constantly keeps track of anything you’re involved with 

Some call it creepy, he calls it safety 

Just so happens that a little birdie told him about you sending in an inquiry about withdrawal papers. First he notifies Lady Edelgard about the possible prospect of losing an ally, and then he approaches you personally 

“Did you really think you could let this sneak past me?” -He’d ask once sure that you two were alone. While improper, he would sneak into your dorm past curfew. He’d find you sitting at your desk as if you were expecting him 

“No, I only wanted to test how your ‘research’ skills are fairing. This must be a new record,”- You’d reply with just as much attitude. A smirk would crawl up his lips at it. You always have something to say 

Before expressing any personal distaste he has with the decision, Hubert’s first priority is to find where you stand with regard to Empire. He’ll snoop by asking your opinion of the church to deduce if you’ll be a possible enemy. His duty comes before his personal opinions 

Then he will calmly ask for your reasoning, and attempt to come up with a different solution. If there is one he will do all in his power to convince you of it. You are a respected ally and cherished companion of “the empire” (we all know he will not say you’re important to him this early on in the relationship. Give it another six years)

If deemed trustworthy, he will take similar action to Edelgard. He offers you a home in Enbarr located near where he will be stationed. When the time comes you can choose to either fight with the army, or do as you wish. There are many less dangerous positions he knows you are well qualified for

Linhardt: 

When he wants to care he will do so. We’ve seen it with how he treats crest research in comparison to something like daily lessons. Linhardt is extremely intelligent and can even outsmart someone as wise as Hanneman if he wants to

He treats his partner like how he wishes for them to treat him: with trust. If there are rumors of your planned departure floating about the monastery he will ignore them. Gossip has never proved to bare no consequence

To be persistent in such a situation holds no merit in his eyes

That does not mean he is not curious. From what he gathered you seemed to be living a pleasant life here at the monastery. There should be no probable cause for departure unless he’s missing something 

Linhardt is the kind to patiently wait. He will not seek you out or ask any of the professors. Instead he will spend his days with you as usual until you bring up the topic in question

This is where it is a battle of wits. He can be quite persuasive when he wishes to be, and right then he’s extra motivated. Though one look at the stressed crease of your brow dials down his normally paramount nature 

He will suggest that you humor him with a list of pro’s and con’s of leaving. Afterwords he’ll throw in his own two-cents and leave you to think on your own 

“If I were you I would not be so hasty. The human lifespan is brief and to dispose of an opportunity of this caliber could prove detrimental to your future” -way to pile on the stress Linhardt 

Just remember that you love him and that he is only thinking in your best interest from a statistical standpoint. On the inside he really is afraid of what might happen to you when he is not around

The boy already hates bloodshed, but your injuries in particular are ones that make him blanch

Ferdinand:  

Lorenz brings up a rumor of you withdrawing during their annual tea. He doesn’t do so out of spite, but merely out of concern considering that you are a good friend. He assumes that if anyone should know it would be your boyfriend 

He did not

Not even a bit 

“You must be mistaken my friend. If such a thing ere to transpire (Y/N) would have informed me immediately” - He would brush it off, but internally his nerves are fried. He decides to see you out once his evening duties are finished 

The entire day he’s anxious to hear from you. It shows in how he completes his tasks. Oh, the shame. What proper noble cannot properly re-shelve library books? 

When he finds you he cannot hide the anxiety in his voice. You instantly pick up on it and address the topic. Ferdinand does not take it well

“Do you hear yourself? To give up on such an opportunity as this is utter foolishness! I thought the rumors were preposterous, but to hear they were true?” - he would be flabbergasted. Dorothea has made it prominent that he tends to push his ideals onto others, but this was completely different

His words hurt. You were already struggling enough as it was to come to a decision. He of all people should be supporting you 

You just leave midway during the conversation. After a moment of recollection he regrets what he said. That sort of treatment is not befitting of a noble...or anyone really 

He’ll go find you and apologize. It doesn’t matter if you’re alone or beside some of your monastery pals, he will beg for forgiveness and will not leave you alone until you give it 

Then he completely butts out. He makes his side of the coin apparent but leaves the ultimate decision to you 

“I apologize. I unfairly lashed out at you after you spoke to me in confidence. I was hurt that you desired to leave everyone...and me. No matter what you decide I will support you”  

[m-oana-archive]

A Love Too Heavy (For Just One To Hold)  pt. 1

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader x Remus Lupin

Words: 2,461 

Summary: After pining after Y/N for years, Sirius finally gets the girl: the happy ending the story is supposed to end with.  The only problem is the fact Sirius' feelings for Remus still haven't seemed to go away.  But he isn't the only one starting to question their ability to love two people at the same time.

requested by @shinysilverunicorn-blog​  | read on AO3 | Masterlist 

Sirius’ POV 

Spring was full and bright all around Hogwarts. The chirp of birds rhythmically punctuated the soft breezes that tossed up ponytails and rustled seeds off of daffodils. While most of the students in the courtyard were staring at all of these beauties of early April, Sirius was busy studying the light breathing of his girlfriend’s breathing while she slept, head resting on his leg.

Y/N was undeniably beautiful, even without the fascinating contrast of light and shadow passing over her face from the evermoving clouds in the sky. Sirius noticed it the first moment he saw her. Despite the crowd of students at the Sorting Ceremony and the grandeur of the Great Hall, the thing Sirius couldn’t keep his eyes off of was a girl who was sorted into Slytherin. It was enough to make him upset to have been sorted into Gryffindor; luckily, his new friends were rewarded enough for being covered in gold and red.

Hogwarts was just large enough that Sirius’ path never truly crossed with Y/N’s during first year, but just small enough that he’d see her across courtyards or libraries: a rude reawakening of his crush. He pushed it off, learning about his roommates instead; Peter had never been out of the country, Remus had a big appetite for chocolate, James really did need his glasses, Remus always put his right shoe on before his left, Peter talked in his sleep and James tossed and turned in his, Remus had read every book known to man, James loved puns, Remus liked sly remarks (and was good at making them), Peter preferred biking places, and Remus drank most everything out of his assortment of mugs.

It wasn’t until second year that Remus had class with Y/N: herbology. Never did he think he’d enjoy plants so much, but he entered the greenhouse skipping. While he was slow to break the house pride divide, when it was first demanded that the students find partners from another house “to learn how to cooperate with people that have different strengths,” Sirius was quick to find an open spot by Y/N’s side.

“Finally,” she said. “I’ve caught you staring at me before. I’ve been wondering if I resemble some second cousin of yours that got kicked out of the family for something.”

“No. You’re far too pretty to be mistaken for poor old Wilbur.”

She brushed off the compliment: “That sounds like a pig’s name.” But she was blushing.

“Why do you think he got kicked out? He was a pig!”

The grin that formed during the exchange lasted for the rest of the day.

“Mate, you better be careful,” James warned at dinner, the chicken dangling out of his mouth wildly contradicting his tone. “You don’t want to seem too eager.”

Sirius’ eyes darted from Y/N to James. “Me? Too eager? What, have I turned into a mirror?”

Peter sniggered; Remus shot a secret smile Sirius’ way, the one that meant good job, you amused me. “What’s that supposed to mean,” James whined.

“Have you seen yourself around you-know-who?”

“I thought we agreed to call her she-who-must-not-be-named. It’s much more mysterious.”

“We could call her by her name if you had the guts to go after her,” Remus added nonchalantly. Sirius looked at him to give him the same smile of appreciation Sirius had gotten but moments earlier.

“It’s my safety feature,” James said. “If I had balls, I’d be irresistible.”

Peter almost choked on his potatoes. Which were mashed.

“Well I do have balls,” Sirius argued. “So I am irresistible.”

And irresistible he was. Sirius wasn’t sure what exactly it was: the “don’t give two fucks” demeanor, the fact he was an extremely amateur electric guitarist, his perpetually unlaced combat boots, or the fact he had a naturally flirtatious personality (he even flirted with James and Peter for fun), but people batted eyelashes and bit lips and blushed up their necks. By year four, Sirius realized he could almost get anything by calling someone “love” or “darling” in the right way. Essays were written and proofread, reading was skimmed then recapped, Butterbeer was sent to tables free of charge. By year five, Sirius found that some first-years were betting on which of them could get Sirius to ask them out. By year six, it seemed as though Sirius had all of Hogwarts under his finger.

Except, of course, Y/N. When Sirius would widen his eyes and part his lips in pleading, Y/N would just shove the parchment, quills, and ink back into his lap.

“I have my own work to do, Sirius,” Y/N scolded, burying her head back into her textbook. “If you do it with me, like Rem, I’ll help and discuss. But I’m not going to risk my grade for you.”

Sirius grinned, hiding the fact his stomach turned at Remus’ name. At Remus’ lack of acknowledgment of the compliment; he was sitting next to Y/N, also engrossed in reading, not nearly happy enough to be wanted by someone as amazing as her. He had to clear his throat to ask, “Am I really not worth the risk?”

Without taking a beat to pause, she responded, “Not really, considering I already have all of your attention, anyways.” Remus looked up at that comment, staring at Sirius with a smirk. Sirius gave him an obviously fake smile, teeth gritted and eyes dark, which automatically disintegrated when Remus threw a spare quill at him.

Sirius’ frustration wasn’t momentary; Y/N’s words were like a spell stuck in his head, floating around, never settling. It was true: although she was a constant presence in his daily life, Y/N quipped and quarreled with him like she was James or Peter. Was it because he would give her more of his hours than a day could provide? Because he’d so obviously drop anything to help her without any explanation needed? Because, even after so many years and so many beautiful people with lovely souls and smiles, Sirius would still choose her, each and every time?

Was his ardent desire the one thing pushing her away?

Sleep was futile after that comment, leaving Sirius tossing around his bed like a hurricane. His mattress creaked below him with every overexaggerated movement. After about half an hour of this, a shadow formed above his tired—but sleepless—eyes. Sirius opened them to Remus standing there, coat on over his pyjamas.

“Sneak out with me?” he grinned.

“But of course.”

They took the invisibility cloak and went to Black Lake, their usual spot. The cold air helped numb Sirius’ aching tiredness, beginning to match his energy level with his inability to sleep. Even when he sat down on dewy grass next to Remus, he felt endlessly more awake.

“You kept moving in your bed,” Remus said, looking straight out towards the lake. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Yes, Sirius’ insides gasped. Yes, because you’re a good listener and my best friend.

Outwardly, Sirius matched Remus’ indifference. “You don’t want to know.”

Remus looked at him. But it felt more like through him, through his flesh and bones, to the heart pumping and beating and quaking. “What do you know about what I want?”

Remus’ eyes looked like the lake they were sitting in front of: deep, beautiful, dancing with the glittery reflection of starlight. Suddenly, Sirius was aware of how close they were sitting to one another. Suddenly, his heart wasn’t only beating and pumping and quaking, but skipping beats.

Because, if Sirius was being honest with himself, there wasn’t always only one person. Of course, Y/N caught his eye first, but seeing her was a rare phenomenon at first, only becoming a constant enough to be a reason for Sirius to wake up everyday during third year. But since the beginning there was Remus Lupin. Remus, who had a big appetite for chocolate, always put his right shoe on before his left, had read every book known to man, liked sly remarks and was good at making them, and drank most everything out of his assortment of mugs. Remus, who had a talent for making him feel happy, be it through a crude joke or a secret smile or a quill to the head.

Remus, who he had been this close to kissing before. At some party in fourth year, when everyone was too young to have alcohol but still acted drunk, and people were playing spin the bottle. On his turn, he spun, and the neck of the bottle missed Remus by something Sirius had naively labeled “luck.”

“It’s a pity,” Remus teased. “I’d be a good snog, you know.”

Now, almost three years later, Sirius was finally ready to believe him.

But, in fear of wanting too much, too many, two, Sirius turned away. “I know what I want,” he lied, stupidly, desperately, painfully.

Not wanting to have ruined his friendship for nothing, the next day, he found Y/N and asked her to Hogsmeade that weekend.

“With James and Peter and Rem—”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you think about how I’ve treated you for the past few years, but God, Y/N, I just… I’ve liked you so much since the moment we met. And I just didn’t know how to act around you except being my normal arsehole self—which is no excuse to have been an arse, I know— but you just always… you’ve never let me catch up to how I feel about you.”

Y/N was laughing. Was this just some sick joke to her? Sirius went to open his mouth again, but before he could, she was saying, “I guess that’s better than hiding it in a diary and pretending it's not real.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You can’t… do you really feel the same?”

“Sirius, you are a massive—” Y/N said, while taking his hand in hers, “—absolute, oblivious, fool. Why would anyone hang out with you willingly if they weren’t totally weak for you?”

Sirius laughed. Part of it was joy that he got to squeeze Y/N’s hand in his, feel it, hold it, support it. But part of it was false; for, that statement could apply to Y/N as much as it could apply to Remus.

Now, a few months later, Sirius and Y/N had had their first date, first kiss, first night together, full of writhing and gasping and “I love you’s” mouthed directly onto skin. Every time he looked at her, he still saw her as the breathtaking girl across the dining hall at the Sorting Ceremony, as tough his eyes were time capsules incapable of encapsulating the beauty of what they held. Maybe he kept her at a distance subconsciously. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn’t ready for the kind of relationship he wanted to have with her. Or maybe, he knew having her love would feel too real to fathom, too large to hold, and he couldn’t manage to make himself do it until there were no other options than to get past the fear and learn to carry the love he used to secrete.

Even while looking at her now, he was in awe.

Even while looking at her now, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had kissed Remus the night before.

Perhaps things would be less tense now; the dorm room would be wordless if it weren’t for James’ nonsensical but necessary blabber and Peter’s desire to talk whenever an awkward silence broke. Perhaps it would be as loud as it used to be (if not louder, for obvious reasons) if Sirius hadn’t so obviously turned himself away from something he wasn’t against as much as afraid of. Perhaps, more than the kiss itself, Sirius now longed for a bit of normalcy, wishing he could have both the girl of his dreams and his best friend. Be it in the same way, in different ways…

Sirius was so deep in thought he didn’t realize he was staring across the courtyard with narrowed eyes and that Y/N had wordlessly awoken from her slumber. Both of these realizations happened at once, when Sirius felt a touch to the bridge of his nose that didn’t come from his own fingers.

He looked down to a Y/N happy enough to be faking a pout. “What’s that for?” she asked, referencing the furrow between his brow she had helped calm.

Sirius sighed. His hand rose to lift Y/N’s finger off of his face, directing it to slip into the crooks between his fingers instead. Despite the apparent intimacy of the gesture, Sirius was removed; if he felt more comfortable, his eyes would meet Y/N’s, which they couldn’t do. “I just feel… I don’t know why, Y/N, but I really think, for some reason, Moony’s angry with me.”

“Oh.” Now the frown was real. “Do you really not know why, or is this one of those ‘I don’t want to admit I did something wrong’ moments?”

“Come again?”

Y/N sat up, making it more difficult to avoid her eyes. “I just feel like you both know one another awfully well for you to not know how you could make the other mad.”

“I guess,” Sirius blew out a breath, “We, um, argued… and both took it more seriously than we needed to. Now neither of us will crack first.” It wasn’t far from the truth: both of them had taken that moment with immense weight in the way it shifted the dynamic of their relationship, and now, neither of them wanted to bring it up to the other.

“You’re both mature enough to have that conversation,” Y/N complimented.

“Yeah. I just think he’s not done cooling down from it. I don’t want to push him again too soon.” Again, not far from the truth. But it was still a lie. A second lie, which worried Sirius in the ease of its formulation and distribution.

“Well, I’m headed to study with him now. So if you want, I can ask some not-very-sly-because-they’re-far-too-pointed questions.”

Sirius finally met Y/N’s eyes; now, it was she who was wearing a tense brow. Sirius echoed her previous movement to relax the spot before kissing it. “Would you do that for me?”

“But of course,” Y/N smiled, standing up. She collected a few things from the ground: her cardigan, her bookbag, a dandelion. She held it up to Sirius’ mouth. “Wish me luck?”

Sirius blew and watched the seeds dance around him. But, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t quite sure what he was wishing for.

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Pt. 2 NOW AVAILABLE! read here 

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Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @siriuslyimmoony @astertist @who-cares-unknown @neewtmas @sjriusblck @boring-viola @moonlitdiggory @gryffndor @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @the-apple-princess @sly-vixen-up2nogood @bluemadcnna @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @starlitfawkes @swellwriting @young7711 @fandomsxo @kar-loves-you @some-blondes-unicorn @bethanystan @starlitfawkes @jamcspotters @siriusoricns  @swellwriting

[redwallthoughts]

Redwall Midwinter Miracle: Day 3 part 3

As always, huge thanks to @raphcrow for her help with beta-reading and editing

*looks back at previous chapter*

Ch. 6 might be a little bit longer in coming...

I promise I didn’t actually mean that it would take three years. That was an accident.

However, I don't anticipate new chapters of RMM returning to the original once-a-month schedule. You see, during the three-year break, I have begun working on a piece of original fiction. It's still in the early stages of development (first draft hasn't been completed and there's still a lot of world-building to do), but I've been trying to work on it diligently. I'll be posting small updates on it at the end of new chapters from now on, but if any of you lovely readers would like to see more in-depth info on it, please feel free to follow the blog I've started for it, Moiranvall-official.

FF.net, AO3, DA

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3] [Ch. 4] [Ch. 5]

Rose followed Martin through the cellars and up the passageway toward Great Hall. He was talking animatedly about the collection of books, new and old, in the Redwall library. Rose smiled as she listened to him talk. When she first met him on the northland coast they hadn’t had time to discuss books and reading. They’d been far too focused on the rescue of the other slaves to be bothered with such  mundane activities. Now she wished that she would have shown him her father’s books. Perhaps Urran Voh would not have reacted so strongly to him then.

“I'm hoping Vurg and the others will be up there,” Martin was saying as they walked up the sloping passageway that led to Great Hall. “I think they'll enjoy meeting you.”

Rose shook herself, recalling her mind back to the present as she placed a steadying paw on the wall of the passageway. Her footpaws were feeling a bit sore. “Who?”

Martin grinned at her over his shoulder, matching his pace to hers as she slowed down. “Vurg, Denno, and Dulam were all good friends of my father when I was a baby. They came back to Redwall with us after we found them in the North two summers ago. Though I should warn you that it may be a bit rowdy if Beau is up there too. He and Vurg are always engaging in friendly arguments.”

Rose giggled. “Sounds like Rowanoak and Ballaw,” she said, smiling at the thought of her two friends. Wanderers though they were, they had become quite fond of Noonvale, even coming to call it home.

“Do they argue often?” Martin asked.

Rose rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “All the time. Oh!” She nearly ran into Martin as he came to a sudden stop at the end of the passageway.

“Sorry,” Martin murmured. He peered around the corner into Great Hall looking both ways before he stepped out of the passage. He held up a cautionary paw, still looking around the hall.

Rose peered around at the empty room. There was nobeast in sight. “What are you looking for?”

“Dibbuns.”

Rose rubbed a paw in her ears, not entirely certain she’d heard right. “Dibbuns?” As far as she knew, all the abbey youngsters were engaged in the scavenger hunt.

Martin nodded. “Call it habit,” he said, “You never know where they're hiding. Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but they’ve figured out that I usually award the prize for the scavenger hunt. A few of the rogues have taken to trying to find it in my pockets before the game’s finished.”

Rose grinned. “So that's why you've got those candied chestnuts with you. Tintin said he saw you pocketing them on your way through the kitchens this morning.”

Martin nodded. “Aye, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire if they spot me.” He peered around once more and began across Great Hall.

The sandstone floor of Great Hall was warm from the heat of the kitchens below. Bright spots of color danced about on the stones, cast by the sunlight streaming through the colored glass in the windows. Rose could hear dibbuns laughing somewhere in the distance.

Martin, it seemed, had heard them too. He turned back toward the steps that led down into Cavern Hole, staring briefly into the shadows of the passage before grasping Rose's paw. “Hurry!” He hissed, walking faster

Rose did her best to keep up, but her footpaws were beginning to ache.“Ow!” Rose's footpaws twisted beneath her and she nearly fell to the ground. Martin caught her before she hit the ground, his face creased with concern. Looking over his shoulder Rose saw the shadow of a great cat climbing the stairs from Cavern Hole. She struggled upright, her left footpaw still twinging painfully as she pointed at the approaching shadows.

“Hold on!” Martin hissed in her ear. Looping an arm about her waist, he swung her up and carried her into a nearby alcove.

Rose froze as Martin pressed her against the pillar, keeping her close as he peered around the edge. They were in no real danger, but the short, sudden run and the intensity in Martin's eyes had startled her, to say the least. Martin still had a paw around her shoulders, pulling her close. He had gotten taller, Rose realized with a start. They'd been nearly the same height when she first met him at Marshank. But now, pressed close as she was, she realized that he was at least half a head taller than her. She caught his eye as he glanced away from the dibbuns, and found herself captivated by the soft grey stare. He did not look away. She felt as though her heart might beat out of her chest. Martin's stare intensified, and for a moment Rose thought she saw a faint trace of recognition in his gaze. If her heart had been pounding like a drum before, then Rose thought surely it must be doing a decent impression of a percussion ensemble.

“Hoi, what's all this?” The moment was shattered as Tintin's voice carried across the hall.

Rose found herself shaking as Martin looked back to the dibbuns. He whispered in her ear. “We'd best make a run for it while your nephew has them distracted.”

Rose was about to remind Martin that she couldn't run, when he threw one arm around her waist and the other behind her legs, swinging her up once again as easily as if she were a dibbun herself. She barely had time to grab hold of his shoulders before the warrior mouse took off toward the stairs, grinning broadly.

It took only a pawful of moments to reach the stairs. Martin did not set Rose down until they were sufficiently hidden from view of Great Hall. “Sorry about that,” he said, still grinning as he caught his breath. “I had to take the chance while we had it.”

Rose leaned against the wall, the rush of the moment having left her breathless. Now in the relative safety of the stairs she could finally catch her breath. A sudden burst of giggles overtook her, and she clamped a paw across her mouth in an attempt to stifle them.

Martin looked at her in confusion. “What?”

It took a moment before Rose could answer. “Look at us, two grown mice running away from dibbuns.” She broke off as the giggles returned.

Martin soon joined her, chuckling at the supposed danger they had just escaped. “I suppose if dibbuns are the only thing I have to run from for the rest of my life, it'll be more than enough for me.” He held out a paw for Rose to lean on, and the two of them continued up the stairs, still laughing.

Brome froze, temporarily robbed of breath. The silence of the infirmary hung in the air nearly as tangible as a sheet of dust brushed from something long forgotten. He swallowed, trying to think of a coherent sentence. How had the abbess known? Taking a shaky breath, he forced a smile onto his face and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Abbess Germaine smiled knowingly at him, her dark eyes shadowed by sadness. “Come now young one, there is no need for secrets.”

The smile fell from Bome’s face, and he stared at his paws in shame. She was right, of course, there was no need to keep her in the dark.  “How did you know?” he asked.

“I may be old and hard of hearing,” the Abbess said, leaning forward with a smile, “But I still have my wits about me, and my eyes have yet to give out. I saw you and your sister the night you joined us here in the abbey, when Martin came into Cavern Hole. Any other creature who had not seen a dear friend for some time would have run to greet him, yet you did not. I also saw the look on your sister’s face when Gingivere told of how Tzarmina broke Martin’s sword before throwing him in the dungeon. Many passing travelers have heard that tale, and many of our own. And yet, until that night I had never seen a creature whose face, upon hearing the tale, so perfectly mirrored the agony our warrior must have felt at the loss of his sword.”

Brome nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall each time he thought of how Martin must have felt when the sword snapped. “Rose knows how much that sword meant to Martin, and how much it cost him to retrieve it.” He stood, and moved to sit next to the abbess, staring out the window at the snow-covered wall beyond. “Many of the creatures I travel with believe it a good thing that the sword was reforged. They feel that remaking the blade has removed the tarnish on it from the seasons spent in the paws of a warlord. I only hope Martin would agree. He doesn’t remember us, but he doesn’t remember the seasons he lived as a slave either, and I can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse.” He fell silent, waiting for the Abbess’ response, still watching the sun play upon the snow on the wall.

Dust motes floated gently through the air, dancing through the sun like specks of gold while the silence stretched on.

Finally, the Abbess spoke. “Perhaps it is not for you to decide. Martin may not remember anything from his time as a slave, but that does not mean that he does not know that he once was one. Scars may fade over time, but they do not always disappear. It is a noble thought to try and spare him unnecessary pain.” She sighed softly, and, turning to her, Brome saw the hints of a smile playing across her mouth. “But a part of me wonders if perhaps it is akin to my wish to spare new mothers the pain of childbirth. Sometimes a bit of pain makes the joys of life that much brighter.”

Brome nodded, turning the thought over in his head. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I cannot blame you for that,” the Abbess said. “You’ve only just recently learned of Martin’s lack of memories. Two busy days is hardly enough time to consider all the different ways you might approach the problem.” The smile fell from her face. “A part of me worries, though, that if you leave without telling him his past then he may never regain those lost memories. Martin is a strong creature, and quite brave. But even the strongest and bravest among us have their struggles.” She paused, as though considering her next words. “I cannot tell you what you should do, that is something you will have to decide for yourself. But I do hope you will consider telling Martin what you know about his past. In the past few seasons he has begun to stress over his lost memories far more than he had previously. After the events of this past summer I fear it has begun to affect his health.”

“What happened last summer,” Brome asked, his chest suddenly tight at the thought of his old friend suffering in any way.

Abbess Germaine smiled reassuringly. “Oh, not to worry, he’s perfectly fine now. Had a nasty summer cold that turned into a fever and had him bedridden for the better part of the season.” She laughed quietly. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if part of that was because of the dibbuns that kept sneaking in to play with him. I had to threaten to have him moved up here to the infirmary before he agreed to tell them to leave him alone so he could sleep.”

“He does seem to be quite popular with the youngsters,” Brome said with a chuckle. He wiped his eyes briefly with the edge of his sleeve. “I’ll ask Keyla and Yarrow what they think we should do. They spent a good portion of their dibbun days together with Martin, and know better than I do what all he’s forgotten.”

Abbess Germaine nodded. “Very good. You might talk to Gonff as well.”

“Gonff?” Brome asked. “The Mousethief?”

“He was largely responsible for helping Martin remember their journey to Salamondastron. He might have a few tips on how you could jog Martin’s memories now,” Abbess Germaine said with a smile.

Brome considered her suggestion for a moment before nodding. “I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Brome,” Abbess Germaine said. She lay back against the pillows. “Would you please tell Bella that I’ll be taking a short nap up here before dinner? To much celebration and not enough sleep wears down on these old bones of mine.”

Brome nodded, standing and walking toward the door. “I will. Sleep well, Mother Abbess.”

A hush lay across Cavern Hole as Gonff emerged from the kitchens later that afternoon with a bundle under one arm and munching on a honey biscuit. Dibbuns sat clustered in groups of three and four around the hall, some huddled around adults, others off on their own as they pondered over scraps of parchment and slate.

Gonff spotted Columbine sitting with a group near the stairs to Great Hall and made his way to her.

“How goes the scavenger hunt, my Dearest Darling?” he asked her when he got closer.

He was answered by a round of shushing from the nearby dibbuns, and one baby squirrel who glared sternly at him.

Columbine stood quickly and beckoned for him to follow, guiding him onto the stairs. Her eyes shone with laughter.

Gonff looked back over Cavern Hole, whispering, “Goodness me, Columbine. What did you give those babes to make them so ferocious?”

Columbine laughed aloud then, shaking her head at him. “They’ve nearly solved their riddles for the prize,” she said. “You distracted them.” She looked at the bundle under his arm. “Have you finished moving Martin in from the gatehouse?”

Gonff nodded and patted his bundle. “Aye. Found the last of Brother Scrittum’s measuring tools too. Figured I’d bring ‘em up with me and save Martin the trip.”

“How very kind of you,” Columbine said, smiling at him. “If you happen to see Martin, could you let him know the dibbuns are nearly finished with their quest?” She didn’t wait for his response but kissed him briefly on the cheek before returning to her group.

Gonff smiled after her for a moment before continuing on his way upstairs.

He found Brother Scrittum in the library,  in the company of Sister Amyl. The pair were pouring over some old text on the desk in front of them with extra quills, ink, and parchment arrayed on either side.

The library was a cozy little room situated on the western end of the second floor of the Abbey. Afternoon winter sun streamed in through the single window above Brother Scittum’s desk, tinting the air with a warm, golden glow. Candles supplemented the fading sunlight and banished shadows from the corners of the room.

Soft murmurs sounded from one of these corners, and Gonff turned to see Martin and Rose sitting together pouring over a book. He recognized the book immediately not as the Legend of Sheodin, which he had expected, but rather as the hefty tome Denno, Dulam, Vurg, and Beau had written on the last quest of Luke the Warrior. They looked so natural sitting there, with Rose wrapped in a blanket and snuggled next to Martin while he held the book so they could both see, that Gonff almost would have thought that they did this regularly. Martin had a soft, quietly content smile on his face. A smile Gonff had seen before, but only rarely. He cleared his throat softly, making his presence known.

The pair looked up quickly with matching quizzical expressions. Gonff couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shall I have the kitchen send yor supper up ‘ere?” he teased. “You two look comfortable enough to stay there for hours.”

Martin scowled at him, although Gonff knew the look well enough to know that there was no real weight behind it and merely continued to grin. A moment later Martin’s resolve cracked and he began to grin as well. “Is it that late already?” he asked.

Gonff shook his head. “Not quite. But Columbine wanted me to let you know that the dibbuns are nearly done with their scavenger hunt. They’ll be wanting their prizes soon.”

“I s’pose I should head down to hand them out, then,” Martin said. He set aside the book and stood from the pillows he and Rose were seated on, stretching languidly. Turning, he retrieved the book and offered Rose a paw to help her up. “I hope I haven’t bored you.”

Rose shook her head as she stood. “Not at all.” She smiled at him. “I enjoyed it immensely. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Martin stared at her for a moment before turning sharply on his toes to put the book away, his ears practically glowing red.

Gonff let out a hearty laugh and patted Rose on the shoulder. “Ahaha! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybeast fluster ‘im so quickly.” He turned to Martin. “Don’t hide yor face, you great lump. The maid’s being sweet, you’ll make ‘er think you took it the wrong way.”

Slowly, Martin turned back to them, his ears still red. He glanced around for a moment before motioning to the bundle Gonff carried. “What’s that?”

“What, this?” Gonff held it up. “Dinny found th’ last o’ Brother Scittum’s writin’ tools for you. I figured I’d bring it up ‘ere.”

“Thank you,” Martin said. “I’m sure you can leave it with Brother Scrittum and Sister Amyl.” He turned to Rose. “I’m going to head down to Cavern Hole to give the dibbuns their prizes, would you like to come along?”

Rose sighed and lifted a footpaw. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I need to fetch my crutches first.” She shooed Martin toward the door. “You go on ahead and don’t worry about me. I can still walk, I’ll just have to go a bit slower.”

Martin nodded slowly, reluctantly making his way to the door. “Gonff, could you-”

“I’ll stay with ‘er ‘til she gets ‘er crutches,” Gonff said. He mimicked Rose’s shooing. “Now off you go, those dibbuns won’t wait forever.”

Martin nodded. “I’ll see you both downstairs in a bit, then,” he said and left the room.

Gonff watched him leave before returning the measuring tools to Brother Scrittum. The elderly brother patted his paw several times and tried to offer him a candied chestnut.

“No, no, really, I don’t need anymore,” Gonff said, waving his paws.

“What he means--” said Sister Amyl, taking the candied chestnut and placing it back in Brother Scrittum’s pocket-- “is that he’s probably already filched a few from you.”

“Oh yes, I see,” said Brother Scrittum, winking at Gonff. He patted the mousethief’s paw once more. “You take care of yourself now, lad.”

“O’ course, Brother,” Gonff said, carefully extracting himself and returning to Rose. He doffed an imaginary hat and swept into a deep bow. “Might I have the pleasure of escorting you to Great Hall, miss?”

Rose giggled and bobbed a curtsy. “Why thank you very much, my kind sir.” She took his offered paw and they swept out of the library, both still giggling.

Once out in the corridor, Gonff allowed Rose to set the pace as they meandered their way down to Great Hall. She was humming a happy tune to which Gonff began to whistle once he caught the pattern. After they’d repeated the tune three times, Gonff turned to Rose and said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a beast turn Martin red that quickly. You’ll have to tell me yor secret sometime.”

Rose giggled. “I’ll be sure to tell you when I discover it for myself,” she said with a wink. “It was a good story.”

“You didn’t get all the way through, I assume,” Gonff said. “It took Denno most o’ the night to read the whole thing to us when we found ‘em on the Arfship.”

“No.” Rose shook her head. “We only just made it past the part where Luke left on his voyage.” The smile faded from her face and she stopped walking. “It explains a lot, really.”

Gonff cocked his head to one side. “Y’mean like where he got ‘is sense of honor an’ such?”

Rose nodded slowly, her eyes looking through Gonff to some distant past. “And why he didn’t believe me the first time I told him he was a warrior.”

Gonff scratched his ear. “I must’ve missed that conversation.”

Rose shook her head, opening and closing her mouth a few times.

Gonff didn’t press her, but simply stood in the silence, waiting for her to speak again.

Finally, Rose let out a long sigh and looked up at Gonff resolutely. “I-”

“Rose, there you are!”

Both mice turn to see Brome making his way up the stairs. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, “And Gonff.”

“Is something wrong?” Rose asked.

Brome shook his head. “No. Were you on your way to somewhere?”

“I’m escorting Miss Rose to Sister Amyl’s room to retrieve her crutches,” Gonff said, standing up straight and striking a pose.

Rose and Brome both giggled at him.

“Shall I join you, then?” Brome asked. “We can talk while we walk.”

Gonff nodded, once again offering his arm to Rose. “Very well. Now, why’re you looking for us?”

Brome fell into step on the other side of Rose. “It’s a bit complicated.” He turned toward his sister. “You recall that I was helping Abbess Germaine in the infirmary this afternoon?”

Rose nodded. “I remember.”

“She’s a rather sharp old mouse,” Brome said.

Gonff chuckled. “That she is.”

“Anyways,” Brome went on, “she told me that she’s figured us out.”

“I see,” Rose said, nodding slowly.

“Figured out what?” Gonff asked, dropping his usual joking manner.

Rose turned to him. “Figured out that we knew Martin before he came to Redwall,” she said quietly.

“You’re not surprised?” Brome asked when Gonff didn’t react.

Gonff shrugged and pulled some pieces of paper from his pocket. “Nearly had it figured out m’self after finding these.” He handed the sketches to Rose, who in turn handed them to Brome.

Brome examined the sketches of himself and Rose before handing them back to Gonff. “Martin’s work, I assume?”

Gonff nodded.

“So he hadn’t completely forgotten us,” Brome said.

Rose shook her head. “But he doesn’t seem to consciously remember us, either.”

The trio had reached the bottom of the stairs as they spoke and entered the bustling noise of Redwallers and travelers preparing to descend to Cavern Hole for the night’s feast.

Gonff motioned Rose and Brome off to one side. “I take it you want my help in jogging Martin’s memories?”

Brome nodded. “Aye. Abbess Germaine said you were the one who helped him regain lost memories after the war with Tzarmina was over.”

Gonff frowned. “I was. But that was pretty soon after he lost those memories, and he still doesn’t remember everything we went through. Gettin’ ‘im to remember now will likely be a bit harder.”

Rose’s face fell.

Gonff smiled at her. “Now, now. Don’t give up hope. I didn’t say it was impossible.” He looked back and forth between her and Brome. “Tell you what, I’ll think this over for the evening and we can meet again after brekkist tomorrow.”

Brome grinned and held out a paw. “We’ll gather the rest of the Players together and let them know what we’re trying to do. Thank you for your help.”

They shook paws and parted ways, Gonff heading off to Cavern Hole, and Brome and Rose to find the rest of Players after retrieving Rose’s crutches.

Gonff found himself distracted during the night’s performance, trying to watch both Martin and the Players as the feast progressed. He did, however, notice that Martin was in unusually high spirits, joining in the laughter and applause with far more energy than he had the previous two nights.

“Are you quite alright, Gonff?” Columbine asked him as they prepared for bed in their little room. “You’ve been a bit quieter this evening. Tummy ache?”

Gonff shook himself and pulled his wife into an impromptu dance. “Wot? Me, quiet? Never!” He spun her around the room until they both collapsed, giggling, onto the bed.

“Hahaha-hu-haha-hush, Gonff!” Columbine gasped. “You’ll wake Gonfflet.”

Gonff smiled at her, cupping her cheek with one paw and planting a kiss on her nose. “The little rascal’s already fast asleep. No need to worry about ‘im.”

Columbine giggled again and sat up. “Maybe not, but you still haven’t told me why you’ve been quieter this evening.” She put her paws on her hips and fixed a stern expression on her face. “Now you’d best tell me before I’m forced to tickle it out of you.”

“No! No tickles!” Gonff cried, throwing his paws in the air in mock horror. “I’ll tell.” He sat up, taking Columbine’s paws in his. “Just a conversation from earlier today that I haven’t quite figured out an answer to yet,” he said. “That’s all, nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure?” Columbine asked.

Gonff nodded. “I am. Now-” he grinned and flung himself backward onto the bed- “We’d best get to sleep ourselves to make tomorrow come sooner.”

Columbine giggled and joined him. “If you insist, my Prince of Mousethieves.”

“I do.” He blew out the candle next to the bed and they both went to sleep.

[searchingwardrobes]

The Convenient Groom: 1/?

Okay, I know what ya’ll are all thinking, and I agree: I don’t need another WIP! However, I woke up this morning with this idea, and I just had to write it. What’s more, I was looking for the perfect gift for @spartanguard​. You see, I missed her birthday last year. I got on tumblr, saw all these birthday wishes for her, and my heart sank. For some reason, I didn’t have her birthday on my list! I hated it because not only is she one of my favorite writers, but she is also an incredibly kind person who I have come to know as a wonderful fandom friend. So, @spartanguard​, I know it isn’t your birthday, but this fic is for you!

This fic has two inspirations: one, the Barenaked Ladies song “Alternative Girlfriend,” but mostly it’s a book I read called The Convenient Groom by Denise Hunter. I normally avoid book aus because it feels way too close to plagiarism, but a Hallmark movie was made from the book and it was a HUGE disappointment. They made it an engagement of convenience instead of a marriage and basically got rid of all the steamy moments. It’s been forever since I read it, anyway, and this first chapter that came to me this morning has vast differences already. Anyhoo, I hope you like it @spartanguard​ !

Summary: (Is one even necessary? Haha!) Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it also could mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that.

Rating: M

Words: 2,000 and some change in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @kmomof4​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @distant-rose​ @welllpthisishappening​ @optomisticgirl​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @vvbooklady1256​ @thislassishooked​ @hollyethecurious​ @nikkiemms​ @jennjenn615​ @stahlop​ @snidgetsafan​ @scientificapricot​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​  @wellhellotragic​ @tiganasummertree​ @branlovestowrite​ @let-it-raines​ @carpedzem​ @profdanglaisstuff​

Killian Jones would never forget the first day he met Emma Swan. He’d been focused intently on the rocking chair that the Nolans had ordered for their new baby, and AC/DC’s “Back in Black” was booming throughout his workshop. He always worked to classic rock; it put him in the best creative zone.

Suddenly, the shop was plunged into silence, and he straightened in surprise. Standing there, with the cord to his portable speakers dangling from her hand, was a veritable goddess with anger sparking from her light green eyes. She was dressed in a simple pair of dark wash jeans topped with a cream blouse, yet her trim figure still drew his eyes. He’d never had a thing for blondes, but her golden hair had him re-thinking that. She had caught him so completely off guard, he stood there gaping like a mere boy.

“I’ve got a client upstairs trying to pour her damn heart out, but I can barely hear myself think with this noise rattling the walls.”

Ah, so this was the new tenant in the office upstairs. Killian smirked and sauntered into her personal space. “Well, love, I’ve been told I’m rather good at rattling the walls.”

He hardly knew what had possessed him to say such a thing. Before Milah, he was well known for his charms, but that had been years ago.

The blonde narrowed her eyes at his innuendo, though the blush upon her cheeks sent a far different message. “Not your love, buddy.” She tossed the cords at his chest, and one of them slapped him in the jaw. “Get yourself some damn earbuds.”

She strode towards the door, her high heeled boots tapping loudly on the concrete floor. “It’s Killian Jones, by the way,” he called out after her, “Ms . . . “

“Emma Swan,” she tossed over her shoulder, “and it’s doctor.”

He saw her often after that. It was difficult not to. Storybrooke was a small town, and they shared office space, after all. Their building on Main was also right across the street from Granny’s diner, the only place for a decent cup of coffee and a cheeseburger. Or grilled cheese and onion rings in Swan’s case. They’d crossed paths during their lunch break often enough for him to know her regular order. Yet to say Emma Swan had walls was an understatement, and just casual conversation was a challenge. One he had a rather enjoyable time tackling, honestly.

Yet she never came into his wood shop again. Until one day six months ago, to put in an order. She had stood there in his lobby where he met with clients and rough sketched their custom orders looking uncharacteristically nervous, her hands twisting at her waist. He had noticed the diamond sparkling on her left ring finger early on, and she fiddled with it now. He had never met the man who had given it to her, which he had always thought was odd. Especially considering how passionate Emma was about her career. Even stranger, Mary Margaret had never met him either, and Emma rented the loft from her and David. No one even knew the man’s name. Something was off about that, if you asked Killian. Not that anyone would.

“Can you make a wedding chuppa?” she blurted out.

“Aye,” he said as he leaned against the front counter, “I made one for Marco and Granny when they wed last fall.”

“Good,” Emma breathed out, but then her forehead creased with worry. “Marco’s Jewish, isn’t he? Is it okay to use a chuppa if you aren’t Jewish?”

“Hmmm,” Killian contemplated, rubbing at his chin, “is your fiance Jewish?”

“No,” Emma said with a shake of her head, “but we’re getting married outside, and I wanted some sort of focal point, you know?”

“Well, then,” he told her honestly, “I do think a chuppa has religious significance, so maybe an arbor or archway would be more appropriate? I’ve done those as well . . . “

He had come around the counter then and led her to the sitting area where he brainstormed with clients. He had shown her photos of an arbor he had made for his friends Eric and Ariel’s beach wedding, and several other options online. He found out many things that day: the location of the wedding (the gardens behind the old mansion on the outskirts of town), the flowers (middlemist roses), the color scheme (pale pink and wine red), and the date of the nuptials (late June). Yet he still didn’t know who this mysterious fiance was. Odd.

“He doesn’t like the attention from my career,” Emma had attempted to explain, twisting her engagement ring around her finger, “and I get it. There would be a lot of scrutiny on him and our relationship.”

Killian nodded. Everyone knew about Dr. Swan’s bestseller Seriously, Ladies? which supposedly guided any woman on how to avoid disastrous relationships. Women swore by it, and Emma also had a blog and a podcast. The media was salivating over her upcoming marriage, including the identity of Mr. Right himself.

“And I need your discretion on this,” Emma continued. “The media doesn’t know the wedding date yet, and I -”

Killian placed his hand on hers. “You can trust me, Emma. I won’t tell a soul about this order, much less when or where it will be delivered.”

He had worried that his word wouldn’t be enough, yet Emma had deflated with relief. “Thank you. I know this is a weird situation.”

“You deserve happiness, Swan.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you know that? You know nothing about me.”

Killian had shrugged. “You’re somewhat of an open book, love.”

It was true. Despite her confidence, he could recognize another wounded heart when he saw one. Whoever this fiance was, he wasn’t doing a very good job of healing it, either, at least in Killian’s opinion. Otherwise her eyes wouldn’t still hold that haunted look.

The order meant, for both good and bad, that Killian saw Emma Swan more often. It was good in that he got to know her better, saw her smile, heard her laugh. It was bad for one horrible, terrible reason. For him, at least. Six months was long enough for him to fall in love with her - the woman he was making a wedding arbor for.

Killian sighed, his heart twisting painfully, as he covered the gorgeous arbor of carved mahogany with a moving blanket. Today was the day. For him, it felt more like the day of a funeral than a wedding. This man, whoever he was, better love her the way she deserved. It was all he could hope for now.

“Killian, what the hell do you think you’re doing!” He whirled from the arbor to see Emma marching angrily across his workshop. The scowl on her face was identical to the one almost a year ago when he first met her. “Why did you send the moving crew away empty handed? Please tell me you finished it.”

“Of course I finished it, Swan,” he retorted, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. Wasn’t she supposed to be giddy, flushed with eagerness, floating on air? Instead, she looked so stressed he feared she might give herself a heart attack.

“Then why didn’t you send it to the mansion? Are you being difficult on purpose?”

Killian tilted his head and grinned saucily at her. He couldn’t help it, teasing her was just too much fun. “Though getting you riled up is rather fun, I wouldn’t do that to you on your special day. I just didn’t trust anyone but myself to deliver it.”

“Oh,” she said lamely, biting on her lower lip.

“I was just about to load it up, actually. Want to see it?”

“If it’s not too much trouble . . .”

“Of course not.”

He pulled the moving blanket off, revealing the dark wood with intricate carvings of flowers, vines, and swans. Though the occasion it celebrated tore at his heart, he had never put so much work into a piece. He poured the beauty of the woman it represented into every detail. Emma’s eyes lit up as she ran her hands over the woodwork. The caramel stain brought out the natural beauty of the wood, but it would also make the delicate blush of the roses pop once the florist draped the arbor with them.

“It’s beautiful, Killian,” she told him softly, “exactly what I told you I wanted. More, actually.”

“Thank you,” he managed to tell her around the sudden lump in his throat.

The moment was broken by the ringing of Emma’s phone. She fished it out of her jeans pocket and pressed it to her ear. Killian busied himself covering the arbor and preparing it for transport while Emma paced across his workshop.

“Walsh, are you insane?” he heard her snap, “Our wedding is only six hours away!”

Killian tried not to eavesdrop, but as he glanced Emma’s way, he saw her face grow pale.

“Seriously? You’re doing this to me now?” Though her voice was harsh, her body trembled as she sank to an empty crate next to the table saw.

Killian frowned. He didn’t like how this sounded.

“These are all things you could have told me yesterday!” Emma’s voice rose. “Or better yet, last week, last month.”

She glanced over at Killian, and her face turned bright red. She shifted so that her back was to him. She lowered her voice as she spoke into her phone, but Killian still heard her.

“Is there someone else?”

Killian’s jaw clenched as he saw her shoulders fall and then begin to shake. The bastard.

Her voice was broken as she choked out her next words. “Well I hope you’re very happy together.”

She hung up and dropped her cell phone. Killian winced as it hit the cement floor. She covered her face with both hands and wept silently. He crossed the room and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What am I going to do?” she wept. “Oh, God! What am I going to do?” She turned to Killian, her eyes wide and frantic as she clutched at the front of his shirt. “We invited the media to the wedding! It was the only way to keep them from hounding us during our engagement. Now they’ll get an even better story - relationship guru Dr. Emma Swan gets jilted at the altar. I’m ruined! My career is over!”

She was on her feet, pacing the floor, tugging at the ends of her hair. He wanted to tell her she was overreacting, but he couldn’t lie. In this day and age of cancel culture and internet trolls, she would be ruined.

“You’re going to think I’m an opportunist,” she continued, “but my wedding day was also going to be the kick off for my next book. Tomorrow they’re announcing it’s release.”

“I’m not judging you, Swan,” he assured her. “What’s the new book?”

“Ladies, It’s More Than a Wedding,” Emma said sheepishly, “about how to plan for your marriage and not just the wedding.”

Emma groaned and dropped her head against the nearest wall. Killian was silent for a long moment, rolling an idea around in his head. She might shoot him down, call him crazy, but it was worth a shot.

“No one knows who your fiance is, right?”

She looked at him curiously. “No.”

“So . . . couldn’t anyone stand in for him?”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “Are you crazy? Once the media knew it was a farce, things would be even worse. I have interviews lined up already. A promotion tour for the book. It’s about more than just the wedding.” She barked out a laugh. “Isn’t that ironic?”

Killian leveled her with a steady gaze. “What if it wasn’t a farce?”

She blinked. “You mean . . . like, actually marry someone else? Today?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Emma let out another sarcastic chuckle. “Who the hell would agree to that?”

Killian wet his lips nervously. “I would.”

Emma shook her head in surprise. “You?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m here, and I have nothing better to do today.”

“We’re talking about getting married, Killian. You know, commitment? Till death do us part?”

“Well,” Killian said slowly, shoving his hands in his jean pockets, “you need to stay married to promote your book, right? What are we talking? Six months? A year, at most?”

Emma’s brow furrowed as if she were contemplating it. But then she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this! It would never work! How would it look if I got divorced in a year?”

“Or an annulment. You could blame it on me. I cheated on you or something. Make me out to be the bad guy.” He chuckled sardonically. “You might even get another best seller out of it. Dump His Cheating Ass, Ladies.”

He managed to get a real laugh out of her at that, and he smiled. Her mirth was short-lived, however. “But why would you do that? Tie yourself to me for a year, let your own reputation be damaged? What’s in it for you?”

I’m in love with you.

“I could use your help. With my family. Professional help.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okaaay. How so?”

“My brother and his wife. Their marriage is a little rocky.” LIe. Liam and Elsa were relationship goals if he ever saw it. “I think it’s because her sister Anna and her husband Kristoff had to move in with them.” Another lie. They had moved in, but no two sisters were closer than Anna and Elsa.

“So why don’t they just make an appointment?”

“They, uh, have this thing about therapy. They think it’s a sign of weakness. Or an embarrassment. Anyway, but if you were around, you could casually help them out. I think you and Elsa would hit it off.”

“So you want to marry me in exchange for free counseling for your brother and his wife?”

She sounded skeptical, and naturally so. He tried to play it off. “My brother means everything to me. He’s all the family I have left. Plus, my niece and nephew deserve a steady home life, unlike what we had as kids.”

Emma and Killian just stood there looking intently at one another. He held his breath, fully expecting her to call him crazy and walk out the door. Her gaze darted to the arbor, now ready to be loaded onto the trunk.

“It would be a shame not to use that beautiful piece you made.”

Killian tried to hold back his smile and failed. “Consider it my wedding gift to my bride.”

“Okay, groom,” she told him with her hand outstretched for him to shake, “it’s a deal.”

[angelaiswriting]

Listen to Me | Tommy Shelby x reader

[original picture from pinterest]

✏️ Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

✏️ Requested by Anonymous: I love that you're doing the Peaky Blinders boys now! I'd very much enjoy some possible fluff and/or smut with an over-protective Tommy?? Or anyone else?? I'm a sucker for a protective boi haha! Love your blog!! 💞

✏️ A/N: thank you sooo much for this request (and the compliment, I’m sobbing)! It made me so excited I was literally trembling and unable to write for a while haha hopefully you’ll enjoy this! It’s not smut yet, but it could be one day. Also, if you want to be added to my brand-new Peaky Blinders tag list, hit me up! Meanwhile, I’m just tagging peeps that could be interested. Also, many thanks to my MB @sweetvengeancee for being my new beta, apparently haha ily 💞 

✏️ Warnings: implied illegal activities I guess ? + pre smut, and yet not NSFW ? so at the discretion of the reader

✏️ Word-count: 2,650

PART ONE: LISTEN TO ME  |  >> part two: kiss me >>

The Garrison was packed, buzzing with life as men, both drunk and sober, chatted and joked the night away.

It was the ordered chaos Thomas Shelby enjoyed, a nice distraction from the upcoming race he was planning on fixing and from that nagging thought that followed him from a distance any time his plan popped up unsolicited in his mind. He was a good horse, Monaghan Boy – black and strong and magnificent, a born winner. But if Tommy wanted to go far, if he wanted to take Kimber’s place, he had to play all his cards and he had to play them right.

Y/N was the only one who knew – she had torn the truth out of him with that sinful mouth of hers, a few days before, in that very private room he had just got out of. She had always had her own way of doing things, ever since John had brought her home one day after school, and it had been her bluntness and utter lack of fear – probably her madness, too – that had never managed to tear her away from her Shelby friends first and the Peaky Blinders later, when they had all outgrown their childhood.

It was exactly her he didn’t expect to see that night at the bar. He had told her many a time he didn’t want her at the Garrison, didn’t want her around the men he so frequently had to deal with – he knew how they were, the things they did and how, exactly, they did them.

And yet, there she was, sitting at a table opposite Polly and with Finn cuddled up in her lap. They were laughing at something his youngest brother was saying, probably one of the crazy stories he made up with his friends, both women sipping on freshly-poured booze.

“For fuck’s sake.” The words punched their way out of his mouth without him being able to stop them as he leaned against the counter. The more he told her what to do, the more she did the opposite. Whether it was her wicked way to wrap him even tighter around her pinkie finger or something she did out of habit, Tommy truly didn’t know.

What he did know, though, was that he didn’t want her here. And as he gestured for the bartender to come, all he wished for, was for her to fucking listen for once.

Harry, ever zealous as he was, was in front of him in a second, a bottle of Irish whiskey raised in mid-air as the silent question lingered in the space between them. It was an almost automatic choice by now, but when the Blinders were involved, he’d rather not make a mistake.

Tommy gave a curt nod of his head as his left hand came up to massage his forehead. It had been a longer day than usual and while he did his best not to pay them too much attention, the worries that floated around Sunday’s race and his plan for success bubbled up in his mind like the bubbles in a glass of champagne.

“Leave the bottle,” he groaned the second before downing the contents of his glass. He was going to need all the whiskey he could get his hands on if he wanted to keep sane. “When did they arrive?”

Even without saying the names, the bartender knew who the question was about. Polly Shelby had put him back to his place when she had marched into his bar with her kid nephew and Y/N by her side and had demanded he gave her and her guests a table. It hadn’t sounded like such a bad idea when he had cleaned a table for those women, and even less when they had ordered their drinks, but as he met Tommy’s gaze now, he found himself wishing he hadn’t given in to their request.

“Don’t know,” he tried to shrug it off. “Must be twenty minutes at most.” It had been double that time, almost as long as the private Shelby meeting in the back room had lasted. There was nothing else he could do, though, as the very Polly Shelby that turned his bones into a quivering mess sent him a glare that could have been translated as behave! at best and I’m going to fucking kill you at worst.

“Fuck.”

Tommy poured himself some more whiskey. He turned around for a moment, met Y/N’s playful gaze as she looked up at him from above Finn’s ruffled hair and wondered, why her. It probably hadn’t been a conscious choice – she hadn’t been a conscious choice.

She had just been there, at the station, when he and his brothers had come back battered and broken from France. She had been there before that, too, and he knew she was still going to be in his family’s life years from now.

She had also been there when the idea of laying eyes on a woman repulsed him, his mind still struggling in the mud of the recently-won war. A friend of John ever since their school days, Tommy had ended up growing attached to her more than he cared to admit. When opium was the only remedy to the gurgling void he carried inside, she was there, her hand on his, shooing the bombings away. He had ended up taking more than she had initially offered and she had ended up taking all he had to give – skin, wounds, Romani words whispered in the semi-darkness of his room as the ricocheting echoes of the nightmares he had found himself living in for four years tumbled down those four walls that always seemed to close in on him, turning everything into a never-ending tunnel.

“Fuck,” he groaned again, unable to help himself.

Her stubbornness had been one of the things that had helped his business stand on its feet while he, Arthur and John had been away, he was sure of that, but now he needed her alive. Needed her safe. Safe from what he knew his life could cause her.

“Have you seen who’s come?” John sounded both happy and tired as he called him from behind before moving to stand by his side. He took a glance at the bottle of whiskey on the counter before pouring himself some into his brother’s tumbler.

Tommy’s answer was a groan.

“Polly will go bonkers when she finds out we had a meeting without her.”

“Oh, she already knows,” Tommy sighed, daring another glance behind his shoulder. “That’s why she’s here. And that’s why she’s brought Y/N.”

“To cause a bigger scene?” John joked, but his chuckle faded into silence when he met nothing but steel in his brother’s eyes.

“You come with me now,” the oldest said, taking a swig from the bottle and relishing in the burning that scratched down his throat. “And you take both Finn and Poll home. Make sure Finn’s in bed before you update her.”

“She won’t listen, you know that, don’t you?” John smirked, turning to glance at his childhood friend. There was no need to specify it was her he was talking about because he was more than sure that his brother knew. “She never does. That’s why I like her: she just doesn’t give a fuck about who we are.” And with a chuckle, he shook his head.

*

“There was no need to send Finn back home, it’s still early,” Y/N half-heartedly complained when Tommy pushed her into the tranquillity of the Shelbys’ private back room. “He just wanted to hang out around his brothers. You know he admires you.”

He didn’t turn to look at her: he simply walked past her and, unhurried, closed the small window that gave on the counter of the bar, providing them with much-needed privacy in a place like the Garrison. He didn’t need to see those loose hair that had escaped her hairdo and that he found stupidly… cute. Nor did he need to put two and two together and focus on the fact that she was wearing the dress he – he – had given her on her birthday.

Instead, he focused on the table in front of him: he walked up to it, put the bottle of whiskey he had left the counter with down on it and moved the glass ashtray closer to where he was going to sit. “It’s not Finn’s presence that bothers me,” he said eventually.

“Polly’s always-”

“What do I always tell you? This place-”

“If you’re implying that it’s my presence here that bothers you, Tommy Shelby, you can stick it up your-”

“Those are strong words for a lady.” He stared at her as he fixed a cigarette between his lips, lit it and took a first drag. He was trying to keep the ice in his eyes, but it never lasted, not with her. Not when she was the light next to him in the tunnel, not when she was the burning day that dug the French darkness away.

She shrugged, taking a step forward to rest her hands on the seatback of one of the chairs. Freshly manicured nails, painted red, for once – a clear sign that she had spent the day with his sister Ada. “Foolish of you to think, after all the years we’ve known each other, that I am a lady.”

Tommy smirked. “You like to pretend you are one, though.”

For a moment, her only answer was a chuckle as she bent forward to steal the cigarette from his lips. He watched as she took a drag, mere centimetres from his face, her twinkling eyes set on his, before she exhaled the smoke when she moved ever closer and her cheek brushed against his.

She was warm against him, with that perfume of jasmines wrapping her like a bridal veil. “Only with you, Mr. Shelby.”

She straightened her back, then, stood as tall and proud as only she could be in that blue dress of hers. Before he could stop her, she put out the unfinished cigarette in the ashtray.

He sat back, unbothered, and lit himself another cigarette and in the process, he never took his eyes off of her. He looked at her, he truly did, maybe for the first time that night.

She was a dream. A dream and a nightmare all in one, for she was stubborn and headstrong and probably had more balls than many of the men at his service. She never cowered – not under his gaze, not under Arthur’s, and even less under John’s. His men didn’t scare her, his business didn’t scare her, the dark corners of Small Heath didn’t scare her. That was probably the reason why he had taken it upon himself to protect her – from bullets, from secrets, from any bad dream-inducing aspect of his life.

Not that she needed it, but a man could still dream.

“How many times have I told you not to come here at night?” he asked her, puffing out smoke in her direction, twirling the cigarette between his fingers.

The right corner of her lips rose up into a half-smirk as she exhaled from the nose, loudly, trying to keep in the chuckle. “I don’t know,” she answered, drawing her shoulders back a little. “I seldom listen when you talk.”

Tommy resisted the impulse of pinching the bridge of his nose, but not the one that pushed him to close his eyes for a couple of seconds before grunting. “Do you at least know why I ask you the things I do?”

“Tommy Shelby never wants me to have fun, officer!” she drawled out, reminding him more of John than of the serious young woman she knew how to be.

“Stop being foolish and come here.”

She grabbed onto his outstretched hand and let him gently pull her forward until she was standing next to him. A more demanding tug on her arm forced her between his legs before he hoisted her up on the table. “Stop being so serious, Tommy.” She rested her hands on his, still on her hips, and dragged a foot along his thigh. “What’s the answer to that question?”

God, the things he couldn’t tell her!

“The men could get the wrong idea.” It was true, it was a possibility, one very near and always looming over any nice lady that walked through the doors of the Garrison.

She nodded. “I’m not scared of these men.”

“You should be.”

He couldn’t tell her he was doing anything in his power to protect her because she wouldn’t listen and in her haste to prove him wrong, he was sure she would end up proving him right.

“Half of them is too drunk to piss outside their pants and the other half of them is not drunk enough to fight a Shelby. And the ones that don’t know who you are, who this place,” and she gestured vaguely at the walls of the room, “belongs to, don’t scare me because I always have a knife in my boot.”

He wasn’t shocked to hear that revelation. And if he had to be honest, finding out that she walked around unarmed would have left him speechless.

“I still need you to listen to me when I talk to you.” He was slowly pushing the gown of her dress up her legs, exposing the silk of her tights. Hands rough and calloused against her clothed skin, he felt her boot until he found her knife. And smirked.

Tommy Shelby rarely smiled but his smirks were still enough to make Y/N’s heart stop beating for a second before starting to race like a racehorse.

“I’m listening now,” she breathed as he stood between her legs, his hands coming up her shins and pushing the dress over her knees.

“I want you to do the things I tell you to,” he continued.

“I take no orders.”

He leant forward, his lips as light as the touch of a feather against the base of her neck. “If I tell you not to come to the Garrison alone at night, you don’t come.”

“I wasn’t alone.” She was panting, her hands now supporting her weight on the table as he made her lean backwards a little. “I was with Polly. And Finn.”

He didn’t say anything, he let his touches speak for him. His lips kissed up the side of her neck, the tip of his tongue coming out to swipe along her skin every now and then as his hands moved from her knees to her inner thighs and inched closer to her core.

“Tommy…”

“If I say, listen to me, you do,” he whispered in her ear, lips brushing against the lobe before moving to kiss just below it. Her breath shivered against the skin of his cheek as she tilted her head back slightly. “If I want to keep you safe, you better let me.”

“You worry too much.” Her voice was a breath against his lips when he cradled her face in his hands. Lips brushing against lips, she could barely keep her gaze focused on his.

“And you worry too little.”

He kissed her, then. Slow and tender at first, almost innocently, before he let his tongue swipe along her lower lip, tasting the wax of her lipstick, and the kiss deepened. She tasted like whiskey and there was a hint of cigarette from when she had taken a drag from his.

“I’ll make sure you listen this time,” he murmured against the skin of her neck as his hands slid down her sides and back between her legs, fingertips gently tracing a line on her covered core.

“I won’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he chuckled, pushing the table back and kneeling down in front of her.

Please, please, please, let me know how this story was. I’m new in this fandom and I’m both excited and terrified haha

Again, if you want to be tagged in my PB stuff, just let me know somehow :)

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi

People that might be interested: @sweetvengeancee @kind-wolf @flowers-in-your-hayr

[amillioninprizes]

A Tale of Two P.I.s: How Stumptown Succeeded Where Veronica Mars Failed

A hardboiled female private eye with a drinking problem, a litany of temporary sexual partners, and trauma resulting from her romantic soulmate dying in an explosion that’s partially her fault solves mysteries.

This could describe either the freshman ABC show Stumptown, starring Cobie Smulders as military veteran Dex Parios, or Rob Thomas’s intended vision for an adult Veronica Mars in the wake of the recent S4 that aired on Hulu. Many VM fans turned to the former after the supreme disappointment that was S4 in order to get their kickass lady detective fix; a common refrain that I’ve seen is that Stumptown is the show that adult Veronica Mars should have been. Notably, Stumptown was recently renewed for a second season, while Hulu has declined to order more seasons of Veronica Mars. Now that the pain of VM S4 is less fresh, I recently watched the first season of Stumptown to see if it was worth the hype. Here are the reasons why I think that Stumptown has been renewed for a second season while Veronica Mars has, much like Susan Knight, been left dead in the water:

Dex is a competent detective

Like, I shouldn’t even have to say this, but: if you’re going to make a show about a private investigator, that character should be able to crack cases. Rather infamously, Veronica did not solve any mysteries in VM S4: Keith solved the bomber mystery, Logan solved the congressman blackmail mystery, and Vinnie solved the missing ring mystery. Veronica just kind of floated around being a mean party girl.

Meanwhile Dex, despite being less experienced as a detective, uses her smarts and background as a military interrogator to solve the mystery of the week. She notably utilizes disguises and undercover work, two former features of Veronica’s investigating that were missing in S4. The show also makes a decent attempt to portray the realities of her having to obtain a license to be a PI and work legally, including an internship and dealing with consumer complaints. Contrast this with the proposed future seasons of VM as a traveling detective--something that would be nigh impossible giving licensing requirements.

I think the contrast between the two’s abilities can best be seen in their opening scenes of the season: Dex, at the casino, is able to suss out a married dude hitting on her pretty quickly, comprehensively listing his tells. Meanwhile, Veronica’s first scene in S4 has her randomly smashing a client’s belongings to find hidden cameras and then unprofessionally overcharging her. If that’s how she treats clients, it’s no wonder that Mars Investigations is financially struggling at the beginning of S4.

Stumptown also does a better job than VM S4 of showing why the protagonist chooses to be a detective. For Dex, it gives her stability and a sense of purpose that had been lacking since her return from Afghanistan. On the other hand, Veronica is shown to be somewhat dissatisfied with her life in S4, but it’s never explicitly addressed why; it’s also not examined why she remains in Neptune as a detective when she could use her Ivy League law degree at any time and live anywhere, especially when she appears to no longer have a talent for being a detective. Logan briefly broaches the subject in one scene, but it’s dropped just like every other VM plot thread.

Dex is a marshmallow

As has been covered extensively elsewhere (including the pages of this very blog), probably the largest issue that people had with S4 of Veronica Mars outside of Logan’s death was Veronica’s characterization. Rob Thomas said in interviews that he told the writers this season to write Veronica like a porcupine; the end result was a portrayal that dialed all of Veronica’s negative traits to 11, added new ones, and completely removed the softer aspects of her character that made her such a compelling and complex protagonist. There was an attempt to give Veronica an emotional connection to the bomber mystery via the character Matty, but for most viewers it didn’t resonate due the flat affect of both actresses and poor writing. It was hard to feel like Matty was a sympathetic underdog when she had a wealthy mother ready to whisk her away to Paris for Spring Break. Veronica also doesn’t appear to have retained her former drive for justice; she mostly seems interested in collecting a paycheck (and if that’s the case I again ask why she isn’t using her Columbia law degree). She also weaponizes her white womanhood against a Latino teenager. What a great role model!

Contrast this with the also outwardly caustic Dex, who initially IS only in it for the paycheck. First off, even that’s somewhat noble in that she needs to take care of her adult brother with Down’s syndrome. Yet she quickly finds her sense of justice overcoming her desire to make bank. We see this early in the season when she turns against the PI she is shadowing in order to help a young mother obtain custody of her child from her wealthy, abusive ex-husband. This is also seen when she brokers a deal to protect the privacy of the biological child of a political candidate she’s been hired to find dirt on.

Dex also relies heavily on her support system--namely her brother Ansel, best friend Gray, food truck purveyor Tookie, and even police detective Hoffman. She resists her brother moving out because she’d be lonely without him, and her entire found family are instrumental in helping her with her cases. This isn’t necessarily different from Veronica per se, although Veronica treated her loved ones cruelly in S4. Additionally, Rob Thomas wanted to continue the show without them, despite how heavily Veronica relied on them both to help her with cases as well as emotionally.

Stumptown also shows that even if Dex hasn’t fully processed her trauma, she is capable of growing. She makes nice with her high school enemy after clearing her daughter of suspected drug dealing. Contrast this with Veronica, who punched her high school nemesis at her high school reunion (and for the five millionth time, no one wanted to see that) and was shown to have regressed as an adult to be more immature at age 35 than she was at 17. That didn’t make her seem more cool or noir, just sad.

Also, Dex actually manages to brush her hair. (But srsly I need to know how they get her hair to do that great wavy thing).

Dex’s trauma is thoughtfully addressed

As a corollary to the above point: there was obviously Something Wrong with Veronica in S4, but the show didn’t bother to explain what had transpired between the end of the second book and S4 to explain her seeming personality transplant; as a fellow fan has said, the show pretended to deal with her trauma but glossed over it in reality. For example, in addition to depicting her as being depressed and cruel to her loved ones, she is shown drinking heavily and doing drugs, both of which are out of character for her. Yet the show seems to glamorize it; none of her loved ones express any concern about this behavior and there are no references made to her alcoholic mother, whose actions negatively affected her growing up to the extent that Veronica had previously expressed wanting to avoid becoming like her. But despite the fact that she was obviously struggling with something, Rob Thomas and Kristen Bell stated that they needed to kill Logan because Veronica was somehow not traumatized enough. Apparently, putting Logan’s ring on her finger just magically erased her previous issues (unrealistic and harmful messaging to trauma survivors), and he needed to die because women can only be interesting if they’re damaged (misogynistic). Adding insult to injury was Rob Thomas’s assertion that Logan’s memory wouldn’t play much of a part of the show going forward because it would be too depressing and he needed Veronica to not be consumed with thoughts of him while engaging in “strange sex”, whatever that means. Yeah Rob, it would def be realistic for Veronica to just get over the fact that her husband and love of her life died of a bomb due to her oversight in a year and then continue on her merry way without any support from her loved ones!

Stumptown, however, explicitly connects Dex’s self destructive behavior with her past trauma: in the very first episode Dex is shown frantically texting contacts for a sexual hookup in the midst of a PTSD episode. The most powerful scene of the entire season in my opinion is one where, after experiencing a flashback to her time as an interrogator in Afghanistan, she goes on a bender at home and trashes her house to the soundtrack of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” (As an aside, I would also like to point out that Stumptown deftly portrays the trauma and grey morality associated with military service, which could have been an amazing (and noir!) storyline for naval intelligence officer Logan in future seasons of VM if Rob Thomas wasn’t such a dimwit).

Additionally, the death of her not quite-fiancé Benny hangs over her, even though the event took place twelve years prior to the start of the series. Even before Benny is introduced onscreen in flashbacks in the penultimate episode of S1, the show does a good job of portraying just how much he and their relationship meant to Dex. The season culminates in Dex finding out that his death in an explosion in Afghanistan was not in fact her fault, as she had previously assumed. Interestingly, the show’s writers considered revealing that Benny had faked his death, but the head writer later stated in an interview that doing so would invalidate the trauma Dex had experienced for 12 years and would ultimately be cruel. While on a shallow level I wouldn’t have minded them bringing Benny back since the actor who played him was super attractive and had great chemistry with Cobie Smulders, the decision the writers made instead makes more sense for the world they have built and is far more thoughtful: it allows Dex to obtain a sense of closure and growth while respecting her grief.

Women over the age of 35 aren’t Satan

A criticism of VM since it originally aired is that the show generally portrays female characters, especially mothers and other women over a certain age, in a negative light (and Rob Thomas has been defensive about it just as long). The books partially rectified this by introducing the characters of Petra Landros, the former model turned owner of the Neptune Grand, and Marcia Langdon, the new Balboa County sheriff with a murky past. Marcia was brought back for S4, but considerably dumbed down and less complex than in the books (and there’s definitely something to be said that the first time a BIPOC woman is shown in a position of power on screen in VM that her character is diminished).

Stumptown, on the other hand, has two women as older female mentors/nemeses in positions of power: Sue Lynn, the matriarch of the local Native American tribe, and Lieutenant Cosgrove of the Portland PD. Both have complicated relationships with Dex: Sue Lynn ended Dex’s relationship with Benny, her son, yet repeatedly seeks her out for help with matters on the reservation. Lieutenant Cosgrove often finds herself at odds with Dex while the latter is attempting to solve a case, though she also encourages her to legally obtain her PI license. It shouldn’t be revolutionary to have complex older female characters as supporting cast on a female-centered show in 2020, but after 15 years of misogyny from VM it certainly feels refreshing.

Where Stumptown falls short

All of this is not to say that Stumptown is flawless. Despite my praise for including older female characters above, the show is still pretty dude heavy, especially Dex’s inner circle. The mysteries of the week are of fairly average quality, and several were reminiscent of some seen in VM’s original run--the season even ends with a “Who’s at the door?” gambit. I also didn’t love the storyline where Grey’s girlfriend gets Dex drunk and tricks her into thinking they had slept together in order to drive Grey and Dex apart--that felt like something out of the mind of Rob Thomas. It also bears mentioning that in the context of current events the generally positive portrayal of the police department and Dex’s close relationship with them should bear more scrutiny. And while the show is well done overall, it never quite reaches the emotional resonance of original flavor VM (but then, neither did VM S4).

Despite those quibbles, I think it’s a good show overall. I felt like as the season progressed the creative team figured out what worked and the cast seemed to gel together. I love the classic rock soundtrack (another area where VM S4 failed, given that it abandoned VM’s signature indie soundtrack for generic pop music), which in conjunction with Dex’s wardrobe gives the show a fun retro feel. By the end of the season I was firmly won over, and I look forward to S2. Hopefully the writers of Stumptown paid attention to the backlash to VM S4 as a lesson in what not to do going forward.

[mythandlaur]

Burai here on anon, rip Side-blog personal blog. Anywhoo-- The Will of the Swarm, Children of the Archives, Light Unseen, and are ya winning the tournament son. If you don't mind.

The WIP Tag Game

@buraidragon​ You should know these--you were involved in at least two of them.

Lots of text under the cut!

The Will of the Swarm (working title only) - Spiral Knights - 2018

A collaborative project with friends Burai and apprenticeNerd; a roleplay adaptation that would’ve made for a multichapter fic. Knight-Elite Ixtharion and his protégé, the slightly pyromaniacal Ashoza, are called on for a cryptic rescue mission in the Wildwoods, only to find the person they’re rescuing is none other than Parma, reconnaissance specialist of the lost Alpha Squad, who bears worrying information from the Core and evidence of her claims in the form of a dark miasma that appears to have eaten away her right arm. Ix has some knowledge on prosthetics, and takes over the effort to get Parma set up with one, facilitating interaction and camaraderie between the trio--and it’s them who chase after Parma when she delves back into the deepest layers of the Clockworks upon word coming back of the fate of the Alpha Squad’s technician...consumed by the Swarm and working for Herex.

I still really enjoy this concept tbh??? Like I don’t know if I could WRITE write it but if you guys still wanted to poke at it after all this time I’d be game. I don’t have a snippet, but I do have some nigh-incomprehensible notes from a document dated August 2018

Events:

Parma needs to recover a little bit, explore Haven when she can (her arm’s definitely going though)

Ix dinner party

Discussion of important things/she lets them in on what she found

Vanguards find Shadow Rulen in the depths and Parma immediately runs off looking, Ix and Shoza having to follow after her

Other ideas and stuff:

Scout slowly becomes a Seraphynx

Drunk Ashoza happens at some point

Concepts:

Shadow Rulen/Technomancer Rulen:

Is possessed/corrupted by the Swarm and taken in by Herex

Speaks in the plural in this state

Creates a very large mech (possibly named “Omega” something for irony?)

Swarm turret gatling gun

Shard bomb launcher

Tears out bits of the world and slams them down on enemies

Weak to overheading

Last ditch attempts to escape deeper into the core

Potential concept of Rulen losing his body to the Swarm and becoming a spirit who possesses/manipulates technology

Grantz’s Sword:

This dude took his oath way too seriously and stuck around even after dying, possessing his sword which remains around the core

Doesn’t realize he’s dead

Inadvertently possesses whatever knight holds the sword

---

Children of the Archives - Hollow Knight - 2019

Another collaborative project between the same trio, an AU affectionately referred to as “Monomom”. There isn’t so much a plot summation for this as there are a bunch of concepts; basically, in this verse, a very large amount of Vessels find their way out of the Abyss and into the Teacher’s Archives, becoming mainstays around there long before the Infection starts to take hold. Though Monomon still fulfils her duty, she isn’t happy about it or the Pale King’s plan, and Quirrel stays behind to take care of the Vessels after she’s gone, though becomes infected as a result. Several events in the game go differently, partially because Hornet is aware of the vessels and is more open with Ghost because of that awareness. Was meant to probably be a verse with a lot of domestic nonsense going on overall.

I don’t have a snippet, but there’s a doc with a lot of concepts, including about three pages’ worth of Vessels created between the three of us. Have some favorites:

Trio - Early model, has three arms. Acts like the older brother to other Vessels. Probably has three small Nails. 

Ase - Broken Vessel, stoic leader, mature, has been wandering longer than the others, cares about siblings more than themself - Insists they’re strong and independent and don’t need help, try to get to the void, fail, several others from the Archives sneak out to drag them back to the Archives badly injured and scare the living daylights out of Quirrel

Lantern - Likes putting lumaflies in their head. Yes, the eyes glow depending how many there are. Theoretically if they Consume the shock ones, they could have laser beam eyes? 

Vault - Taller and thicker vessel that likes storing stuff inside of them. Not a fighter. They fight by flinging stone writings at people and running.

Spite - Seven horns, is upset about that, breaks one off that forms the core of their nail, always down to fight. Will probably stab you if you insult a sibling.

Ink - Gets really good at making ink, their shell’s always stained, loves learning, pesters the students. Probably carries brushes instead, and would hang around Sheo for art.

Legion- One Shade spread over five Vessels. They act as a collective within a collective. If threatened will pile into a very stable tower and initiate a five-tiered Loom. Highly skilled in combat, as you need to take all five of them out within a short time period to fully incapacitate them. You might find one of their Shells roaming Fog Canyon, too keep a scout’s eye out for any potential dangers. If nothing else, they’re bouncing off of jellyfish because it’s fun. Each Shell of Leigon’s has a pentagon inked onto the back, with a dot in each corner responding to which Shell it is. Legion’s shade is as large as Hollow’s. 

Smith: Slightly-large Vessel, missing a leg, really wants to be a Nailsmith. Alters between studying under The Nailsmith and practicing Nailcrafting on sibling’s blades. Keeps them in shape, if nothing else. Has a metal peg-leg they are perfectly willing to take off and smack you with if they’ve lost their nail.

---

Light Unseen - Destiny 2 - 2019

A backstory oneshot for Kaira, a blind Guardian only capable of seeing traces of Light where it’s present, and her Ghost, Nel, who acts as her guide. This particular bit of writing was meant to be Kaira and Nel’s first meeting, and Kaira’s first (and second) revival, as Nel tries to figure out how to accommodate her and help her escape from a Cabal ambush in the EDZ, eventually assisted by more experienced Guardians Irina and Elara-4, who become Kaira’s good friends.

I really, really love this character and I really, really want to do something more with her, but D2��s writing has gone in the crapper since Forsaken and I don’t agree with basically anything Bungie’s done with the game in the last year, so I’m in a bit of a pickle. I do have a snippet, though. Trigger warning for a brief description of an extremely long-dead corpse/skeleton.

Other Ghosts do this for years, he’s heard. But for him, it only takes a few minutes.

Sticking out of some bushes, the Ghost finds a leg. Not much of a leg, of course; the flesh has long since rotted away, and the elements have left just the barest scraps of fabric from the deceased’s clothes. As he delves into the bushs, branches scraping and poking at his shell, he sees the rest of the remains tangled inside are similarly skeletal. The skull is the worst, mangled and caved in around the eye sockets. He wonders how they’d come to be in a place like this, in a state like that. Had they fallen? Had someone, or something, tried to hide their body?

There’s no way for him to know, and he doubts he ever will. But it doesn’t matter, because what he does know is that this is it.

He doesn’t know in any logical capacity, but he knows because he can feel something inside of those bones reacting to his presence, like a pair of magnets drawn to each other’s polarities. He feels...warm, and whole, and his shell is buzzing as if with errant electricity, except it is not electricity, it is Light, his Light, the Light the Traveler had given him with the sole purpose of passing that wonderful gift on to another.

Their body isn’t really in an ideal position for resurrection, and he can’t do much about that given his lack of both size and limbs. But that doesn’t dampen his growing excitement, as he looks at those bones and wonders not for the first time what they’ll be like, what sort of adventures they’ll go on together.

There’s only one way to find out, he knows.

The red-shelled Ghost hovers there, relishing this moment of anticipation for a few seconds longer. And then, he can’t contain it any longer.

He opens himself up to the gift of the Light, and it all but consumes him; his form expands, a little blue sun with little metal planets orbiting around it, and every mechanical sensor cuts out. The part of him that isn’t mechanical reaches out, and from the tiny floating solar system comes a beam that bathes the lost bones in Light.

Flesh reforms itself in the wake of shimmering waves, and clothes over that. The skull rearranges its broken, twisted parts and knits itself back together. After what feels like an age to him, his sensors come back online as his shell wraps around him again, and he drifts back to check his handiwork.

They wear the cloak, hood, and mask of a Hunter, hiding their face. Their shape is vaguely feminine--he’s going to assume until they tell him themself. Her chest rises and falls slowly with her newly-restored breathing, as if she’s not yet fully awake, and she doesn’t seem to realize the fact that she’s lying in a bush.

“...Guardian?” He quells his excitement, trying to keep his voice soft as he flies in closer to her face--then quickly back as he realizes he may be too close. The branches rustle with a slight movement of her arm, and her head turns sluggishly. “Guardian, wake up. I’m sorry, I couldn’t move you--you’re going to have to get up.”

She tilts her head slightly upwards towards his voice. For a moment, there’s no other reaction, but then the words seem to register and she starts pushing herself into a sitting position. Branches snap and crack as she pushes against them, struggling, before she seems to realize a better way and starts sliding her feet along the ground, dragging herself out with her knees little by little until she can sit up unhindered. Once she’s up, she crosses her legs under her and sets her hands in her lap, chin dropped towards her chest as he hovers around her to make sure she’s all in one piece.

He can hardly believe it. His Guardian, living and breathing once again, right here in front of him. The Ghost flies around to hang in front of her face. “How do you feel?” No response, no acknowledgment. He guesses she’s still a little rattled. “Not much of a talker? Okay, you don’t have to talk right now, but we do need to get moving, there’s--”

The Hunter abruptly raises her head, and he stops talking. In the silence, a loud rumbling can be heard, gradually growing louder. Seconds pass, and he turns his eye upward to see a shadow in the sky above the trees--a very familiar shadow, as he’s seen several of these during his scouting missions.

“...Maybe they’ll pass us.”

The dropship stops in the air, almost directly overhead. The side of a wing is all he can see, but he can hear grunts and shouts all too close nearby, feet hitting the ground hard.

So, he’d been quite lucky to find his Guardian so quickly and easily. But apparently, he’d used up all that luck at once, and now a Cabal scouting party is here, for whatever reason.

“You know what I said about moving? We’re going to need to start on that right now.” The Ghost quickly disappears in a shimmer of light, still keeping an eye out around them. “I’m still here. I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but right now we’ve got to run. I’ve got a marker up for you, just follow that and don’t stop. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

The Hunter stumbles to her feet, holding her arms out to steady herself. The Light is still waking inside of her; she probably doesn’t know how to control it, and without a gun, running is their only chance. She glances about wildly, and then takes off--not exactly in the direction of his marker, but he trusts she’s got a plan. If she’s a Hunter, she’s likely got impeccable instincts.

---

are ya winnin the puyo tournament son (doc name) - Puyo Puyo - October 2020

You know I had to do it. This is a oneshot based in an AU where Sig’s ancestor, Ajisai, is reconstituted by the deus ex machina duo themselves, Ecolo and (much to their chagrin) Satan. After spending a few weeks living in the middle of nowhere, Ajisai hears about an upcoming Puyo tournament and decides to participate in the festivities, using it as an excuse to endear themself to varying degrees to the students and visitors. Eventually, they confront Satan about his unacceptable behavior, and get a hint that Satan’s actions may be a bit more tragic than merely pathetic.

Basically this is just ‘what if Ajisai lived because I want to write more for them and I want to see how they’d interact with more characters’. It’s mostly just me goofing in 15th anniversary’s style and I don’t know if people would be interested, but I’m getting some enjoyment out of it.

Looking down on Primp Town from the ridge is rather like watching a beehive--except instead of honeycomb, the excited bees are rushing about building a network of colorful streamers and decorations hanging between buildings.

“You certainly have a lot of celebrations here, don’t you.”

Sig gives the barest of shrugs, not even bothering to glance up from the caterpillar that’s made itself at home on a finger of his claw. “Guess so. It’s fun, though.”

“What is it this time? The Primp Festival wasn’t too long ago. It can’t be that again, can it?”

“Puyo tournament. The school’s running it.”

“Ah, I see.”

“They did it last year, too. Bunch of Arle’s friends showed up.”

“You do realize I was there for the last one, yes?”

Sig finally looks over, and they patiently wait for him to arrive at the realization. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

Ajisai chuckles quietly under their breath as their descendant goes back to admiring the caterpillar. It is easy to forget that they’d been present during many of the major events in Sig’s life, if only because they look and act so different now that they have a whole body to themself again. It’s a small price to pay for their freedom, of course, and they owe Ecolo a great deal for the service.

Well, not just Ecolo, they suppose. There had been...others involved.

“It’s different playing in it yourself, though,” Sig continues after a pause. Ajisai shakes their head to dislodge the loose thoughts before turning back to him.

“Are you going to be joining in this year, then?”

“Yeah.” A tiny smile comes to Sig’s face, though he still doesn’t look up. Nothing more needs to be said, so a comfortable silence stretches on between them, as Sig watches the caterpillar climb his arm and offers his right hand to crawl on instead so he doesn’t lose the little thing. Meanwhile, Ajisai can’t help but glance back down towards the frenetic party preparations, slight fangs poking at their lower lip in thought.

They’ve been alive and well for at least two weeks now, and only four people even know about it; they’ve either been staying at Sig’s house rereading the collection they’d passed down to him or wandering about the Forest of Nahe aimlessly, occasionally slipping into town at night to have a look around before quickly leaving again. But...they’d like to go into town, if only to visit the library. There are so many of Sig’s classmates they’d never gotten to meet properly, too. After so long isolated, they finally remember what it’s like to feel a need for companionship.

There’s only the question of if they deserve it. If they’ll be welcome there.

Ajisai takes a deep breath. “Is this tournament only for the students?”

“No,” Sig replies without missing a beat, “Bunch of other people are probably gonna play. Arle’s friends, Ringo’s friends, the space guys, Ally…Dunno who’s coming, but I’d be surprised if those guys didn’t.”

“Hm.”

“You wanna play too?” Sig takes his attention from the caterpillar, looking over at them with half-lidded, questioning eyes and pursed lips. “You’re really good.”

“Well…” Leave it to their ‘nephew’ to see right through them. Ajisai looks away, hair flicking in slight agitation. They’ve picked up a thing or two about Puyo over the years, it’s true--they’ve even given some of Sig’s classmates a run for their money in the past. Though that only brings up the circumstances of those battles, which were...less than ideal. “Do you think they’d be willing to have me?”

“You’d have to ask Ms. Accord.” Typical Sig--doesn’t even notice their internal struggle, or perhaps he does and doesn’t think it’s an issue. He points down at the town with a clawed finger. “She’s probably down there helping set up.”

Ajisai narrows their eyes, considering it. They suppose the worst that can happen is them being told no and having to go back to the forest, but the idea of just walking into town as they are is a bit unnerving. Still… “Would you mind if I went down there now, then?”

“Go ahead,” Sig says, focus returning to the caterpillar. They can’t help but chuckle a bit under their breath at their nephew’s fascination, the same all-consuming interest that they had for books and stories. 

Ajisai stands, shaking the grass out of their cape before resting a hand on Sig’s left shoulder and squeezing slightly. “Don’t go running off,” they say with a wry smirk, fully aware that Sig will probably still be watching the caterpillar twenty minutes from now.

Sig knows it too, and huffs a little, amused snort through his nose. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.”

[girls-scenarios]

Paint and French Perfume

Idol: Chaeyoung (Twice)

Prompt: Hi. If the requests are still open, may I ask for a royal AU with Chaeyoung (TWICE). The reader is a princess and Chaeyoung is a painter in charge of painting the portrait of the royal family (which is something annoying because the models don't have to move for a long time, you know). When it's the turn of the portrait of the reader alone, she and Chaeyoung flirt or something like that. Nothing serious, mostly fluff, please. By the way, I really love the blog💗

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: Thank you for loving the blog, I hope you enjoy this scenario!

♡ Tip Jar♡

Chaeyoung loved painting. She had to, in order to continue her profession as a painter. The long hours and painfully awkward sessions with her clients were enough to make her want to quit sometimes, especially since the pay was never enough for the cramping in her fingers and the lack of sleep, and the annoying nagging that came with painting for upper-class clients. She understood why many artists were so disagreeable. But she loved painting, and this was the only way she could support herself. So when a request for portraits came in from the royal family, she begrudgingly agreed to paint them.

For everyone else, an appointment with royalty sounded incredible. For Chaeyoung, she knew it would mean even longer hours and even more nagging. But the pay was enough to keep her alive for an entire year, should she choose to take a break and go back to her love of painting landscapes. She would be a fool to refuse the offer.

The royal family wanted a lot. A family portrait, along with portraits of each family member separately, despite the fact that their walls were already lined with portraits. Still, Chaeyoung agreed and showed up bright and early on the morning she’d been called, ready for her back to hurt and for her fingers to cramp and for the worst that the royal family could offer.

What she hadn’t been ready for was you.

At first, you were rather quiet. The family portrait came first, and everyone was mostly silent during the long hours of standing perfectly still. You looked uncomfortable, her mouth turned into a slight grimace at most times, but Chaeyoung was used to that. She easily turned your grimace into a slight smile. Something about you was different, though.

Whenever the break was called, you would stand and stretch despite the queen’s disapproving look, groaning and moaning about the pain you were in. There was a twinkle of mischief that she often caught whenever she would look up at you for reference. Something told her that you were not like many of the other aristocrats she’d painted for. Not once had you demanded for her to change your features or her position. The rest of your family had asked for changes, but not you. You didn’t seem to care in the slightest how you were portrayed.

It was a nice change of pace.

When it finally came time for the solo portraits, you were third in line. The process of painting the king and queen was exhausting, and by the time she got to you, Chaeyoung was very ready for a change. Thankfully, you were just what she needed.

For the solo portraits, no one else was around. Guards were surely placed outside of the grand room, but inside it was only her and the subject. She always preferred it that way. It seemed you did, as well.

As soon as you sat down, the twinkle in your eye was back. The dress you were clad in seemed to be uncomfortable, and there was no chance of bad posture with the corset tightened as close as possible around your waist. Your movements were stiff, but you used the most of your mouth to make up for it.

“Your name is Chaeyoung, is it not?”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness. I am Son Chaeyoung.”

“Oh, please don’t be so stiff, Chaeyoung.” You adjusted slightly before sitting still, noticing that she had started the process. “I am not my mother. I do get ever so bored during these portraits.”

“As I can imagine.” She tried to be as polite as she could, her eyes flickering nervously to the doors as if the guards might burst in and arrest her at any moment for being rude to the princess. You must have noticed her looking, because you let out a soft laugh.

“The guards are out of earshot, you shouldn’t worry about them. They trust you because you are a woman, you know. Although.” The twinkle in your eye sparkled, and Chaeyoung felt her stomach turn. “You are perfectly beautiful, with your tussled and curled hair and that beauty mark by your perfectly plump lips. I do love the look of a concentrated woman.”

This was totally not happening. Chaeyoung outlined her preliminary sketch furiously, hoping that her cheeks were not too flushed. What kind of game were you playing at? “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

“Please, when we are alone, call me (Y/N). I get so tired of hearing that phrase. I would love it if a beautiful woman like you called me by my name.”

“I’m not sure if that is appropriate-.”

You cut her off, laughing slightly. Somehow, you had not moved a muscle, yet you seemed to be enjoying yourself. “Then I order you to call me by my name. Will you disobey the order of a princess, Chaeyoung?”

You were sly. She liked that, but tried not to think about it as she dipped into her paints. There was no use falling for a princess. You were just bored. There was no way a princess would fall for a commoner like her. “I will not.”

“Then say my name.”

Chaeyoung took a breath. “(Y/N).”

You grinned, satisfied. “Thank you. Was that truly so hard?”

“They could have my head for the disrespect,” she said, arching an eyebrow to look up at you. “Would you vouch for me, (Y/N)?” Oh well. If you were going to play this game, she would too. Your face lit up at her response, happy that she was finally responding in the way she wanted.

“Of course I would, Chaeyoung. I like you too much to see you punished.”

“I would hope so.”

-

As the days went by, Chaeyoung found herself taking her time on your portrait. At first, she’d felt awkward and nervous at your advances, always paranoid that a guard would burst in to drag her away. But there truly seemed to be no one around, and eventually, she got comfortable. The two of you talked throughout the process, half flirting and half actually learning about each other.

“I hate this sitting still,” you told her, as if she’d not already noticed from the way you grimaced every time you sat in the portrait chair. “I would much rather be out doing things, but my parents insist that, since I’m the princess, I should learn to be still and quiet. It makes me crazy.” You sighed. “I bet you have so much freedom. I would love to be a commoner, just for a day.”

“Being a commoner is a lot harder than you might think,” Chaeyoung retorted, no longer afraid of being rude. “Many of us starve or die from illnesses you’ll never see. I’m not sure you’d survive even a day.”

You huffed, but seemed to understand. “Is your life truly that hard, Chaeyoung?”

“It was hard for a while.” She shrugged her shoulders, not looking up from her painting. There was some tricky beading near your shoulder that she had yet to get down. “As a painter, I only live off what the wealthy pay me for portraits such as this. There is hardly any selling of nature or common life, which is what I love to paint. The hours are long and I hardly sleep. So yes, it can be hard.” She bit at her lip, and heard you sigh.

“You look cute when you concentrate. I should like to kiss those lips someday.”

Her face heated up and she finally looked up at you, causing you to smile. “Do you enjoy to tease me, (Y/N)?”

“Oh, I do. But I also tell the truth.”

She decided not to press the matter any further, the hammering in her chest too much to handle.

-

Chaeyoung usually wasn’t one to congratulate herself, but she had to say that her portrait of you had turned out stunning. She owned most of the credit to you. You were beautiful, and your beauty shone from the canvas, the twinkle in your eye and your playful smile perfectly portrayed through her many days of studying you closely. She could not deny her own attraction to you, and wondered how many painters had met the same fate as her. The last session was coming soon, and she was doomed to leave with a broken heart, her love forever belonging to the mischievous princess. She was not sure how much she believed you when you claimed to be telling the truth.

To her surprise, however, when the last day came, you arrived with a sad sigh, your usually-grinning lips pressed into a frown. Thankfully, Chaeyoung had already captured your smile, but she still worried as she settled onto her stool, looking around the canvas.

“Is something the matter, Princess?”

“Like I’ve said, please just call me (Y/N).” You sent her a smile, but it was light and airy and unfamiliar. “I’m only sad today, Chaeyoung.”

“Why so? After we finish, you will be free of sitting still.”

“But I will also be free of you. And I’ve grown to like you too much.”

Her heart pounded in her ears and she added the last stroke of red on the curtains behind you. “Is it really wise to keep up this teasing?”

“I’m not teasing. Chaeyoung, I truly like you. I enjoy your company and think you’re beautiful, even when you end up covered in paint at the end of the day.” You shifted in your chair. “If I wasn’t a princess, would you consider me?”

Chaeyoung swallowed and paused, her brush floating above the canvas as she looked up at you. You were just as stunning in person as you were on the canvas, but your eyes were sad. This was not the princess that she was used to, and she missed your smile. “If you weren’t a princess, I would. But in our current situation.... I hardly believe that your parents would approve of you courting a poor common painter. I have hardly any money to my name and no royal blood. I am not a good match for you. Although I love you dearly.”

“Oh, how I wish I wasn’t a princess....” You fell silent. Then, as Chaeyoung put her last brush away, finished with the portrait, you stood from your chair. “Please. Don’t leave me yet.”

No matter how much her head screamed for her to leave, her heart would not let her move, freezing her in place as you walked up to Chaeyoung. This was the first time the two of you had ever been so close, and her breath escaped her. You were so beautiful it hurt.

“(Y/N), if anyone-.”

“Shh. We can be quiet.” Your twinkle returned as you touched her cheek, tilting your head ever so slightly with a sweet smile on your lips. “May I kiss you?”

She was pretty sure she couldn’t say no. Not like she wanted to anyway. Breathlessly, she nodded, and you leaned in, smelling if French perfume. It overwhelmed the smell of paint that usually clung to every part of her life. She realized, belatedly, that was was dirty: her clothes and hands had paint on them. But you did not seem to care, pulling her closer and kissing her desperately. Her heart floated away as she melted into your arms. She was so lost in you that she’d never be the same again.

When you pulled away, your cheeks flushed through the makeup on your face, your eyes were wide and hopeful. “If I can convince the king and queen that I must have more portraits, will you come back?”

“For you? I will come back as many times as you would like.”

-

An appointment with royalty. A commission to paint a portrait of the princess. Most people would consider this an incredible chance. And for once, Chaeyoung had to agree with them. Especially when she opened the gallery door and saw your familiar smile, your eyes twinkling with happiness and mirth and your arms opened wide, not another person in sight.

“You’re here!”

“Of course I am.” She smiled widely, setting down her supplies to hold you tight in her arms. “How could decline an offer to paint favorite model again?”