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nightscythe · 1 month ago

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legions reaction to their primarch wooing you?

but i would love love love to read the more taboo version of primarchs kinks :D

hope you have/had a wonderful day :p

thank you anon hope you have/had a wonderful day too!! i waited for a plumber all day. created this as I waited •⩊•

please forgive me for what this turned into. i have made it less serious that originally planned but it just happened i am so sorry. i live in a fantasy where 30k is sunshine and rainbows. hope you enjoy anyway!! taboo vers. of the kinks will be posted later this week.

this is all pre-heresy. little bit nsfw on one i think so 18+ please.

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lion: there was no evidence, until the very very end stage of his courting, that the lion even had the slightest feeling of love in his body. but when he didn’t react to you approaching him, when he spared a glance at you, answered questions as though he didn’t just see you as another person beneath him. oh. they knew. and no one even dare speak a word of it. no side glances, no reactions. they ignored everything that happened. it was luther who eventually started a conversation about it with some others that same evening, away from the prying ears of their primarch. he’s so fucked. literally. because there’s no way in hell that the lion was the one chasing you. whatever he had said, you’d reciprocated, and if luther knew one thing about the lion… it’s that he won’t let things go that he thinks belong to him. it’s the nightly gossip when they have nothing better to discuss, and the lion really thinks no one has even noticed.

fulgrim: they were all enthralled by his tactics at first. such elegance, such style, fulgrim spared nothing in making you his absolute muse. but then fulgrim gets them all involved. they are delivering the pottery and jewellery to you by hand, ordered to protect you even (which they didn’t have the biggest issue with, you were nice) – fulgrim wanted to prove that even his finest warriors are on the table for you. and then it became all he talked about. and then, when you had finally been convinced of his love (because he told you his feelings father than gifted you a whole planet), fulgrim’s own ego was so entirely huge that he declared himself master of courtship. and now he’s got classes on how to make someone fall in love with you with guest speakers. eidolon is literally at the front seat, heart eyes, yes my perfect primarch please teach me your ways type thing. vespasian, on the other hand, is just wondering why he was even invited.

perty: they didn’t dare question their primarch, but they weren’t stupid. the handcrafted tools that he would spends hours on just to give away. the armour customised to a much smaller body. the books he’s borrowedfrom magnus that he has no interest in. vhalen had noticed because he had stumbled on a book his primarch kept detailing interests of yours. connected the dots. didn’t say anything because it wasn’t his place. silently tried to help out by leaving flowers you liked or herbs you needed for perturabo to give to you. never wanted anything in return, but believed that maybe you’d be able to help ground him, truthfully. but forrix? no. this was weak. they were taught to never be weak and this was a weakness to its very core. out of their control, completely inefficient, a waste of time in his eyes. he would never understand why perturabo was doing, but at the very least he wouldn’t say a word – not the same could be said about everyone in the legion though.

khan: at first it had started with the stashing of treasures he thought may be of interest to you. then, the invitation came. an esteemed guest would join for an adventure. and they were very amused. an esteemed guest? shiban might begin to joke, testing the khan’s reaction. and when his primarch looks up with the slightest smirk on his lips, there would be an immediate laugh. i think you may need to revisit that title my lord, perhaps something with… meaning. though many of the white scars would avoid asking questions, they enjoyed the details of it. it was a new adventure to them, and the khan was leading the way. but shiban would keep seeing this title, esteemed guest, and constantly change it to a new one. warhawk’s chosen was most common, because that’s what you were. and he’d probably be a banging wing man too, but the khan never needed it. just asks every so often how things are going and reports back to the others.

leman: they’d critiqued you as they watched their primarch try to train you how to protect yourself. with a sword, with a gun, with whatever was around. your own fists even. and you may have been no match for leman, but they were still impressed in their own way. a collective nod between them as you flawlessly replicate something he showed you. it’s when leman has you pinned against the floor and it becomes extremely obvious that he got so carried away that his hard on is pressed against you and you most certainly have noticed. whatever happened next, they weren’t sure. leman’s courting may just have been giving you a taster of what might happen if you accepted his love. they’d all given you privacy to say the least. another collective nod between them, what a majestic man their primarch was. and if you were brave enough? join them for beer as well.

dorn: it had been a normal day. life was just moving by calmly, not a thing or person out of place. dorn was discussing something about a building, the internal structure, yada yada. it was a really nice day to be an imperial fist. but then his hand reached for your shoulder, and the remnants of a smile fell on his lips as he lead you on to show you something else in the structure, something integral to building. and he wasn’t really wooing you in any sense of the word, but he was opening himself up in a way that only dorn could. he was… trying to impress you? no. archamus believes that there must be reason for this, his primarch is being tactical. you know something. sigismund believes the same. this is calculated and logical. explaining the internal structure must provide a benefit to the legion. perhaps you’re an expert of some kind. the pair don’t ever mention what they saw again, but they do consider what kind of expert you are later down the line when they’re standing outside their primarch’s doors waiting for the consultation to be over. whatever it was, you obviously felt very strongly.

curze: jago sighs. he’d had to watch his stupid primarch stand outside your window for what seemed like weeks now, neglecting his duties, or anything other than you really, whilst never saying anything. curze didn’t know he was there, but jago was too curious to let it go. he thought you were just another victim, someone curze was taking his time with, but then he realised the whole situation. curze was just watching. staring. felt but never seen. stole an item of your clothing. jago didn’t want to find out what item, but deep down he knew. curze was spiralling, staring into the distance, eyes glued to you even when you looked uncomfortable, but never actually talking to you. so jago takes it into his own hands. sends you directly to curze, makes the primarch speak to you. really, curze is just haunting you, but that’s okay - jago will fill in the gaps, woo you with all his own tactics until you actually start to reciprocate whatever it is curze is feeling. and the rest of nightlords are confused more than anything. does standing in the shadows actually work? are humans that enthralled by primarchs? gendor tries it out for himself, wanting his own partner (or, human trophy). doesn’t work for him but claims it does.

sanguinius: what a pure demonstration of love this is. to see their angel, someone who would fight in battle for hours without breaking, stutter over some words in front of someone? to watch as he fought to keep a conversation going just to hear your voice? his sons are in awe. of you, because how pure must you be to have won the attention of their primarch? but also of him, because it was the most human he had ever felt. they saw his nervous looks, his shy appreciation of your perfection, and valued it deeply. and overtime you’d start receiving flowers from him, handpicked by his sons who saw it as a way to help steer their somehow clueless primarch in the right direction. azkaellon specifically had handed him roses for you, cut from the most perfect bush, claiming it was something romantic that you would appreciate. and you did. and sanguinius was extremely happy when you kissed his cheeks (and the silent celebratory crowd of blood angels watched on in joy).

ferrus: you’re his personal project. he spent every hour of the day with you, it felt like. improving you, working on enchancements. making you perfect. but then something else started happening. it was no longer pride that kept him going. it was you. and they all noticed. at first he didn’t care for anything you said. now? he listens to every word. like you are another of his brothers, but it’s different, even than with fulgrim. he cares in a way they don’t understand. no one would ever say a thing – they’d all pass their silent judgement on how this went against everything he seemed to stand for. but maybe santor would ask about it just once. not for details, not for questioning. just to confirm. they are different, my lord? ferrus wouldn’t hesitate with his answer. they are everything. what does that even mean? it would never be mentioned again. by anyone. whilst some of them would question his decision internally, most would trust him – their primarch understood weakness, and if he didn’t see you as weak, neither would they.

angron: does anyone even know what is going on with you? could it even be considered wooing? barely. angron would want to kill you some days, and want to fuck you other days. and somewhere in between he’d just want to be with you. it was within that where kharn saw a positive. he saw hope. angron was capable of something other than rage and somehow you could control it for more than a single sentence. and in that regard, kharn becomes your biggest supporter. he would do anything he could to not only protect you in moments of rage but to encourage you when angron needed it the most. he’d prepare for those small moments of clarity to see if you could help balance angron out. but the others? it was a fluke. you weren’t changing anything. angron would never be any different. but go off, try and kill them, that shows you love them right?

rob: it only took one to notice. how a slight shift in his schedule put him back in the room with the same person he saw the week before, and the week before that. and he’s seeing them next week, and the week after. are they a diplomat? are they a specialised counsel of some kind? a small team of investigators forms, and no, you are none of those things. you are the object of lord guilliman’s attention. his carefully considered words. his offering of a basket of fruit you liked, supposedly something not liked by his offices. what a liar. they never receive baskets of fruit like that. it becomes a hot topic for gossip, and it isn’t until valentus asks if ‘this person’ he meets with so often may want something other than fruit baskets, and that he can ask for something to be custom made, that guilliman reconsiders his whole approach – and takes valentus up on that offer. speculations are common. whispers even more so. but they are all pleased for him in their own way.

morty: well it wasn’t really courting. he gave you something, said that would care if you died, and then waited for you to respond. and when you finally said that, yeah… you would too? he nodded and took that as confirmation of, uh, something between you. so you’re confused, and so are his sons. you even catch eyes with one and shrug comically because what the fuck? the entire legion falls silent about the issue. no one says a word. but internally? what the fuck was about right. morty didn’t seem to care for anything, he barely even seemed like he cared for his legion some time, and now he doesn’t want you to die. huh. whatever. typhon would be the one to outwardly say something. my lord, is this not a shackle that binds you to humanity? and the primarch would dismiss the thought without doubt. not every attachment is a weakness. deathguard HATE this guy.

magnus: ahriman should be ashamed of himself. he could be doing something important. he could be doing anything but this. but he’s silently observing his primarch, sat on the balcony of his private chambers, sharing a bottle of his finest wine with someone who has been here a few times now. sharing it with you. and he’s drabbling on about the universe and stars and how the universe began with his eyes all wide and bright, looking to see your response, needing to hear your voice and how you’re impressed by his understanding. ahriman isn’t spying. he’s protecting his primarch from the dangers at large. you could be dangerous. or, more realistically, ahriman wished to listen to magnus’ wisdom as well. but he can’t help but be genuinely impressed by how magnus handled himself, how he knew all the right things to say, how he was so genuinely charismatic with you. and equally, how he’d managed to hide this from the entirely population of tizca when he was right on the balcony. ahriman takes notes. he may need them in the future.

horus: a couple of the mournival had watched him from the corridor. horus had basically made you putty in his hands, he knew when and where to touch you, how to exude the right amount of character and strength, mixed with emotions and feelings, at the exact moment it was needed. he’s a traditionalist, he knows how to make someone swoon. a compliment here. a smile there. it’s a masterclass. this must be where fulgrim learnt it from. and his sons are living for it. that is until tarik hums to himself knowingly. i know them from somewhere. and loken hesitates, because isn’t that the person abbadon kept talking about before. yes it was. horus was courting the one person who caught abbadon’s interest, clearly taking something from that conversation. the pair keep it to themselves for now. loken walks away wondering how horus managed to make the word sweetheart sound so different – and how long it would be before everyone knew about this, because it would be a good source of a amusement.

lorgar: erebus and kor phaeron rarely lorgar out of their sights, because it seemed their grand plan would fuck up each time he managed to escape. this time? it seems the primarch has gone and fallen in love. they’d watched as lorgar handed you a book. perfectly accompanied by sticky tabs, post it notes, underlined words and highlighted phrases that made him think of you. each page was absolutely covered. kor phaeron had been the first to laugh, seeing his pathetic attempt at worship only elicit an uncomfortable smile from you as you flicked through the pages and saw the depths that he was going into. erebus was quieter, but equally amused. so easy to manipulate, he’d comment, seeing the way the lorgar would quite literally fall to his knees and praise you, another weakness he falls so easily to. but on the other side of things, argel tal is a few steps behind his primarch, peering around subtly in admiration of lorgar’s attempts. he sees it as sweet, actually, and rather than a weakness in his devotion to the emperor, saw it as an extension. some others may find it heretical, depending on where their loyalty stood.

vulkan: he first crafted you a knife, such a beautifully build and shaped weapon that everyone could tell his entire soul went into it. but he could have done that for anyone. and then he crafted a necklace, forced from things he owned, and was not shy about handing it to you in front of everyone. he wanted every one of his sons to know his feelings, maybe without directly saying it, and begin to internalise what this all meant. which is exactly what they did. and it was like a tension lifted. every single one of them is rooting for him, for you, for whatever is going to come from it. and vulkan can’t be criticised in his ways either. numeon may even comment, offhandedly, that he would inspire generations to come with his actions. and xiaphas? would plan the wedding. the most normal legion on this list, it seems.

corvus: he was silent about it, never revealing a thing to any other. his silent courting, his gestures that had no meaning until they did. it wasn’t until they’d see him protect you, maybe even just the flick of his wrist to prevent an action that he would never usually stop, that they all start thinking. wondering. could their primarch truly have feelings in this way? was there really one person who could capture all of their attention? it would come down to someone like sharrowkyn to say something. voice an opinion to his brothers and then to the primarch himself. with caution, of course. are they worth it, my lord? he wouldn’t hesitate. they are worth my entire being. and from then ravenguard watch in the shadows for you as well. they would accept it, they may not understand it, but they wouldn’t question it. he did not want to fail you. and if any of them did want to understand, he would explain it.

alpharius: regardless of which one it is that’s wooing someone, they were all involved. because this is alpharius after all - he’s not just going to make someone fall in love with him because he’s really nice. or he couldn’t be bothered to try. so the whole legion is in on it. they are all courting you, working on this plan which they don’t really understand. they all think its part of something bigger. they all think you must be someone who is so important that all their attention has to be focused on you. but no, alpharius just has a crush. and it becomes obvious when pretty soon alpharius does not want to share with anyone. a few of them would be kind of pressed about it. didn’t want to be involved, didn’t want to carry it on. a couple accidentally catch feelings because they were forcing themselves to replicate what alpharius was doing and he’s a very touchy-feely man. or was it omegon? who knows. maybe it wasn’t even alpharius that started this all, he was just caught up in the cross fire. regardless, alpharius is smitten, and his legion is… not.

i am very sorry if any people/legions are mischaracterised at all!! i am more familiar with some legions which probably comes across in this, but please tell me if something wouldn't happen, so i know for next time ◡̈

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laurenairay · 5 months ago

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Baking traditions - Q.Hughes

Summary: Noticing that you’re homesick, Quinn makes sure to include some of your autumn traditions.

The second of my Autumn & Halloween blurbs! How could I resist this slice of domestic life with Quinn?

Word Count: 778 words

Tagging: @fallinallincurls @starshine-hockey-girl @lam-ila @kurlyteuvo @tonyspep

@cixrosie

“Babe? What’s all this?”

When you’d gotten home from work that evening, you hadn’t expected your kitchen counters to be covered with ingredients.

Your boyfriend just smiled a little sheepishly, but shrugged innocently.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Quinn said simply.

“When congratulations, I’m surprised,” you mused.

Quinn just laughed, cheeks a little pink with blush as he leaned down to kiss you in greeting.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey yourself,” you murmured back.

He smiled sweetly, pecking your lips in another kiss before standing upright again.

“I know you’ve been missing home…”

Well that was blunt. Quinn wasn’t wrong though. You’d moved to Vancouver to live with Quinn and take your relationship to the next level only six months ago – and while everything had been fairytale-levels of amazing, that didn’t mean there weren’t stumbling blocks. Like your homesickness, that you’d thought you’d done a good job of hiding.

“…and I just wanted to do something to cheer you up. I called your mom, and she said that you love baking in the Autumn, like all the spices and stuff are your favourite, so I thought maybe we could bake together?”

His voice trailed off in a hopeful embarrassment, but it was all you could do not to cry. This man. How were you gifted a man like this? Quinn noticed the tears in your eyes and immediately groaned.

“You hate it. This is making your homesickness even worse. I’m so dumb, I’m sorry, I-”

“Quinn, no, you’re not dumb at all. You’re the sweetest man ever. I love this idea,” you interrupted, laughing a little watery with a big smile.

The relief that spread across his face was immediate and dramatic.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really really,” you nodded, “What are we making?”

“I thought we’d try something easy? Chocolate chip pumpkin banana bread?” he said, “I found a recipe online that looked okay and I double checked with your mom too.”

So sweet.

“That sounds amazing, Quinn. Are we baking now?”

“It takes an hour to bake in the oven so I figured we could order take out now and eat dinner while we wait for the banana bread to cook?” he suggested.

Your man with a plan.

“That sounds great to me, baby, thank you. I’ll get changed out of my work clothes and we can start?”

“I’ll order dinner while you get changed,” he added, smiling.

In no time at all you were back in the kitchen in comfy sweats and an old t-shirt, take-out order being processed, while Quinn scrolled through his ipad for the recipe he saved.

“Okay, so first off, we’ve got to mash all these bananas. Shall I do that while you measure out the dry ingredients?”

You nodded, smiling up at him as you reached for a mixing bowl he’d already put on the kitchen counter. You whisked together the flour, pumpkin pie spice, cinnamon, dark chocolate chips, baking soda, baking powder & salt, and after mashing the bananas, in a separate mixing bowl Quinn whisked together the oil, sugars, eggs & vanilla extract until no lumps remained.

“That’s lump free, right?” he frowned, peering down into his bowl.

You glanced over and nodded. “Yeah that looks great baby.”

Quinn beamed back at you.

“Now we’ve just to combine the bananas into my bowl with a cup of pumpkin puree, before carefully stirring your dry ingredients mix into my bowl too,” he explained.

Somehow the two of you managed all of that without making too much mess.

“Last step is pouring it into the lined loaf cake tin and baking it for an hour. I already pre-heated the oven so we should be good to go?”

After you’d combined all the ingredients, Quinn’s face was as serious as you’d ever seen it as he carefully carried the loaf tin over to your oven, and you tried to hide your smile as you opened the oven for him.

He really cared, didn’t he? He cared so much.

“I’ll set a timer for an hour. I don’t want it to get burnt,” he frowned.

“It’s going to be amazing, I already know,” you said softly, resting a hand on his chest.

His frown softened to a sweet smile. “I just want this to be good for you.”

“The fact that we did this together is what made this good for me. The cake itself is an added bonus,” you said, smiling up at him.

A light blush spread across his cheeks and he nodded, sliding his arms around your waist to hold you closer to him.

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” he said warmly.

“With you, how can I not be?”

#my writing #lauren's autumn and halloween blurbs #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 months ago

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thinking about ivy who runs hot but polyvessels !!! iii gets a cramp in his leg? he gets ivy to massage it out with his warm hands. vessel who has frog hands (hands that are always cold)? hes holding ivys hand or slipping his hands under his shirt at any given opportunity. ii who cant seem to get warm in the winter? finds ivy immediately and is cuddling with him naked to get as much warmth as possible. you have bad cramps? youre getting ivy to rub your stomach and back.

just thinking (i have an ivy bias)

All the sleep token x ivy x reader

Warm hands

Look, sharing is caring. And what kind of friend would Ivy be if he didn’t share a gift of warm hands with the ones closest to him? It started as a joke at first. It was Vessel who had been blowing at his palms for as long as you all sat around ii’s garage writing music. “Fucking freezing”, he had mused in frustration. “It’s not that bad”, Ivy chuckled but once he was met with all of you glaring at him, he simply lifted his hands in defense, “My bad, balls are shivering in my underwear”.

He watched III wrapping both of his arms around you and II, bringing you closer to his chest. All seeking that extra warmth. That left him and Vessel, Vessel whose hands were nearly turning blue. Ivy put down his guitar and stepped closer to him. Vessel let out a little hiss once the warm hands touched his freezing ones. “Should have said you were that cold”, Ivy muttered, rubbing both of Vessel’s palms between his. “It’s nothing”, the lead singer grunted, watching as Ivy reached for the hem of his hoodie, slowly moving Vessel’s hands to lay alongside his lower stomach. The two males let the eye contact linger as Vessel slowly let his fingers trace shapes on Ivy’s skin.

iii never asked for help. That was just how he was. He handled it all by himself. iii thought that no one noticed when something was wrong with him but he couldn’t be more wrong. “What did you do this time?”, Ivy muttered, stepping out of the shower after watching iii limping across the bedroom the whole time. “What do you mean?”, iii frowned turning to face his bandmate. “Don’t bullshit me, long John. I have two working eyes, while you have only one working leg” Ivy sassed back, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “Well, you should see a doctor 'cause you are blind, mate”, iii grunted, turning away from him. “Iii, make it easier for both of us”, ivy cut in, walking closer to him, “sit”, he gestured to the bed. iii hesitated before following the orders. Ivy watched him trying not to frown as he sat down. Hands instantly reaching for the waistband of iii pants. “Hey”, iii grunted, wrapping his fingers over Ivy’s wrist. “Don’t be dramatic, I want to feel your thigh”, ivy rolled his eyes, fingers digging into the knots forming in the upper leg. “Fuck”, iii let out a deep sigh once Ivy’s warm fingers pressed into his flesh, “shit, that feels nice”, he whined, letting himself fall backward into the sheets. “Could have done it sooner if you weren’t acting like a little bitch”, Ivy snorted, making iii flip him off.

ii was a regular in Ivy’s bed. Just like iii he would go all mean about it. Bickering with ivy until he dragged him beneath the covers. Feral street cat ivy called him at times. Desperate for attention but not knowing how to ask for it. That’s how the two were now. With Ivy pulling the blanket higher up my shoulders. His cold feet pressed against Ivy’s warm skin. “Fuck you”, ii grunted, cuddling deeper into Ivy. “For what now?”, Ivy chuckled, rubbing his fingers through my hair. “For being so warm when we all are freezing all the time”, the drummer grunted, making Ivy chuckle, “I apologize, truly”.

You were as much of a regular as ii. Especially on your periods. By now Ivy knew your cycle to the tea so for most times even the pre-period cramps were chased away by his hands. But he was especially vital when it all got bad. He would slip into your room after you would miss dinner. And the sight of the dim room would tell him all that he needed to know. Making his way to you Ivy would slip into the bed, trying to disturb you as little as possible. Slowly letting his hands dig into your back at first, putting pressure on the lowest points.

“Ivy”, you would whine, face all scrunched up. “I know, gorgeous, I will make it all better”, he would breathe against your ear, slowly letting his fingers trail towards your stomach. Pulling the semi-warm water pouch away before replacing it with his palms. “Circles”, you mutter, leaning into him. “I know, baby”, he would do just that, putting that sweet pressure onto your lower stomach. “You try to sleep and I will be here”, kissing the side of your head, he would nuzzle closer, “No cramps will find you when I’m near”, and he would keep his promise, warming you up through the night.

#sleep token imagine #sleep token x reader #sleep token ivy imagine #sleep token ivy x reader #sleep token ivy x you #sleep token ii imagine #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token vessel imagine

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reachexceedinggrasp · 7 months ago

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I have a feeling you might relate to this or you might have even related this on your blog already, but I was just thinking of that Ghoul quotation water water everywhere and not a drop to drink

I think probably my favourite, maybe ever, quiet point of characterisation in a sort of villainous or Beast love interest is his or her having a poet's soul... whether that is conscious or unconscious romantic meditation. It's like Kylo musing to Rey when he says 'You have that look in your eyes. From the forest. When you called me a monster' I love that sort of wistful observation, especially because it evokes such potent imagery ('when we fought together in the forest and then you marked yourself on my face'). Or more literally something like Ghoul citing a line of literature, even when none around except for Lucy would know what he's referencing, it's for his own arrestment and amusement, this is how he sees/interacts with the world

I guess in that way, it reveals something new about their perspective on the world, even when they're somebody seemingly cut off from it - monstrous, othered, repellent, ugly - when they're able to articulate a certain beauty which other characters may not remark upon. It's sort of covetous in that sense, but I think it also sort of helps explain what might interest them about a Beauty, after all, there's something they long for and value (spiritual, aesthetic, existential beauty).

I thought you might be able to relate 🥰

Oh, totally. And with Cooper and Ben, specifically, which is a parallel I hadn't actually noticed until you've just pointed it out, we're being shown their sensitivity as characters. Not in the sense of being considerate, but that they're aware and alert to beauty and meaning in the world despite currently occupying a narrative role which might make us think they're simply destructive or nihilistic figures. And despite the cynicism they're both ostensibly espousing.

Cooper quotes or alludes to literature practically constantly relative to how little he speaks, forever knowing people almost certainly won't understand him, and that's especially fascinating because he didn't make those kinds of references in the flashbacks. We could take this in a whole direction about how he created the Ghoul as a character to shield himself from the things he had to do to survive and is living within a meta-narrative deconstructing the reactionary anti-hero who overtook the white hat sheriff he used to play in his movies. The anti-hero he never wanted to be. He makes allusions because his life has become a story he's telling himself to stay sane. He's his own wry Dickensian narrator making asides to an imagined audience about dramatic irony and social commentary.

And an important part of his presentation to others before the war was painting himself as not sophisticated. Just a cowboy and then just a guy who plays a cowboy in the movies. He wants nothing to do with politics either in an interpersonal or broader sense, and disclaims any pretensions to being savvy despite being in a theoretically powerful position as a rich, well-connected film star. I do think he was genuinely naive, but I also think he often played dumb to avoid social conflict. He was complacent and the image he cultivated helped him remain complacent. Obviously he was very willing to be confrontational when he saw wrong or injustice right in front of him (he goes after Bud Askins directly to his face about marines getting killed by shitty equipment, he challenges Moldaver when she calls him out), but pre-bombs he mostly uses his empathic perceptiveness and charisma to keep everyone around him happy.

In the wasteland we often see him doing the opposite and deliberately riling people up in order to gather information and assess or eliminate them as threats, but he's also only gotten better at disarming people when he wants to. As a handsome charming film star he pretended not to know anything, as a scary intimidating monster he pretends he knows everything.

What I'm wondering about here is whether Cooper always had a secret nerdy side and read all the classics as a teenager or perhaps while waiting on sets when he was working as a stuntman, or whether he wanted to fit in when he started to make it in Hollywood and so tried to become cultured before realising that wasn't what anyone wanted from him. Or if he just spent 200 years alone and read anything he could find as a way to cling to his humanity. We know he was at least a bit intellectually curious before the war, because of his reading and retaining some article about studies on torture.

But YES, him quoting poetry and being so interested and insightful about Lucy, specifically is a huge part of how he's framed as a romantic figure. And he's already by far the most romantic figure in the show. If it were solely about his tragedy, you'd think they would emphasise the contrast between his pre-fallen and post-fallen state by stripping him of his heroic trappings, but they don't. He's actually more romantic post-'curse'.

It also gets me because he's an extremely smart, socially adept person who doesn't let others see him for who he really is both consciously and unconsciously on multiple levels and that layers of identity shit is my crack. He was a profoundly honest man who thought he was simple, but actually he was a glorious maze of contradiction and complexity waiting to happen who has now come into his own as a master manipulator.

#sorry I went off on a bit of a tangent there anon #fallout #cooper howard #but I too love that he won't stop doing this #solely for his own benefit #ghoulcy #season two we need Lucy to be unable to help herself but acknowledge one of his allusions and/or argue with him about a book #imagine if that's how they start talking lol #people have mined this a little in fic but it's such a deep well #the potential dialogue is simply incredible #Ben on the other hand is an out and proud lifelong nerd and academic #complete swot #there is no mystery on that front #he definitely read all the space classics as a lonely pre-teen

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sakascal · 8 months ago

Text

Have been meaning to do this for a while, so here it goes: A list of my AO3 stories (and poems). I'll update it when I release something new, and I've added a list of my Good Omentober 2023 series in chronological order - because let's face it, it is all over the place chronologically but interconnected and should you wish to read it in order, it's not particularly easy without it.

Stories

Human AU

Living Fiction

Rated: T - 4 chapters - 20,806 words - status: complete

For two years self-published romance writer Azariah Fell has been coming to this café, three times a week on a schedule. He likes to work there, with easy access to refreshing hot drinks and delicious pastries, and always sits at the same table, directly at the window with the street right in view. And if he is honest, it's the view that he's coming for - but not of the street.

Right across the street is the florist shop 'Serpens et Horto', and the proprietor Anthony Crowley keeps drawing his eyes. Azariah regularly finds himself buying plants and flowers at that shop, even though he had known nothing about plants when he first came to this café. So, is it really a surprise when one of the main characters in his latest book has a striking resemblance to Anthony Crowley?

This post is getting awfully long so you can read an Excerpt here.

Read on AO3

Canon & Canon divergent

Infernal Intrigue and Heavenly Escapades

Rated: E - 9 chapters - 67943 words - status: complete

It's 2001 and Aziraphale is in Heaven for a dreaded Performance Review. On his way out (finally), he comes across an oddly familiar looking angel...

or:

The jig is up. Someone - a lower-ranked demon - noticed Aziraphale and Crowley working together. And they have evidence. How will our heroes cope?

Excerpt can be found here, here for chapter 2

Read on AO3

Goodomentober series

These following stories are all from my Goodomentober series 2023 (so named because they are all written for prompts from a list posted October 2023 - yes, I'm a slow writer ;) ). This list contains my first stories in this fandom and the first I had written after years of not writing anything at all.

So far these are the only stories I have, but more are coming. (One is already written and now in edit (for an event) and will post in November. I have two more in different planning stages. And a bunch more in planning for this series below.

Before We Became What We Are

Rated: T - 2 chapters - 6,989 words - status: complete

My first ever Good Omens story (and the first thing I had written in a few years altogether).

Pre-Fall. The first chapter is Aziraphale musing about that red-haired angel he'd met and has since not managed to meet again, though he wished. And then strange things are happening in Heaven.

The second chapter is mostly from pre-Fall Crowley's POV and deals with the Fall.

Excerpt

After Lucifer went down we others went down much quicker. A few at a time, the archangels were now only watching over the proceedings and let angels of a lower rank do the dirty work. Some seemed to get some kind of satisfaction out of it, others showed only stoicism. Some of us went over with a similarly calm face, others screamed and yet more cursed the angels as they fell. But still one after the other we were pulled toward the edge and thrown over.

I was terrified, of course I was terrified. But I would not let them see it. I could at least keep some semblance of pride. All I had ever done was ask questions and wonder why - and this was to be my punishment? So be it.

“Like this it will take forever,” I heard Micheal mumble. “You there,” she said as she turned to the guards. "Help the others get rid of the traitors.”

Oh no. Most of the guarding angels went immediately, always eager to follow orders. Aziraphale hesitated. Because of course he did.

“Surely, you want some of us to stand guard still?” he asked Micheal quietly.

“What for? All the traitors are right there and being dealt with. Get on with it!”

Like Twinkling Stars

Rated: T - 1 chapter - 3,040 words - status: complete

Post Season 2. Crowley is miserable, to say the least. It's been months since Aziraphale left for Heaven to become Archangel Supreme. Crowley is on the rooftop of the bookshop, drunk and drinking more, because what else is he supposed to do?

Mind the tags: this is hurt/comfort, so it's got a good ending (that leads directly into the last chapter of another story of this series).

Excerpt

“Ugh, damn it all to hell!” He lifted the stupid bottle to his mouth and gulped down the last of the liquor. When he dropped his arm again, he just let it fall to the side, not enough will left to do it properly. His hand hit the roof with a bit too much force. The bottle shattered in his right hand, spraying him and the rooftop with shards. The wetness he felt on his right palm probably meant he was bleeding but he didn’t care. He was spiralling, he knew he was, and he was helpless to stop it. His left hand came up to rub harshly over his face. Crowley decided that the moisture he felt there must be the soft drizzle that had begun to fall. Or possible splattered liquor. Or blood. Anything that wasn’t bloody pathetic.

Summoning Salvation

Rated: T - 7 chapters - 32,116 words - status: complete

It's been a few months since the world didn't end. Aziraphale and Crowley have begun to settle into a new normal. Then one day, a young woman enters Aziraphale's bookshop in some distress and with a dangerous request. Of course, Aziraphale can't let her go without helping her somehow. So now our ineffable idiots have to find out what happened and how to convince her not to go through with her plans, so the angel can save her.

Involves terrible planning and rash decisions, some actual talking! *gasp* But only a little, so don't worry. ;) Alcohol, fast driving, Aziraphale being bad with modern tech, a few injuries, half-snake Crowley, Crowley a bit less dressed than he usually appears, Crowley getting furious and Aziraphale actually being quite capable, thank you (at some things anyway).

Excerpt

“Oh, alright.” He cleared his throat. “That young woman was looking for a few books she hasn’t been able to find. She said she needs them for a paper she is writing.”

“Okay,” Crowley said, sprawling all over his couch. “Go on.”

“Her list was… unusual.”

“Must’ve been if she couldn’t find the titles anywhere else.”

Aziraphale sat up a little straighter. “My collection isn’t strange.”

“Never said it was, angel,” Crowley said with a huff. “But what would a student be looking for here that she couldn’t find in a library? You’re stalling. Get on with it.”

Aziraphale took the list back out of his pocket, straightened it out and handed it to Crowley. His eyes slid over to the window and he sighed. That perfect sunbeam to read in was long gone by now.

Crowley let out a whistle. “Yeah, alright. She’d get in trouble with these. Direct route to a miserable eternity, I’d say.”

“Uh-huh.” The angel nodded in agreement. He felt Crowley’s gaze again, it was even more intense than before. Still, he kept his face calm. Or what he thought must look calm. And continued looking outside. Then at his desk. And his vest. Oh, there was a button coming loose. He would have to remember to fix that later.

He heard a rustling. A glance confirmed that Crowley had sat up straight. “What did you do, angel?”

With Her as Our Witness

Rated: M - 8 chapters - 38,458 words - status: complete

The story of the Ineffable Idiots through moments in and around the Bentley. Or somehow related to the Bentley... It makes sense when you read it.

Also, the story of the Bentley and how she became what she is.

Starts off in 1933 and ends when Aziraphale returns from Heaven. Shows moments in their time together (and apart) and contains my first attempts at steamy scenes. (Hence the M rating.)

(Also @mielpetite has done art for this (thank you again!!))

Excerpt (from the 2021 chapter)

“You do.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes again and threw a puzzled expression Crowley’s way.

“Do what?”

“Eat, drink,” the demon said, pointing at him. “Dancsse.”

He was swaying with the music. “This isn’t dancing. Now the Gavotte–”

“‘s long dead, angel,” Crowley interrupted. He finished the last of the wine in his glass and put it away, before looking through the records Aziraphale had taken out.

Aziraphale sighed once more. “Shame. Took a dreadfully long time to learn. ‘n I w’s good!”

“Ssshame I never got to sssee,” Crowley said with a wink.

And there he went, blushing again. Dreadful demon, he always delighted in making him blush. Aziraphale didn’t like blushing - what an utterly useless reaction for the human body to have. But he did like seeing Crowley enjoy himself. A daunting dilemma, that.

The Darkest Moment

Rated: T - 1 chapter - 3,163 words - status: complete

It's 2019, Aziraphale and Crowley just made it through the apocalypse and their subsequent trials. Freedom - for now. But there are still some open questions, at least for Crowley.

Despite the title, this actually contains a lot of fluff and banter.

Excerpt

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked in return, and lifted his glass to take a sip from his wine - a wonderful Château Lafite-Rothschild he had acquired around 40 years ago and kept for a special occasion. The world not ending and their respective head offices - former head offices now - not succeeding in destroying them and them subsequently brokering their freedom must count as a most special occasion.

Crowley was seated in his usual spot on the sofa - if one felt gracious enough to call whatever it was the demon did with furniture ‘being seated’ - and waved the hand holding his own glass around at their surroundings.

When Aziraphale only blinked in confusion, he added: “The bookshop.”

Well, that certainly clarified nothing. Granted, they had been drinking off and on for most of the day since lunch, and he wasn’t quite what you’d call sober. But he liked to believe that he wasn’t plastered enough for his faculties to have left him entirely. So he should have been able to understand the question if Crowley hadn’t been quite so vague. Clearly.

“What about the bookshop?”

“How did it happen?”

“Just repeating it isn’t going to make me understand your question any more, Crowley. How did what happen?”

A frustrated growl. “You can’t possibly–!” Crowley took a deep breath, a hefty sip from his own glass, and tried once more in a calmer voice. “How did it burn down?”

Purge

Rated: T - 1 chapter - 2,905 words - status: complete

Everything is finally well, another apocalypse has been prevented (somehow), and they don't have to worry about Heaven and Hell any more. Aziraphale is back in his bookshop, that had been under Muriel's care all this time, but that leaves him (and by extension Crowley, much to his dismay) with a lot to do. Then Crowley comes across some stuff Aziraphale meant to put away (hoard) in case it might be needed again.

Excerpt

“‘Cause I’m about ready to throw some of your beloved Shakespeare out of the window and call a tempest down on it.” Which would only be fitting, really.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Stop me then,” he called out with a mischievous grin. Oh, how he liked teasing Aziraphale. And it had only become more enjoyable since his return from Heaven.

“Patience, dear.”

“Still a demon. As I recall telling you not too long ago, patience is a virtue. Demons are not known to be virtuous.”

An overly dramatic, exasperated sigh that was loud enough to be heard all the way down here was his answer. Crowley grinned.

“Yes, yes, I’m already on my way down.”

All Love's Luxuries

Rated: E - 1 chapter - 17,881 words - status: complete

Aziraphale is back from Heaven, and they had finally had a good talk. And made out in the Bentley. But the Bentley really isn't the place for a good first time, especially not when you've been waiting for thousands of years and - okay, so Crowley would have been fine with the Bentley. But Aziraphale wants to go somewhere more comfortable, and if there is one thing Crowley always tries to do, it's to give Aziraphale whatever he wants.

Excerpt

“Not here.” Crowley snorted and grabbed Aziraphale by the waistband, pulling him along. “Come with me.”

He led him through the plant room and took a left to his bedroom.

“Glass wall? Where is the door?” came the incredulous voice from behind.

“It’s stylish, angel.”

“It’s also very… open.”

“We made out in the Bentley.” He chuckled as he pulled Aziraphale to stand at the foot of the bed. “Bit late for this now. And there’s no one here but us.”

“The plants are here.”

“Sit.” Crowley lifted an eyebrow in disbelief and pushed Aziraphale to sit down. “The plants can’t see.”

“They can hear.”

“As can the Bentley,” he said with a huff, and pushed Aziraphale’s legs apart with his foot. “As I remember, we were making some quite lewd noises earlier.”

Oh, this time he could watch the blush spread down his chest. How adorable. And hot. And yet he knew that the smile that was spreading over his face - against his wish - was nothing but adoring.

He held Aziraphale’s face gently in his hands and placed a soft kiss on those stunned lips.

“Look, I’m sure she didn’t care. Didn’t she try to encourage us to continue? And the plants are used to all kinds of noises from me,” he told the angel pointedly.

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked around as if he was only properly seeing the bedroom now. Crowley watched with interest as his fingers slid over his sheets, feeling them. “You have– uh, in here?”

“Just this morning.” Crowley sank to his knees and winked at his angel. “Thinking of you.”

Chronological List

Since my Goodomentober series is all interconnected and a bit difficult to read in chronological order, here is a list. (Will be updated as I post more, of course.)

Before We Became What We Are

With Her as Our Witness - Chapters '1933', '1941', '1967', '2008', '2019'

The Darkest Moment

Summoning Salvation

With Her as Our Witness - Chapters '2021', '2023'

Like Twinkling Stars

With Her as Our Witness - Chapter 'Now'

All Love's Luxuries

Purge

Poems

I also have a bunch of poems. You can find them here on AO3.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable idiots #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #good omens fanfic

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charlottesbookclub · 2 months ago

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different perspectives – a 'time after time' bonus chapter (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist – (this chapter is set after chapter 30)

Summary: Lieutenant Hondrill attends a meeting with you and learns some new information about her commanding officer, General Hux

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; mention of injuries; let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 4662

Author’s Note: so today we have our first chapter that is not in Hux's pov! this chapter is written from the perspective of Lieutenant Trella Hondrill, an oc I created for this story who is a member of Hux's personal staff. Hux is very much still present in this chapter though, even though he's not physically in the room during this scene ☺️

also, for further context, it's mentioned very briefly a couple times in 'time after time' that Hondrill is seeing someone, and that someone is Teale Thanisson, who you'll see her refer to here! even though this is a little different from some of the other chapters, I still hope you enjoy! 🥰

Trella was nervous as she walked at a brisk, clipped pace through the halls. She knew there was no reason to be; every interaction she had had with you – sparse though they had been – was decidedly pleasant. Perhaps that’s why she was nervous, she mused: you seemed kind, and she would hate to be a disappointment.

She wound through the unfamiliar corridors where the diplomats and less fixed residents of the Finalizer had their offices. Trella had never been to this part of the ship before. She was determined not to look out of place, though, so she tried to scan the office numbers discreetly as she looked for the one that you had given her as yours.

She took a deep breath as she found it and came to a stop outside. Hesitating for just a second, she pressed the indicator to alert you to her presence. She was accustomed to Hux simply unlocking the door from the controls on his datapad and calling to indicate that she should enter, so the brief, silent pause between her pushing the buzzer and the door finally sliding open was enough to almost make her second-guess that she had gotten the correct room. But then the door whizzed open to reveal you standing in the entrance.

“Diplomat,” she greeted you instantly, offering a salute.

“Lieutenant Hondrill,” you responded warmly, “thank you so much for coming.” You gestured that she should enter, and she followed you into the room, still trying to fight with the tightness of nerves in her stomach.

The first thing she noticed were the decorations. Three framed designs were perfectly spaced behind your desk, breaking up the standard polished black walls with welcome color, even if the palette was still restrained. Looking more closely, she found they were precise depictions of First Order ships, articulated with a multitude of exact, delicate lines. She immediately recognized the Finalizer in the center of the trio. There were a few other items on your desk and shelves, all tastefully chosen and artfully arranged. Hardly enough objects to be considered cluttered, but also far more than Trella had ever seen in any other office. She couldn’t help but remark that the difference between the inviting nature of your workspace and the crisp austerity of Hux’s was stark.

“Tea?” you asked, breaking her out of these reflections. The offer was so… welcoming. Very unlike most of the officers with whom Trella was used to working. She was about to decline, not wanting to put you to any extra work, when she realized your hand was already hovering over the handle of a small kettle that was tucked away in a corner behind your desk. You had prepared this. In advance. Trella began to idly wonder if you were looking for any personal staff members.

“Yes, thank you,” she assented. Then, feeling like she needed to express her gratitude more thoroughly, she quickly added: “That’s very generous of you.”

“Of course,” you responded with just the hint of a smile beneath your calm, professional expression. “Do you have a preference? I fear I don’t have quite the selection that I hear Lieutenant Sladden is capable of offering.” There was just the slightest joking lilt in your voice. Trella was intrigued. So you knew about Sladden and his tea – enough to almost joke about it. She was certain you had not had enough interactions with him for you to have picked that up from Sladden himself. It was possible that Mitaka could have told you, since she was aware that he knew you through his sister, but she wasn’t sure your connection with him was that close.

The only remaining possibility was that it was Hux who had mentioned it. The concept was a strange one. The general always seemed so… reserved. She knew very little about him outside of her highly professional contact with him as a member of his staff. In fact, it wasn’t until that cycle when he had asked for help in messaging you that Trella had ever gotten a glimpse of anything beneath his professional and restrained exterior. Truthfully, she hadn’t realized there was anything beneath that. She hadn’t believed Mitaka the first time he told her that you and Hux might be… together. So the idea that he would not only know about Sladden’s obsession with tea, but that he would actually convey that information to you and express the fact that it was something of a joke amongst his staff was baffling to Trella.

“I’ll be perfectly fine with anything,” she responded. Should she press? She really was curious. “Have you been unfortunate enough to be caught in one of Sladden’s tea soliloquies?” A breath of a laugh left your mouth at the question.

“No,” you replied, a touch of humor in your voice as you placed the tea sachets in two cups and poured the hot water over them. “General Hux has relayed his penchant for monologuing on the subject though.” Fascinating. So it wasHux who had told you. Trella wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that information, but she filed it away nonetheless.

You had turned back to the desk then, motioning for her to sit as you placed the warm mugs on two clearly non-standard coasters woven in spiraling colors. Trella sank into the chair opposite yours as you did the same on the other side of the table. She took a sip of the tea. It was lightly minty with just a swirl of citrus, very different from the bitterness of tarine that she knew Hux drank when he had finally decided he had consumed too much caf for one cycle.

“I trust you were able to find my office without too much difficulty. I apologize – I know it’s a bit of a trip to this area.” Somehow you seemed genuinely sorry that Trella had needed to travel a little further than usual to meet with you.

“It’s no trouble at all, Diplomat,” she assured you. “In fact, it was interesting to visit a part of the ship I’ve never seen before.” Should she be saying this much to you? Somehow she felt… comfortable speaking with you. “Do most of the diplomats have their quarters in this area of the ship? For ease of accessing their offices?”

“Many of my colleagues do, yes,” you answered, “there are a few scattered elsewhere, however.”

“Hopefully your quarters are close, just – given your recent injury.” Shit, was that far too personal? It was fairly widely known that you had been injured in the blast, but she had been on the team, so she knew more about it than most. Slinking guilt still crept into her mind about the incident some cycles, although the logical part of her knew she had done everything she could, given the circumstances.

“Luckily my leg was well healed by the time I began my duties as a diplomat,” you assured her. “It’s a little bit of a distance since I share quarters with General Hux, but certainly nothing unreasonable.” OH KRIFF. Trella forced herself to swallow the sip of tea that she nearly spat out. She remembered clearly when the talk of the ship had been that Hux was staying in your quarters while you were unwell, but somehow she had completely missed the fact that the arrangement had persisted once you were better and that you had kriffing moved into his quarters. Did everyone else know that already and Trella was just woefully behind on the gossip? Or had some other excitement captured the attention of the rumor mill at the time, and it had simply slipped under the radar until it was no longer news? She’d have to ask Teale if he knew about this. She also desperately needed to find a way to recover from her shock and resume the conversation.

“I’m so pleased to hear that your injury has healed so successfully.” Good – very cordial and professional. Everything in her wanted to bring up the question of your living situation, even subtly. She wanted to know if you would say more. As much as she tried, she could not even imagine Hux living with someone. She had always assumed that he spent his personal time in his full uniform, sitting at attention at the desk in his quarters, continuing to do whatever work he hadn’t finished during the rest of the cycle. She didn’t even think he slept. She was struggling to conceive of a scenario where anything else was the case. She did not ask about it though. Trella cleared her throat. “You mentioned in your message that you needed my help with something – how might I be of service, Diplomat?”

“I fear it’s a little bit of a complicated situation,” you responded, “since I’m actually asking for your help in regard to General Hux, but I’ll do my best to explain.”

Trella felt her eyes widen; she couldn’t fully contain her surprise and curiosity. She took a careful sip of her tea as you continued.

“As you might be aware, the general has been very… overwhelmed lately.” Indeed, Trella had been vaguely aware of that fact, but she also realized this was an opportunity to ask a question she had been puzzling over. You might be the one person in the Starfleet who would actually know the answer.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Diplomat, but I was wondering: how do you know that? Has the general told you? I apologize – I only ask because it can be… difficult to tell at times when he might require more support from us. As his staff, we try to anticipate his professional needs, but it is not always obvious when he might need us to take on more tasks, and it can be… challenging to ask.” You were quiet for a moment, clearly pondering her words. Kriff, did Hux actually tell you things like that? It was almost beyond her ability to conceive of him conveying something of that nature to someone else, or even speaking in anything other than his carefully moderated formal language and his crisp, professional tone. Stars, what would that conversation even look like?

“Yes, he did tell me,” you responded then, and Trella thought your face my have folded into just the tiniest hint of a frown at the memory. Shit, so he really did tell you. Once again, she tucked that information away, intending to work out its potential meanings later.

“Thank you for sharing your perspective on this,” you continued, “it’s useful to know that some clarity on this matter for his staff might be helpful in the future. And thank you for your attentiveness on this front. I’m aware that the general can be a bit… reticent when it comes to requesting help.” You drummed your fingers lightly against your lips, thinking. The small gesture was strangely unguarded, and likely also unconscious, Trella suspected. She didn’t mind it though, even if it was unusual for an officer in the presence of a subordinate – she found it made you seem more approachable. The nerves that had tied knots in her stomach were now almost totally dissipated.

“Perhaps it would be helpful – in the future – if I could communicate to you or other members of his staff when I become aware that he could benefit from more professional assistance during a given time?”

“Yes, that would be most helpful,” Trella agreed. It was true that she and Hux’s other staff members often struggled to determine if and when they should be taking on more tasks to ease his workload – a workload that Trella knew had to be nearly debilitating at times. She found that he was remarkably constant in his appearance and manner, only sometimes looking especially exhausted or being slightly snappish. She wasn’t sure that she had ever heard him explicitly ask for additional assistance.

“But I apologize, I think I’ve gotten us off track,” Trella said, realizing her question had derailed the conversation.

“Oh, no need to apologize,” you responded. “This is good information for me to have.” You took a sip of your tea before continuing.

“Since the general has had a significant amount of work lately, I offered to try and complete what tasks I could in an attempt to ease the strain of his workload. Admittedly, I am no engineer, and I don’t have the proper clearance for many of his projects, but – as I’m sure you know – he’s planning to add another member to his staff, and that was a task I felt I was more qualified to undertake.”

“I’m surprised he allowed you to take on any work for him.” In her utter shock at your statement, the words slipped from Trella’s mouth even before she could think. All she could remember was the way he was barely going to allow you to bring him a caf. Why was he letting you do this for him? Realizing the comment was far too impertinent, she was preparing to apologize when you spoke first:

“Oh, he had no intention of doing so,” you admitted, a slight smile playing around the corners of your mouth, “but I fear I was quite insistent on the matter.” Trella was completely captivated. What did that mean?

“Then please allow me to help in any way I can,” Trella insisted. “I would hate for you to take on more work in addition to your new duties as a diplomat.”

“Luckily I’m still completing my training, so I actually have very few formal duties yet,” you responded, trying to assuage her concerns. “In fact, I think that’s the only reason General Hux allowed me to help at all, although even then it was begrudging.” She watched as an almost-smile flickered to life on your face again, as though recalling your memory of the conversation. Trella was desperate to know that that exchange was like.

“But I was hoping I could get your help at this stage, since I seem to have reached the limits of what I can do on my own,” you continued, pulling out your datapad.

“Of course,” Trella responded instantly. “How can I help?”

“I’ve reviewed what feels like hundreds of personnel files,” you said with just the faintest breath of a laugh, “and based on the list of traits that a position on the general’s staff requires as well as through an examination of performance reports, I’ve compiled a list of personnel who I believe might suit the general’s needs.” You let out a small sigh.

“However, most of my contacts are still in fieldwork or on other Star Destroyers, and I have very little personal knowledge of these potential candidates. I thought – or at least I was hoping – that you might be able to provide more insight. Of course, it seems key that whoever is chosen should be compatible with the rest of his staff as well as the with general himself, and I thought you might be in a better position to make that judgment than me.” With that, you offered her your datapad, which Trella took immediately.

“Yes, of course – I’d be happy to provide what insight I can,” Trella assured you, genuinely flattered that you would ask for – and seemed to value – her input.

When Mitaka had briefed the team that Hux would be adding an additional member to his personal staff in order to help offset his increasing workload and distribute tasks more equitably, Trella had privately drawn up a list of who she considered to be viable candidates for the role. She wasn’t sure whether or not she was surprised when she scrolled through the list of personnel you had compiled and found it to have significant overlap with her own.

“And if you have other names I hadn’t considered,” you added as she continued to peruse the files, “you’re welcome to share those as well.”

“Actually, Diplomat,” Trella responded, “I may have engaged in some… private speculation on the subject.” Shit, should she be admitting this to you? “And your list looks remarkably like my own.”

“Oh, really?” You seemed genuinely relieved. “That’s good to hear – after reading through so many personnel files I had begun to fear I was losing touch with reality.” Trella couldn’t help a light laugh at that, a sound which you echoed. Hux was dangerously close to needing to add two new personnel to his staff, since Trella was finding it more and more difficult to talk herself out of asking if you needed a personal staff member and immediately putting her name forward for consideration.

“Of this list, you’ll find that all their qualifications are fairly equivalent,” you continued, “so I was hoping you might be able to highlight three top candidates based on personality and potential fit with the team.” You paused, seeming to consider your next words. “It seems I chose the right person to ask, given that you’ve already dedicated some personal time to considering the matter.” Trella’s cheeks warmed slightly at your praise.

“Thank you,” Trella responded. “I simply wish to see the general’s staff working smoothly and effectively to better support his important work.”

“I can assure you that he appreciates your efforts.” You offered her a small but genuine smile. Trella’s face was nearly burning now. Had Hux discussed her with you? It probably shouldn’t have been surprising, given what you seemed to know about Sladden, but kriff! Was that why you had asked her here in the first place? Shit, what had he said? Trella flipped through her many interactions with Hux, trying to assure herself that she hadn’t done anything humiliating that he may have relayed to you. She had just never assumed he actually talked to anyone outside of the professional contacts required by his position. The idea that he might just discuss things casually with you was a prospect she had never considered. She desperately wanted to know what he had told you about her, but there was absolutely no way for her to frame that question professionally.

Instead, she simply offered an appreciative duck of her head to your words and busied herself with scrolling through the list. The fact that she had already been considering this precise question allowed her to make her selection quickly.

“My top three would be Lieutenants Jale Helmark, Neev Ador, and Tolya Rade,” Trella informed you as she handed the datapad back.

“May I ask what influenced your decision?” you inquired as you took the device. Trella could hear genuine curiosity in your voice. It wasn’t often a superior officer asked for her thoughts on something. She cleared her throat.

“Helmark and Sladden knew each other at the academy, so that might help him fit in more quickly with the team. Additionally, I’ve heard that he survived a brief stint as Captain Ernstead’s adjutant, which indicates to me that he could likely withstand almost anything.” Trella didn’t miss the way your face contorted for just a brief moment before resolving itself back into an expression of professional placidity again. It was enough for her to know you knew exactly what she meant. Not wanting either of you to need to linger on memories of that distasteful man, she continued:

“Ador has a reputation for… shall we say… conflict management. I’ve only met her in person a few times, but I hear she’s level-headed and patient. I believe her brother is a medic.” Trella paused then, not quite certain how to frame her discussion of the last candidate. Better to be honest, she supposed.

“And I must admit that Lieutenant Rade is a personal friend,” she said, noting how your eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity. “But that’s not why I selected them amongst my top three. They’re hard-working and efficient, and they graduated at the top of our class. They sustained a fairly serious injury as a result of a shuttle crash not long after graduating, and they ended up on an extended medical leave. Because of that, they were passed up for some opportunities for advancement that they might otherwise have received. But I am constantly surprised by their resilience. They’ve thrown themselves back into their work with commendable determination, and I truly think they deserve the chance to prove themselves as they highly competent officer I know they are.”

“Lieutenant Rade is lucky to have such a loyal and well-spoken advocate,” you told her, causing a faint warmth to rise in her face again. She wasn’t used to receiving such genuine commendation from higher-ranking officers. Tolya really did deserve her praise though; Trella truly believed they would be a valuable member of Hux’s staff.

“Thank you again for your insight, Lieutenant,” you said. “I’ll convey these three candidates to General Hux and allow him to make the final determination.”

“Of course, Diplomat – I’m happy to be of help,” Trella responded. She let her gaze wander to the designs that hung neatly behind you, wondering at their origin. It was clear that your other objects had come from your various planetside deployments, but she couldn’t figure out where you would have gotten images of First Order ships. You had seemed receptive even to her slightly less professional comments; perhaps she should just ask.

“May I ask where you got those designs?” she asked, indicating to the three frames. You turned, following her gesture. “I’ve never seen anyone else have anything similar.” When you returned your gaze to her, you seemed unable to fully hide the smile that was growing on your face.

“General Hux made them for me,” you informed her, a soft warmth in your voice that Trella noticed immediately. It took everything in her to not let her mouth fall open in complete shock. Hux had made those? She scanned them again. Perhaps she could see it; each line was neat and precise and so carefully rendered. So carefully. Maybe even lovingly? You had said that he made them for you. A slightly different image of the general was beginning to take shape in her mind as she pictured him spending his personal time meticulously crafting these images, ensuring that each line was perfect, knowing he was creating them for you.

She wondered how that had happened. Had you requested them? Were they a surprise? When had you learned that he could draw like that? There was no way she could force herself to voice any of those questions, but your honesty was making her feel slightly braver. Maybe she could ask just one more question, one she was deeply curious about.

“Diplomat, forgive me if this is far too personal,” she started, embarrassment already crawling through her body as you tilted your head slightly in curiosity at her disclaimer, “but does General Hux talk… about us – Sladden, Mitaka, and me, that is?”

“Sometimes,” you responded, your lips pressed into a small smile, clearly amused by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you knew about Sladden and the tea – you knew it was a joke. And I didn’t realize—well, I didn’t think that the general was aware of that. Enough to communicate it to you, that is.” Shit, she had made such a mess of that. She was just glad you didn’t seem like the type to write infraction reports. She chanced a glance at you, only to realize that the small, private smile still lingered on your face.

“I think you might be surprised by how much he is aware of,” you remarked softly. “He might seem reserved, but he’s incredibly observant.” You hummed lightly then, seeming to measure your next words. “For example, he thinks you’re a good influence on Lieutenant Teale Thanisson. Although he was mildly surprised you took a chance on him at all, given how responsible you are.”

Your warm, level gaze fixed Trella in her seat as her breath left her lungs in one shocked huff. Hux knew about that? About her and Teale? And he told you about it? Kriff kriff kriff she had no idea what to do with that information. It was no secret, certainly, but Hux seemed so… so clueless when it came to interpersonal matters that she never assumed he would know anything about it. She vividly recalled his ignorance of the meaning behind your offer to bring him a caf, so it seemed far beyond his capabilities to parse the details of any other relationship. Shit, maybe she had deeply misjudged him in that regard. In fact, she must have, since you had chosen to move into his quarters permanently, even though the concept of General Hux, of all people, navigating any sort of intimate relationship had seemed essentially beyond belief. Perhaps she would need to reevaluate some of her assumptions about him.

“Thank you again for your help on this matter,” you said when it must have become clear from Trella’s shocked silence that she was not going to be able to produce any more coherent words on the previous subject. Trella just nodded, attempting to force herself to resume her professional attitude even through her complete surprise at these revelations.

“I just hope his chosen candidate will accept the position,” you mused. Trella finally broke through the last of her shock in order to respond.

“I’m sure they will – everyone considers it an honor to be asked to work on the general’s staff,” she informed you. She fondly remembered Tolya and a few other academy friends pooling their alcohol rations to get her a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate when she had been invited to join Hux’s staff. You considered her words for a moment.

“That’s interesting, Lieutenant,” you commented. “That’s something I actually don’t think he’s aware of.”

“Really?” she asked in disbelief. How the kriff did he know about her and Teale but not realize that ‘member of General Hux’s personal staff’ was a widespread answer to the question of ‘what’s your dream work assignment?’ at the academy.

“I think he perceives himself as being hard to work for, since he demands adherence to such high standards,” you said thoughtfully, as though you were deeply considering something.

Trella had not walked into this meeting expecting so many surprises. She was not going to deny that Hux had high standards and expected that his staff would meet them. However, he was also a highly professional officer who had never been disrespectful to her or any other members of his staff. Nor was he needlessly harsh, as she knew some other commanding officers to be. There were times when he could be short, yes, but she couldn’t even fathom the pressure he must constantly be under. She was sure that such an amount of stress would cause her to be far more irritable with others than she had ever experienced from him.

“It seems to me that everyone respects him all the more for his commitment to high standards,” she said quietly. “Many personnel consider working on his staff to be something of a dream position. I know I certainly do.” Your eyes met hers then, and she was momentarily transfixed by the depth of your gaze.

“I truly appreciate your honesty, Lieutenant.” You offered her a warm smile. Although it still felt a little strange in such a professional setting, Trella returned the expression.

“And I do apologize – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier. I should not have brought up any personal matters.” Trella could tell your apology was absolutely genuine, but she found she was glad to have her conception of her commanding officer shifted. And she was only too aware that she was the one who had steered the conversation in a more personal direction.

“Please – no need at all to apologize, Diplomat. I fear I’m the one who first introduced personal topics. And anyway, I find it’s good to have one’s beliefs about others challenged sometimes.” Your smile brightened at her words.

“I quite agree, Lieutenant.”

#charlotte writes #time after time (hux x reader)#time after time bonus chapters #armitage hux x reader #general hux x reader #hux x reader #general hux fanfic #general hux fanfiction #armitage hux x you #general hux x you

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eekshade · 1 year ago

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Muse

Steve Rogers x m!reader

Word Count: 1605

Warnings/Info: pre-serum Steve, art school Steve, no pronouns used so could be read as a gn!reader, flustered Steve <3, reader goes through Steve’s sketchbook w/out permission but Steve’s okay with it (just embarrassed), was slightly inspired by that one scene in atsv

Steve was currently anxiously pacing around your apartment, looping through the kitchen to wrap around the couches in a large figure eight path. He was in a deranged panic as he ranted about his upcoming finals, not only were finals a stressful time in general but Steve was also in, according to him, the worst art block he’s ever been cursed with.

“Steve.” You try to gently call out to him for the second time, he (again) doesn’t seem to hear you because he continues to make his way to the kitchen in order to restart his pathway.

“Steven, just-,” you grab his shoulders as he walks by where you were standing; forcing him to look at you, “stop for a second.” It came out a bit harsher than you meant but at the very least he was finally still.

“What?” He says, his voice a fine mix between annoyance and embarrassment, as he attempts to shrug off your hands, a blush dancing across his cheeks. You pull your hands back and mutter an apology.

“Instead of storming around, how about we sit down and take this step by step.” You offer and he quickly walks to the main couch while nodding softly, mostly to himself.

You sit down next to him, placing a hand on his knee, ”How much time do you have before it's due?” You ask in a tone one would take when talking to a crying child, soft and quiet; almost a whisper.

“Around three weeks.” He sighs, scooting closer to you (silently praying you won’t notice).

“Alright…” You break eye contact in favor of looking around the surfaces of the furniture, “That’s enough time, I believe.” You stand having found what you were looking for.

“Here’s the plan, let's try and get you some motivation before anything.” You grab his sketchbook off of the small dining table that sat across the room.

“What do you mean?” He asks cautiously, watching the way your hands grip the book when you walk back over to him.

“I think you should start with something you find easy, to lull yourself back into it.” You sit beside him once again, closer than before, “What do you find easy to draw?”

“I don’t really know…” He laughs sadly, “Everything sounds too hard right now.”

“That’s fine, we could just flip through and see what you draw the most.” You smile at him, causing his heart to melt; distracting him from what you had just said.

“Wait, god no, birds!” He yelped the second he processed what you had just said, “I could draw birds.” He tried to reason, but it was a moment too late.

You opened the book to a random page only to be met with a portrait of you cooking a stew for him while in his kitchen, presumably from when he was sick. He nervously watched your face, the fear of you hurting him (emotionally and/or physically) left as fast as it came, once he saw the small smile that was etched on your face as you gently traced your fingers along his pencil strokes.

You turned to look at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but any plan on saying something was abruptly taken from you at the sight of him, his face was mere inches from yours, biting his lower lip rather harshly, blush burned onto his cheeks, already staring at you. You try not to linger on the butterflies going on a mini rampage in your stomach, you quickly turn back to the sketchbook and flip the page. The next page only makes you smile more, it shows you again on both pages, this time you seem to be from his memory.

The page is flipped again to show you and Bucky laughing while playing cards with his sisters, you flip the page once more to reveal you reading with a dog laying on your legs. Laughing under your breath; the realization finally hitting you. You go to try and flip the page one more time, you wore a knowing smirk, that only grew when Steve snatched the book from your lap. You look at him but he won’t look back at you, his eyes glued to the sketchbook that sat on his lap, you laugh at his bashful demeanor.

“I’m sorry, this is weird - you just - sorry.” He fumbles over his words, after a small moment of consideration he leans forward and shoves the book into his bag, which sat on top of the coffee table.

“Wait Steve, it's okay.” You softly take his hands into your own, gently dragging him back down to where he was before.

He looks at you sadly, “God, I really am sorry.” You look at him with pure admiration and slight pity for making him so panicked.

“Please don’t look at me like that.” He whines, he breathlessly looks down at your lips for a second so brief you almost missed it.

“Like what?” You ask, eyes drilling into his.

“Like it's okay.” He whispers.

“It is.” You smile at him, “You're an artist, I can’t get mad at you for making art.” Your voice gets louder (although you're still not talking at full volume) and you lean back an inch or two at most and let go of his hands; trying to make sure you aren’t misreading the situation.

You laugh and run a hand through your hair, trying to make him comfortable again, “So, what, do you want me to pose?” You laugh at your own joke, which causes him to laugh along with you.

“Alright so, what’s it really about though?” You ask calmly while fidgeting with your hands not knowing where to put them.

He quickly stops laughing and gets flustered - not nearly as much as before, “Oh well y'know, it's kind of hard to explain without sounding like a creep.” He averts his eyes from you.

“I give you my permission to sound like a creep.” You smirk at his eye roll.

“That means so much, thank you.” He replied sarcastically, finally meeting your eyes.

“Anytime, Rogers.” You say with a wink, you notice he blushes a bit at that. “Well, go ahead.”

“You really wanna know?” He appears to have gotten more comfortable with the conversation.

“Yes! Of course I do.” You exclaimed exasperated.

“Okay - well, I think you have a good…like body.” He sounds unsure, he pauses for a few seconds to think, you open your mouth to make a joke but he cuts you off, “No, wait! Just please let me finish before you say anything, okay?” You nod.

He takes a deep breath, “You’re like my muse, I don’t think I’m using that right.” He laughs, “I mean, before I do an actual piece I need to warm up, and in order to do that, I typically draw you and sometimes Bucky.” He seems to throw that last part in half-heartedly.

“I think it's because I’m around you so much, it's just easy to properly capture you, you and Bucky.” He added.

You stare at him quietly with a smug smile.

“I’m done. Please say something.” He whines out nervously.

You lean forward, your foreheads now touching, “And Bucky?”

“Yeah, of course, you just ended up on a bad few pages is all.” He defends himself very quietly, you smile at the attempt.

His eyes keep flickering between your eyes, lips, and hands, not bothering to hide it anymore. “Steve,” you say, making his eyes stop moving for a moment to keep them on yours. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?” He whispers so quietly you almost miss it.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask breathlessly.

“Yes, god, please.” He quietly whimpered.

You grab his jaw and finally push your lips against his, you bring one of your hands to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging, this pulls out a soft moan from him, your teeth clashing together. It’s a bit of a mess but neither of you care. He whines as you pull away from him to catch your breath, you look at him as he sits beside you; lips red and wet, soft pants coming out from behind them, eyes glossed over, cheeks dusted pink. He looks back at you, with an almost sad look on his beautiful face.

“Are you okay?” You rest your forehead on his once again.

“No.” He admits, “I don’t think I am.”

“Why?” You look down and take his hands into yours, playing with his fingers slightly, before locking them together.

“Because I don’t know what this means.” He sighs and his eyes are glued onto your interlocked fingers.

“It can mean whatever you want.” You look into his eyes, “I’ll be right here with you.”

He smiles warmly at you while keeping those sad puppy dog eyes, he leans in and pecks your lips. It was short but long enough to feel his emotions vividly through it. He lets go of your hands and leans back, for a second you fear he didn’t mean it, but he then grabs his bag off the table and pulls the sketchbook and a pencil back out of it, then flipping to a new page.

He turns to you, “Is your pose offer still open?” He looks at you brightly.

“Of course it is.” You laugh and strike the most dramatic pose you could pull off.

“I love it.” He laughs warmly, he hesitates briefly before grabbing your limbs and face, posing you how he pleases. “You're perfect.” He mutters as he starts his rough draft.

| MARVEL MASTERLIST |

#steve rogers x m reader #male reader #steve rogers x male reader #40s steve rogers x male reader #captain america x male reader #mlm fanfic #marvel x male reader #pre serum steve #pre serum steve x male reader

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for-yoongi0309 · 10 months ago

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[NOTICE] Release Information for Jimin’s Second Solo Album, “MUSE”

We are excited to share details about the release of BTS member Jimin’s second solo album, “MUSE.” Following his first solo album, “FACE,” where he sought to explore his true identity, “MUSE” documents his journey in search of the source of his inspiration. Showcasing Jimin’s expanded musical spectrum, “MUSE” includes seven tracks, including the fan song “Closer Than This,” released in December 2023. We ask for your continued love and support for Jimin’s second solo album, “MUSE.”

Pre-Order Period: Starts 11 AM, Tuesday, June 18, 2024 (KST) Release Date and Time: 1 PM, Friday, July 19, 2024 (KST)

#ultkpopnetwork #mgroupsedit #idolsincedits #maleidolsedit #jimin #park jimin #bts #bangtan

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silentmagi · 2 months ago

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Tikki Wants Cookies

In the middle of the night, Tikki wants cookies, and there's none to be found… and yet there is one solution she could try.

Ao3

Tikki had a problem.

No, it wasn’t an Akuma, or Plagg related. Instead it was something much worse. It was terrible, horrible, and utterly unthinkable.

Tikki was out of cookies, and everyone else at the sleepover was sleeping. They still had half of Ratatouille left, so they were supposed to stay up and gossip. Fine, it might be best if Marinette catches up on sleep after defeating Hawkmoth and all the stress she’d been dealing with. But Alya and Trixx should have stayed up with her at least!

It wasn’t fair that her having stayed up until all hours for the past few months left her wide awake. She didn’t deserve to be punished like this, and denied her rightfully earned cookies. She should have nothing but mountains of cookies to devour at any time of day or night. The five plates she had were not enough.

Trying to watch the movie with the rumbling of her poor underfed tummy reminding her of the denied delicious sweet treats, she found herself jealous of Remy. He got to cook, and even could pilot his human so he could make bigger foods. It was too bad she couldn’t pilot Marinette like that, she mused as she tugged playfully at one of the pig tails she wore her hair in.

Then she saw an arm move.

No, it had to be a fluke, but what if it wasn’t? Peeking around, she saw that Marinette was still sleeping, and decided to try again. Giving another experimental tug, she found that the hand moved again.

A tug of another section of hair moved the foot this time, which caused Tikki to grin. It was a wide, broad grin as a wonderfully delightful thought occurred. She could not bake enough cookies, not with as small as she was… but Marinette… Oh Marinette could! She just needed guidance from a wise, ancient, beautiful, if tiny god of creation.

She was just such a humble and hungry entity.

If this worked for cookies, maybe she could ensure that Marinette made it to class on time for once.

But that was a side benefit she’d talk to Marinette about, for now it was time for the important task of making cookies. Let’s see, tugging these clumps moved the legs, and these were the arms, so she would just need to do, YES! She was standing up now. Careful, no, no no, don’t step on Alya. Yes, gentle, very gentle, and the other foot… good.

Getting across the room to the hatch to the main floor, she didn’t notice that Trixx and Alya were watching the pair of them, Alya rubbing her hand where she’d been kicked, while Trixx stroked his tail with a pout to his lips.

She was a bit busy controlling the Marimech to not fall down the ladder.

After only two close encounters of the wall-kind, she was able to get Marinette into the kitchen of the apartment. Grabbing the cookbook from its spot, she piloted Marinette to flip open to the right section, and read the title over her shoulder, and frown. No, that was Almond cookies, not what she wanted, flipping the page, she found Butterscotch cookies, not quite, but something to keep in mind for the future. Then there was Caramel cookies. Closer. Oh so much closer…

There! It was the recipe for the delicious and wonderful chocolate chip cookies, perfect, and wonderful. Just the right thing for a poor, starving, forgotten, neglected god of creation such as herself. Yet, she would forgive Marinette for not providing, if this worked. Pulling out the ingredients like she’d seen the Dupain-Chengs do before making anything, she smiled as she realized that there was enough to make a double batch.

It was wonderful! The perfect crime! She was guiding Marimech like a pro now, barely needing to think about the hair clumps to pull in order to get her chosen guardian to do the tasks of mixing and preparing the delightful treats.The oven was nearly pre-heated, and now all she had to do was spoon them onto the baking sheets.

Digging out the spoons to serve out the cookie dough, she prepared to scoop, when she found the hand didn’t obey her command, instead it was held up, and she could see blue eyes staring back at her, wide open blue eyes. “These are too small Tikki.”

“Hi Marinette,” the small, sweet, innocent, could do no wrong god offered with a timid wave at the spoon. “I-”

“You wanted cookies, didn’t you?” Marinette asked as she put the teaspoons away, and picked up the tablespoons to make the properly sized cookies. “We’ll need these…”

Tikki perked up as she found Marinette was going along with it. “Yes, that’s right, so everything is all set, and-”

She was cut off as a hand gripped her firmly around the body and held up to see Marinette giving her a very tight grin. “H-how long have you been awake?” she asked kindly, suddenly very aware that she was in trouble.

“Since the ladder, mostly, then the wall woke me the rest of the way,” the guardian and Miraculous Holder stated calmly as she placed Tikki on the counter, and put a glass measuring cup upside down over her. “You leave that, and you don’t get any cookies. You’re on time-out.”

No! Not that, how could she be in time-out! It wasn’t fair! Pressing her tiny, adorable paws against the glass prison, she watched as Marinette expertly used the spoons to scoop the dough, roll it into a ball, and place them on the trays. A dozen on each tray, just as the pre-heat dinged that the oven was ready.

“You two can come out as well,” Marinette stated as she put the mostly empty bowl on the counter near the sink. Tikki could see the small bits of chocolate chip filled dough clinging to the edge, just begging for her to come and clean them out before they were washed away. But she was in the god baby jail, unable to clean away the delicious dough begging for her to come and take them into her mouth.

Just as she was tempted to phase through the glass, despite Marinette’s warning, an orange tail dangled in front of her vision, blocking out her temptation. “Oh Guardian, that was brilliant playing along with her!”

“I almost broke our cover when you bumped into the second wall girl,” Alya added as she walked into view and leaned against the counter. “I was so tempted to record it all as payback for kicking on my hand.”

“And stepping on my tail!”

“Oh poor Trixx, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, are you alright?” Marinette asked as she pulled the fox kwami into a gentle hug, and gave him a small bunch of grapes. The fox wagged his tail to show that there was no harm done, but took the grapes from her anyway.

“I’m fine Guardian, but thank you for asking,” he offered politely as he settled in front of the glass prison to eat the grapes, giving Tikki an impish grin as he popped the first grape into his mouth.

“You know, if you could trust her to not abuse it, you could even get her to do that so you get to school on time,” Alya teased, scrapping a finger along the bowl, and popping the resultant mound of dough into her mouth. Oh, such a cruel and unjust torment for the tiny god. This was a good thing, she could help Marinette so much with this discovery, but is being punished for testing it out with something minor and mutually beneficial.

“There’s egg and raw flour in that, don’t have too much. You don’t have a kwami stomach,” Marinette chided as she slid the first tray of cookies into the oven, right in front of Tikki, giving her a perfect view of it baking before her eyes. Oh, what delightful torture is this?

The delicious aroma, the slow browning and crisping of the edges of those delectable treats. She knew better than to phase through the oven, again, but it was so tempting. She wanted to have them in her poor empty belly now.

The conversation of the humans faded into the background as she stared at the baking cookies that were spreading and flattening with the heat. Truly the waiting was the hardest part, how long had it been? Hours? Days? Years? Oh, dear cookies, wait for her, she will get out of this unjust prison and be with you again.

Ten minute later, a timer chimed, and Marinette pulled out the perfectly golden cookies, sliding them off onto the cooling racks. They were so close, so very close, and yet she could not reach them, she wasn’t supposed to phase through this glass cage of emotional bondage.

A second tray was added to the first, then a third, and all of the cookies were just there. Out of reach, but calling to her. Three cookies were removed, and eaten by the others, enjoyed and delighted about.

They were then plated up, piled in neat little stacks and some covered with plastic cling, while two plates remained uncovered, one with only six cookies on it, and another with a full dozen.

Suddenly, the cup was removed from over her, and Marinette was scooping her up into a hug, taking her away from the cookies. “I’m sorry Tikki, I know it was so hard for you. But I trust you learned your lesson?”

“Yes Marinette, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, so we’re going to let you have this plate of cookies,” Marinette explained while setting her on the one with six cookies on it. “And we’ll have the other one for ourselves.”

“What about those?” Tikki asked, pointing at the third plate with the vast majority of the cookies.

“Those are for next time we want cookies. But we should get to bed after this.”

Tikki couldn’t help but pout at the solid logic that was being presented, she should have realized that was the answer she was going to get. But it wasn’t fair to leave those poor cookies abandoned and uneaten.

“No,” Marinette stated as if she could read her thoughts. “That is not up for debate.”

Fine, but this wasn’t going to be the end of it, after all…

Tikki wants cookies.

#Story #My Writing #Miraculous Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tikki #Alya Cesaire #Trixx #Midnight snacks #Piloting your friends for fun and profit #Cookies #Chocolate Chip Cookies #Humor Attempted

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dreamerfms · 8 months ago

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[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { NOA BENNETT } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { SHE } is? they kind of look like { D.ANIELLA PERKINS } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { TWENTY-SIX } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { TWENTY-ONE YEARS }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { CHER HOROWITZ } from { CLUELESS }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { HEARTLINES } as a { OWNER/MATCHMAKER }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { THE SHOPAHOLIC } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumour has it they can pretty { MATERIALISTIC } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { SWEET } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { THREE ROOM } apartment beside me over in { CORAL COVE }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

full name : noa bennett. birthplace : san francisco, california date of birth : 03 / 13 / 1998 parentage : tbd ( adoptive ) sibling(s) : ronen ( adoptive brother ) + other adoptive sibling tba pets : two blue russian cats named coco & donatella occupation : founder and ceo of cupid's heartstrings, an multi-award winning matchmaking business relationship status : single gender identity : cis female ( she/her ) sexual orientation : heterosexual ( maybe, probably not idk how to write a fully str8 muse honestly ) faceclaim : antonia gentry.

BACKGROUND:

from the very beginning, noa’s family dynamic was quite different from the others. her parents met on tv through a dating show in the 90s and were lucky enough to find something that lasted. their romance was a whirlwind, and within a year they were looking into adoption. luck would have it, they'd end up with three babies instead of one.

going from a family of two to five is never easy, and the braunstein's didn't find the transition any easier. they tried their best to split the work, but naturally some dynamics felt stronger than most.

so, it's no surprise when noa is bonded to their dad. she'd sit with him often, watch him work, ramble about all of her big future plans. he'd later be the one she credits for her strong business mind, and for encouraging her to reach for every goal, even if they sound unrealistic to others.

noa never took full notice of how distant she was from her mother until her pre-teen years, a time when a girl needs her mother most. but every interaction felt like she was burdening her mother with questions, almost like she didn't care much for her daughter at all despite the clear love they held for one another. noa simply put it down to the fact that they were two very different people with very different interests, and instead would cling to her father, who had no issue handing over his credit card in order to cheer her up, and who seemed to find her over the top ideas for future ventures endearing rather than unrealistic.

at the age of six, their dad got a new job and the family relocated to florida. it came with more money, and the family was already pretty well off.

at this point, the siblings were inseparable. the definition of frenemies. they'd fight and fight, but ten minutes later would be snuggled up on the couch watching tv. if someone were to pick on ronen, noa would say something and vice versa.

noa thrived in high school, popular and pretty, and keeping her grades afloat despite often being deemed as an airhead with one too many distractions. but home life was strained, clear tension between she and her brother and the bonds with their parents, and by this point every interaction with her mother would end in upset or annoyance.

leaving for college was a breath of fresh air, eyes opened to other ways of life and learning to stand on her own two feet. majoring in business while her minor was fashion. but it wasn't too long before she began to feel the ache of missing the person who knew her best, her brother.

the summer before their junior year, they're able to have a conversation about their parents and all their feelings. it's too late to get her to chicago for the fall semester, but they do all they can and can successfully get her there for the spring.

once they graduated, they actually wanted to come back to florida. chicago was fun and nice, but damn, it was cold. and noa had greatly missed her father and wanted to attempt building bridges with her mother, still to not much avail. some people are simply meant to love each other without actually enjoying one another's solo company.

noa would spend a few years interning for some fashion brands before deciding that she wanted to work for herself, took the risk of setting up her childhood dream of finding peoples perfect match. soon her business was booming, and she still found the time to show off her fashion sense online, building up a following in all aspects of social media.

however, her own love life isn't where she would like it to be. parents setting a high standard of how love is supposed to be that she's found herself very particular. due to this she's been intimate with only two people, both of whom she had great feelings for.

random bits : loves to scrapbook and make vision boards, will use any excuse to go on a shopping spree or have a pamper night, owns way too many pairs of shoes and definitely starts getting ready hours before she has to be somewhere, with multiple outfit changes. has a very strict no kissing until the third date rules. more tba.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

a best friend, someone who not only indulges all her ideas but partakes. lots of pamper nights with wine too, and fashion shows galore ( the real kind and also the at home kind too )

first time/high school sweetheart, maybe they even tried to make it work when college rolled around but it was difficult to keep up with.

a more recent ex. perhaps it was a bit of a whirlwind and only lasted a year, maybe two. we can play around with why it ended.

a will they/won't they with someone so opposite/far from what she thinks she wants, yet behind the constant bickering there is clearly a spark.

a frenemy, they like each other but there's definitely some tension there.

clients.

that's all i've got for now ... but so much more.

#palmviewintro #noa.#also big credit to sunny bc she wrote 99% of this ... <3

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faejilly · 2 years ago

Note

hello!! absolutely adore your writing <3 no worries at all it not, but may i request an alternate pre-series meeting in canon / canon-adjacent where valentine is actually dead? always very curious about how malec’s relationship might change if they met and started dating Not in the middle of a really intense war lmao, so i thought maybe their first meeting would be a good starting point? but don’t sweat it if this doesn’t strike the fic muse <33

asdfjklgh thank you! so this MORE THAN struck the fic muse, but I got distracted by a tangent as to how it all Got Very Different™️and have not actually introduced Malec to each other as of yet but if you'd like some Magnus going what the fuck? at the Clave actually being competent this will hopefully be entertaining. AND ISTG I will get to Malec meeting! Eventually?

A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message. The flames sparked brighter, and he blinked away the after-images as something heavier than he'd expected solidified between his fingers.

A single sheet of paper, cleverly folded up to resemble an envelope and keep the message inside; there was the unfortunately familiar black curl of a rune along the edges.

Magnus grimaced.

It was probably some horrifying form letter designed to intimidate him into something that was not remotely his problem, but he was going to have to clean up regardless. Shadowhunters didn't request things, they ordered, and brow-beat, and the only reason they got away with it was because they treated everyone equally terribly, including themselves, and to be quite fair to their militaristic grand-standing, the world was continuing to not be overrun by demons, so it seemed to be working for them.

Even Valentine hadn’t made much of a dent in their self-righteous arrogance. The Lightwoods hadn’t lost possession of the Institute they’d killed to get, buying clemency with their children, from what he’d heard, which was even worse than typical nephilim parenting. Despicable, ev–

He blinked. That wasn't the New York Institute's watermark, it was the Inquisitor's.

He tilted it to let the light from the windows spill across it, but that was very clearly the silhouette of a Demon Tower behind two crossed blades, not the broken stone the Clave had required the New York Institute to use after the Uprising to signify its failure to uphold their so-called sacred duties.

He huffed out a breath in not quite a sigh, and felt a frown starting to form between his brows. It was easier to deal with Inquisitor Herondale and her people than the Lightwoods. (She at least hated Valentine as much as the downworld.) But that didn't mean a formal letter was likely to be a good thing. Whatever had happened in the aftermath of Valentine's attempted coup had been kept very quiet behind Alicante's borders, and everything the downworld got to see had returned to business-as-usual.

He rolled his eyes, because nephilim, but ignoring one of their summons made them even more petty and obnoxious, so he turned it over to unfold.

And stopped again upon seeing how it was addressed.

High Warlock of Brooklyn Senior Scholar of the Spiral Labyrinth Ambassador of the Accords The Right Hon. Magnus Bane

They'd used a fountain pen and written in proper uncial calligraphy and if he hadn't known that the magic for fire messages didn't work on animal skin, he might have thought they'd used actual parchment rather than what must instead be a very high quality paper stock.

"Huh." He peered down at the letters, trying to think if he'd ever seen a nephilim address a notice to a downworlder in the same formal terms they used amongst themselves. And then almost dropped the whole damn thing when he realized that the initials scribbled across the fold in lieu of the wax seal that would have prevented the fire message from activating properly were IWH. And in the exact same calligraphy as the address.

"What the fuck." He spoke aloud, louder than he'd expected or intended, almost loud enough to startle himself even as he flung the whole thing out and away.

He watched as it fell to the floor, and he stared at it.

It still just looked like paper.

It had to just be paper, the rune to send it wouldn't have worked otherwise, but High Inquisitor Imogen Whitelaw Herondale had written on that with her own hand and sent it to Magnus as if he was an equal and what in all seven hells was that about?

He stepped sideways, unable to convince himself to look away from those initials even as his fingers scrabbled across his desk in search of normal paper and pen to send a message of his own.

Ragnor, could you please indulge me with your thoughts for a moment?

He'd half expected he wouldn't get an answer, not even another fire message or a call on the phone in the other room; Ragnor had been even more of a hermit than usual since the Uprising. (Not that Magnus could fault him for that. If he wasn't a High Warlock he probably would have disappeared into the countryside somewhere as well.) But instead he felt the familiar press of Ragnor's magic against his wards as a portal opened almost immediately in the foyer.

"Apothecary!" Magnus called out, still staring at the paper on his floor.

He heard footsteps, felt Ragnor's magic approach, could even see the shadow stretching towards him when Ragnor paused in the doorway. "Ah, you got it too?"

That finally made Magnus blink, the hold of the strange message broken. He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows.

Ragnor shook his head. "I think you need to experience it for yourself."

Magnus snorted, but stepped forward, picked up the paper, and this time he unfolded it and began to read.

And then read it again.

And again, even as Ragnor came to stand beside him.

"What the fuck," he repeated.

Ragnor grunted, apparently not having any more idea than he did.

"Do you think it's real?" Magnus asked, and he could hear the almost plaintive whisper of something he couldn't pretend wasn't hope in his own voice.

"Only one way to find out." Ragnor's voice was dry, but gentle. There was hope hiding in his voice, too. "Shall we?"

It seemed real the next evening.

They arrived in front of the New York Institute to find Theo and Gretel from the closest Werewolf pack already there. A pair of fae nobles Magnus didn't recognize, both in full Court regalia, one Seelie and the other Unseelie, arrived a few minutes later, just after the last lingering blush of daylight faded, escorting Raphael and Lily who were here for their Clan.

Magnus almost asked if any of them knew what the fuck was really going on, but did in fact retain his composure and instead just lifted his chin to wait. (He had to admit, even if just to himself, that he was glad Camille was off somewhere being Camille rather than here in New York to represent the vampires and make this whole situation even more uncomfortable.)

They didn't wait long.

The double doors to the Cathedral swung wide open, rather than the main entrance that led to the central hub of the Institute and the Heads' Office. The High Inquisitor herself stepped out, and fucking bowed to them, and Magnus made a small noise of disbelief that he would deny to his dying day if anyone ever asked. (He didn't think anyone would, however, as he had not been the only one. In fact he was pretty sure the only one who hadn't betrayed their surprise was Ragnor, though the fae had managed no more than a slight shift in posture or positioning.)

"We have set up precautions so all may enter." Herondale paused, and tilted her chin towards Ragnor and Magnus. "I understand if you wish to verify before anyone tests my word?"

Magnus stared at her. She'd just admitted that they had no reason to believe her. She'd admitted it out loud and didn't even sound upset about it.

Ragnor bumped his elbow, and Magnus tucked it all back behind his High Warlock mask. He nodded back as formally as he could manage before lifting his arms and letting his magical senses expand.

There was something inside that was still warded enough to prevent him from being able to tell what it was, but its power was passive rather than active, so it wouldn't be able to be turned against them without warning.

There was also an echo of banked power that felt suspiciously like Silent Brother -and- Iron Sister -and- Soul Sword which was a thing the letter had mentioned but he hadn't been sure he'd believed; (especially that it was only there for Herondale to swear on rather than to be used against the rest of them, somehow). Beyond either of those, it was also very clear the resonance from the Angelic Core had been banked, somehow, the blessing to make the ground hallowed had been covered and muted, and it was entirely safe for any downworlder to enter, regardless of age or power level or wards.

He couldn't quite resist a glance at Ragnor, whose expression indicated he was right there with Magnus and his inexplicable conclusion. Ragnor managed to imply a shrug with the shift of his eyes, and Magnus turned to their fellow downworlders. "She's correct, the building is completely safe for us to enter."

He refrained from suggesting that the nephilim in the building were trustworthy, as they'd all already decided to take that risk when they'd shown up in response to Herondale's summons.

He supposed the fae might not have decided so much as been ordered, but regardless. They were already here. And it was time to see if the rest of it was true.

The rows of pews were nearly full of nephilim in mourning white, more than Magnus suspected usually served in New York, all of them eerily silent, heads politely bowed just enough to lessen the weight of their attention on the entering downworlders.

Behind the chancel, in the raised choir stands, there were additionally about a half-a-dozen black-clad guards, an Iron Sister in gleaming white, a Silent Brother in his bone-dull robe, and the Soul Sword itself, the ruby glinting in its hilt.

To the left of the altar were half-a-dozen nephilim children roughly equivalent to elementary school aged Mundanes, only one of whom had the steady glow to Magnus' senses of a runed Shadowhunter rather than the flickering eldritch taste of angelic potential that the young ones carried before they received their first Mark.

Except for one small red-head just under ten who was familiarly blank, and he realized that the Inquisitor must have found the Fairchilds because that was young Clarissa, still under the power of the wards her mother had paid him to build for her.

He hoped Dorothea was safe, wherever she was. He hadn't felt her magic break, so at least he was reasonably sure she was still alive.

He swallowed, let his gaze skip over the draped stand centered on the aisle in front of him, and focused instead on the dozen adults opposite the children, each with a visibly red Circle on their neck, their shoulders all stiff in the distinctive posture of prisoners whose hands were chained behind their backs. Some of them he didn't know at all, a few were only vaguely familiar, but then there was Jocelyn herself, and Starkweather, and both Lightwoods, and someone who looked eerily similar to the Consul himself.

There was one man beside the rest with his hands cuffed in front of him instead of behind, his Circle rune dark and quiescent rather than inflamed, a Chinese Shadowhunter standing next to him, close enough the white of her sleeves brushed against his arm, with neither a Circle rune nor any restraints on her at all.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Herondale spoke up after giving them all a moment to look around, and without another word she turned her back to eight potentially hostile downworlders and knelt before the Sword.

The Silent Brother lifted his hands, the pressure of his attention clear even when he didn't say anything. The Iron Sister lifted the sword, balancing it gracefully in such a way that it tilted gently down from her grip until the tip almost rested on Herondale's forehead. The ruby glowed, and the flare of angelic power was strong enough to sizzle against Magnus' skin. Carried along with the magic was the Silent Brother's intent, and the Inquisitor's voice filled the Cathedral, both inside and outside his head, resonating in his bones and his blood.

"The traitor Valentine Morgenstern has been killed, and the only surviving nephilim members of his Circle are here to face their final sentencing, as witnessed by the Downworld Leaders of New York City, in this the soul of the New York Institute, a place most wounded by his actions. This truth I swear, upon the Angel Raziel and His Mortal and Immortal Instruments, as High Inquisitor of Alicante and Idris, Commander of the Gard, Elder of the Clave and Council, Head of the Herondale Family, Blooded Shadowhunter and Mother of Soldiers, Lady Imogen Whitelaw Herondale."

Magnus swallowed, ignoring the burn in his eyes and the faint taste of copper down his throat.

The Soul Sword compelled the truth from the nephilim, but all it required when they swore upon it was that they believed in whatever truth they spoke.

This ritual was something else entirely. The balance of the magic he'd just witnessed, a trio of complementary powers braided together, Brother and Sister and relic, knowledge and skill and power, secrets and vows and faith, with each separate piece enhancing the other two, meant that Herondale couldn't have sworn on something that was untrue at any level, even if she'd personally believed it all the way down to her bones.

"Well, fuck me."

Magnus snorted, barely stopping himself from giggling (possibly slightly hysterically) at Ragnor's sotto voce reaction. Not that he'd been thinking anything any more eloquent.

It was real.

The rest of the meeting was less dramatic. Even whipping the cover off the stand in the middle to reveal Valentine’s head encased in silver-edged glass had been less shocking. (Well, to the warlocks and fae, at least. Vampires and werewolves weren’t quite as able to feel the way the ritual had invoked truth magic against the nephilim, so being able to examine (and presumably scent) proof that Valentine was dead was a bigger deal for them.)

The former Circle members were all going to be deruned, exiled, and imprisoned, each alone at a different Institute so they couldn’t work together and their status could be verified by downworlders whenever they wished, unlike traditional prisoners kept in Alicante at the Gard.

There were two exceptions. One: Lucian Graymark, now Luke Garroway, was a werewolf, and the nephilim abdicated their authority and explicitly left his punishment up to the downworld itself. Second: the man who’d been standing slightly separate from the other prisoners, Patrick Penhallow, who had avoided participating in any of the Circle’s true atrocities and was the one who had discovered Valentine was alive and hiding with the presumed dead Herondale heir and promptly informed Imogen personally. He was still to be exiled from the Clave and Council for punishment, but would be allowed to continue as a Shadowhunter and would, in fact, be staying in New York City where he would be an official liaison to the downworld.

But only if the downworld representatives summoned agreed.

Magnus wasn’t complete sure which part of that was supposed to be mercy and which part was punishment, but he was surprised enough at the validation offered to himself and the other representatives that he did, in fact, agree to it along with everyone else.

That wasn’t even the last surprise though.

No, it got better.

Worse?

Magnus wasn’t sure anymore. He was going to tell Catarina about this and she wasn’t going to believe a single damn word he said.

Instead of re-opening their Academy in Alicante, the nephilim were going to train their children at the Institutes, and would include exposure to and lessons from former mundanes and current downworlders. The children there in the chapel for this meeting were the orphans of the Circle, whose parents were all formally being removed from their bloodlines, and this new generation would be raised in New York City.

Imogen Herondale herself was going to be acting as Head of the New York Institute with Jia Penhallow (Patrick’s wife, who had not ever been part of the Circle) as her Co-Head until such time as as the downworld agreed that the next generation of nephilim seemed sufficiently un-Circle-like and one of them could be appointed.

(That wasn’t, of course, how she’d said it, but it was clear enough.)

Magnus was mostly in shock and just nodding along at that point.

When she’d confirmed that the downworld was reasonably accepting of all of that, and had even told them how to contact Patrick directly with any questions or concerns, she slipped into something that looked like parade rest, and without a bit of warning that Magnus could recognize, the entire chapel-full of nephilim all stood at the same time, chanted “ante faciem Angelus” all together, and then they bowed, too. All of them, each with a hand over their heart, respect and responsibility and something that felt like an apology ringing through the air. From nephilim. To downworlders.

“Fiat justicia!” Herondale called out in response, and the nephilim filed back into their institute, and the black-clad guards very politely escorted the downworlders the other direction and shut the big fancy doors behind them, and Magnus was blinking at Ragnor in the street outside the Institute again.

“What the actual fuck.” Gretel broke the silence first.

Magnus started laughing, and nodded in agreement. That absolutely covered it.

The Clave had said they’d dealt with the Circle, and requested the downworld’s input, and claimed that things were going to be different this time, and it was all really, truly, completely, real.

#tangential tuesday #hopeswept #jilly writes #shadowhunters #magnus bane #fantasy politics and lore oh my!#I need a series tag but idk #wtf the clave is competent #lol #no beta we die like valentine #I should probably proofread this before I post it on ao3 but #not on ao3 #as of yet #so this is a problem for tomorrow!jilly #jilly answers

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azsazz · 9 months ago

Note

Hi!! Do you have a playlist for MM? I’ve noticed a lot of authors using them lately and just needed to know what songs make you think of this series! Congrats babes, I’ve already pre ordered it and plan to snag a paperback when it’s available! 🩵🩵

this is actually funny because i've. been posting lil snippets into Quinn and Knox's story on my insta and they each have specific playlists they listen to. I'm still working through a playlist for the full book, but just made a spotify for my author prof and hopefully these can be public without premium so someone lmk if they work plzz

Midnight Muse Official Playlist (currently empty, but working on it)

Quinn's Retaliation Anthems // Knox's Shit to Blast at 2am

I'll prob add more songs to these eventually haha.

#midnight muse #ask azsazz

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behind-the-screen-of-bangtan · 10 months ago

Text

MUSE

Release date : 19 July 2024

Official page

Announcement

Pre-order notice

Teaser

Promotion Schedule

Highlight medley

Recording Behind

Official YouTube playlist

Official Merch

Thanks to Eng translation

Jimin's second release after this first solo album FACE. Several parts of the concept reference the smeraldo flower, a fictional plant from the Bangtan Universe (BU)

Right before the announcement, a discussion channel was opened on the official BTS account on Instagram to tease it. It featured a picture of a music sheet titled "La Lettra", that ended up being "전하지 못한 진심" (the truth untold) (src #1, src #2, src #3) from the album Love Yourself 轉 Tear. As for the "You will always find the first letter" hint, it was implying to check the first letter of each circled word to get "Closer Than This", a track of the album released in December 2023. The last picture sent on the channel is of a handwritten letter (eng trans).

It seems Jimin worked on MUSE and FACE at the same time since in the documentary Jimin's Production Diary that followed Jimin during FACE conception, he has the same nails as in the MUSE teaser (see this Bangtan Bomb at 0:13, cr.). In addition, there was a handwritten letter in the documentary that was titled 전하지 못한 진심(The Truth Untold) (src).

People also pointed out that in his Festa letter, released just a few days before the announcement, Jimin promised to come back with a letter, possibly hinting at the "La Lettra" music sheet (src).

On the day of the album release, the BT21 account posted a cute video of Chimmy (the character created by Jimin) with a smeraldo flower.

The album comes in two versions : BLOOMING and SERENADE. There is also an exclusive Weverse version. On the BLOOMING ver. the ME letters are bigger while on the SERENADE ver. the US letters are.

Tracklist

The pre-release track and the main track titles were teased through a crossword poster on the Instagram channel (archive).

Rebirth (intro)

Interlude : showtime

Smeraldo Garden Marching Band (feat. Loco)

Slow Dance (feat. Sofia Carson)

Be Mine

Who

Closer Than This (see this post)

You can find all the lyrics and their translation on Bangtan Subs website, here.

Colin made a thread with his lyrics translations.

Mood Photo, concept photo & concept clips

Release date: 21-22 June, 6-7 July 2024

Mood Photo - BLOOMING ver. (BTS💜ARMY Weverse post)

Mood Photo - SERENADE Ver.

Concept Photo & Concept Clip - SERENADE ver.

Photo Sketch

Jacket Shoot Sketch

Melon exclusive photos (archive)

Outfit and accessories : belt (cr. BangtanStyling)

Smeraldo Garden Marching Band video

Release date: 28 June 2024

Lyrics

Teaser clip

Behind

Photo Sketch

Outfits & accessories: black suit

youtube

Jimin mentioned this title in the Jimin's Production Diary documentary (src). It's also mentioned in the Weverse magazine article "When you look into Jimin’s heart, this is what you find".

The concept is inspired by Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, an album from the Beatles (src).

Like in the choreo for "Permission to Dance", the dance here features some sign language that says "love" (src #1, src #2).

Who

Release date: 19 July 2024

Teaser

Photo Sketch

Shoot Sketch

Dance analysis by JiminUncut

youtube

The MV was filmed on the New York backlot street at Korda Studio, in Hungary (src).

The Truth Untold : 전하지 못한 진심' 전시 개최 안내

Held on: 11 October - 3 November 2024

Announcement

Promotion, articles, and interviews

Nylon: "Jimin shares a new photo to go with his sunny, just-released single - exclusive"

Weverse Magazine: "Producers for Jimin’s album MUSE Pdogg and GHSTLOOP: “In that sense, love becomes his muse”"

NME: "Jimin – ‘Muse’ review: in the mood for love"

'Who' @ The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon (teaser, Instagram post with pictures of the set, the performance was filmed at Suanbo Waikiki Hotel (src))

#Jimin #MUSE #Youtube

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tdcloud · 1 year ago

Text

"Like oil and water," Piper mused. "I wonder what that makes?"

My new novel INFAUST launches 5.1.24. This one's dark, desolate, and for those of us who know that things can always, always, ALWAYS get worse--those who think otherwise simply lack imagination.

Check below for full summary and pre-order information, and mark your calendars to join us on this launch!

Summary:

Rehan Nadir is a witch with a dead familiar, an outlier in his profession and an ill-omen to every village he passes through. Consigned to a life of vagrant witching, he travels the land in search of dangerous, undesirable jobs to get by, but when he hears tell of the town of Hamelin’s plight, he sees an opportunity in their loss, not the curse the notice boards speak of. Stories of a malicious entity, a chaos god, have tormented the village for hundreds of years, and like clockwork tragedy has struck once more: while the adults gathered elsewhere, the children were spirited away. No trace of them has been seen since, and as Rehan soon learns, the town is desperate to bring them back. Very desperate. Finding and returning the lost children would be just the thing to give Rehan a new chance at the life he lost after the death of his familiar, and if all it takes is killing a god of chaos, then he’s more than ready to take the plunge and open that door. Unfortunately, he just didn’t anticipate opening a few more in the midst of dealing the finishing blow.

Cover art will be done by the incomparable @ambisun! We'll be revealing it March 1st, so get hyped!

Pre-order the ebook: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CRX5M7TX

Signed copies and paperback pre-orders will open towards the end of January. Subscribe to my newsletter to be alerted as soon as they go live: https://www.tdcloudofficial.com/

#queer novel #horror #queer horror #indie author #witch #pied piper #fantasy #dark fairytale

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llamamamarisen92 · 7 months ago

Text

The Wolf and the Lion

Chapter 3 - A Bottle of Wine Between Bedfellows

Chapter 2 link:

https://www.tumblr.com/llamamamarisen92/760433510540541952/the-wolf-and-the-lion?source=share

Named Dark Urge

Pre-BG3 Dark Urge/Gortash Head Canon

Warning: dangerous amounts of sweet, sweet villainous tension.

Characters: Johim (Durge), Gortash

Word Count: 1,400ish

By: Jesh Llamas

Gortash watched from his window as Bhaal's rumored son continued to serenade the crowd, staring directly at him. Filled with a little disbelief that his plan had worked.

There were many who talked in hushed tones about the current ruler of Bhaal's cult. A menacing white dragon. Humorlessly stalking around the streets in dark robes. There wasn't much deviation in their descriptions of him. He sent his spies out for anything he could grasp onto. A lead of some sort.

It had been a hot afternoon the day one of his spies slipped him a discreet note. It had a name on it. An idol merchant that set up shop near Candulhallow's Tombstones. He changed out of his oil stained clothes. Donning the robes he designed himself. Patterns subtly denoting symbols of Bane. To the untrained eye it was simply a beautifully ornate piece of clothing. But it was a signal to those who worked with him in the shadows.

When he arrived at the idol merchant he noticed the man had two idols of interest. One matching the dragon he recognized through his men's descriptions. But the other looked like no one in the pantheon he recognized. He picked it up scanning the features of what appeared to be a handsome half-elf. When he asked the merchant what god it was the man looked around nervously.

"A young woman came lookin’ at my stock. She was displeased by my Bhaal statues and claimed to have some authority on the matter. Sayin’ the dragon was all wrong." He watched as Gortash examined the bronzed features. Rubies set in the eye sockets.

"I never imagined Bhaal to care much about looking good while he ordered his cultists to stick a dagger through someone's heart." He mused.

The man snickered. "It's not Bhaal. It's his son."

He watched the man carefully, taking his measure.

"His son you say?"

"Yeah, the lady told me that Bhaal's big strong leader is none other than his own son. Believe me when I say I was just as surprised as you are now when she described him. A dazzling lion sitting upon his father's throne. Crowned with long flamin' hair."

Gortash examined the idol a bit more closely. "There hasn't been talk of a Bhaalspawn rising up since the days of Sarovek."

Gortash wasn't even alive at that time. Roughly 120 years ago. Could Bhaal really have a new scion out to play?

"Thank you for the information. Did you happen to catch the name of the woman who gave you the information."

He shook his head.

"If you should happen to come through with more information I will have a heavy purse readied with your name on it." He paid the idol merchant for the graven image of Bhaal's son. "Oh, and do not impart this information on anyone else. This statue can be... a limited edition..." He handed the merchant a few more coins to ensure there was an understanding between them.

The merchant did indeed come through with more information. Visited again by an unidentifiable woman.

------------

He motioned his chin at the grinning man depicted by the idol that now sat upon his shelf. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship but in truth it did not do him justice. He was a truly dazzling specimen of a man. The left side of his hair tucked behind an ear that indicated half-elven heritage.

A few weeks ago when he felt the knife pressed against his back he thought his life was forfeit. But he was exhilarated when he read the note that was slipped in his pocket.

Johim looked away as he finished his song. In no rush to move from his place. When he was finished he bowed before the crowd and walked to the cobbler's shop.

Gortash turned around. Waiting expectantly as the other man climbed the stairs to his small study. He entered, dropping the fiddle carelessly on the ground. Leisurely he ran his hand along Gortash's desk, walking until he was just inches from him. Gortash noted the hint of excitement in his lazily hooded expression.

He swallowed. The energy and power radiating off of Johim was incredible. Something he only felt when Bane showed up in his dreams. Promising him power beyond his wildest imagination. Instructing him to reach out to the temple in the first place.

Johim’s hand lifted to Gortash's chin, tilting his head up until he gazed into radiant amber eyes. He was a bit surprised that they were not red as the statue depicted.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to leave a lion hungry." His voice was rich like velvet. He spoke softly but he may as well be shouting for all the world to hear.

Gortash didn't move. Standing his ground so as to not be swept away by the hurricane. A small amount of relief settled in his stomach when Johim let go of his chin, the threat replaced by amusement. He watched carefully as the tall, lean muscled man sat in one of the chairs near a few shoes that he was working on for some rich patrons.

"Tell me, how does a cobbler come into such knowledge?" He picked up one of the shoes on the table. Examining the intricate swirls of purple.

Gortash sat in the chair next to Johim, plucking the shoe away from him and setting it down. "A cobbler that aspires to rise far above his station."

Johim leaned back, his arms crossed. Head tilted as he waited for Gortash to continue.

"You were born into power. Born with the divine blood of the gods. I was born into nothing. Lower than nothing." Bitterness twinged his voice.

"And yet, it seems you have risen to something."

"Yes. I took what life gave me and instead of waiting around for luck to strike I seized every small opportunity I could. Slowly collecting knowledge until I was able to climb higher upon the ladder of success."

"And you desire to climb higher I take it?"

Gortash's expression grew in intensity. Locking upon Johim's face. "Don't you?"

How many people fell victim to that carelessly casual expression. Drawn in by the salacious nature of his speech. Gortash watched carefully. Johim didn't give away much. But his expression shifted a bit. He had his full attention now.

"I am the ruler of Bhaal's temple. Born of his flesh and blood. What more could you offer me that I don't already have?"

"You may be born to a god, but you are not a god yourself." He got up to grab a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. "If you were as content as you say you are you wouldn't have responded to my note." He poured out the liquid, extending one of the glasses to Johim. "If you truly had everything you desired you wouldn't be sitting here in my humble cobblers shop."

Johim took the wine and drank deeply.

"I have lived many lifetimes. When one lives many lifetimes, eventually one gets bored. Restless." Johim tapped his fingers on the desk. Something unreadable crossed his face.

Gortash took a deep breath, carefully weighing his words. "What if... we were our own masters. Gods of our own right."

He expected Johim to roll his eyes or scoff in disgust. But instead he watched as his mind worked through their conversation.

"What does a mortal human know of becoming a god?"

"You know as much as I do, that it's been accomplished before. Plenty of gods in our current pantheon started out as mere mortals. Your father included." He poured more wine into Johim's now empty cup. "And gods have been removed from that pantheon, usurped. Just as Mighty Karsus attempted when he momentarily replaced Mystril. Only I don't intend on being struck from the sky."

Johim smirked. "Neither did Karsus."

He watched as Johim got up and began to pace in his unhurried way, chuckling a bit to himself as he caught sight of the idol on Gortash's shelf. After a time of silence he looked back at Gortash. That bright wild smile returned to his face.

"I hope you have more than one bottle of wine. Because we have a lot to discuss tonight."

#bg3 #durge #dark urge #gortash x durge #gortash #head canon #bg3 headcanon #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #villianous sexy tension #just two men who might kiss in the future #plotting

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