#he explained it to me but just. briefly. briefest

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the king is dead)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: driftmark

- Next part: the war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sound of Tyland's hurried footsteps broke the serene stillness of chambers as he approached your side of the bed. Before you could stir fully from sleep, his hand was on your shoulder, shaking you gently but insistently.

“Y/N, wake up,” he urged, his voice low but filled with an urgency that immediately pulled you from your slumber. “You need to get up. Now.”

You blinked groggily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Tyland? What’s—what’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

“There’s no time to explain,” he said, already moving to the wardrobe and pulling out one of your traveling dresses. “Get dressed, quickly. Gather your cloak. I’ll wake the children.”

His words sent a ripple of unease through you, and you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, heart pounding. “What do you mean, there’s no time? Tyland, tell me what’s happening!”

He paused briefly, turning to face you, his expression tense. “Viserys is dead.”

The weight of those words crashed over you, stealing the breath from your lungs. “Dead? How—when?”

“Tonight,” Tyland replied grimly, running a hand through his hair. “Word hasn’t spread yet, but it will. And when it does, this place will become a battlefield. We’re leaving for Casterly Rock. I need you to trust me and move quickly.”

You stared at him, the enormity of his words sinking in. The fear that had been rippling in the Red Keep for years was about to boil over, and you could see the determination in Tyland’s eyes—he was doing everything he could to shield you and the children from the storm.

“What about Rhaenyra?” you asked, your voice trembling. “And the rest of the family?”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, his gaze steady but filled with unspoken concern. “Rhaenyra has Daemon and her sons. She’ll fight her battle. But I will not risk our children or you in the chaos that’s coming. Please, Y/N—hurry.”

His urgency snapped you into motion, and you quickly dressed, your hands trembling as you fastened your cloak. The soft patter of Tyland’s boots echoed as he disappeared into the adjoining chambers to wake the children. Moments later, you heard muffled voices—Loren and Rhaelle’s sleepy protests, Kevan’s louder confusion, and Alysanne’s soft, frightened whimper.

When Tyland returned with the children in tow, their faces were a mixture of sleepiness and alarm. Loren, now a young man with the confident stance of his father, carried Alysanne in his arms while Rhaelle clutched Kevan’s hand tightly. Your youngest, barely three years old and still drowsy, was perched on Tyland’s hip.

“Papa, what’s happening?” Loren asked, his voice laced with concern. “Why are we leaving?”

Tyland set the youngest, a boy named Jaeryn, onto his feet and crouched to meet Loren’s gaze. “The King has passed, Loren,” he said carefully, his tone firm but calm. “Things are about to change in ways that could put our family in danger. We’re going to Casterly Rock to ensure your safety.”

“But why can’t we stay?” Rhaelle asked, her violet eyes wide with confusion. “This is our home.”

Tyland placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “Your home is where your family is, and right now, that’s Casterly Rock. This isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly, Rhaelle. Please trust me.”

You knelt beside Alysanne, brushing a tear from her cheek as you whispered soothingly. “We’ll be safe, my love. We just need to listen to your father and move quickly.”

Kevan, ever inquisitive, frowned. “Will we come back?”

Tyland hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “One day. But first, we need to leave.”

You stood, gathering Alysanne in your arms as Tyland ushered the children toward the door. His hand brushed yours briefly, a reassuring touch amidst the chaos.

“Do you have everything?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Where do we go now?”

“There’s a carriage waiting in the lower courtyard,” Tyland said, taking Jaeryn’s hand as he guided the group through the dimly lit hallways. “We’ll leave quietly before dawn. By the time the court wakes, we’ll be long gone.”

As you hurried through the silent corridors, the reality of the situation settled heavily over you. The death of Viserys was more than the loss of a king—it was the end of an era, the tipping point for a conflict that had been brewing for years. You glanced at Tyland, his jaw set and his pace unyielding, and silently vowed to trust him, no matter what lay ahead.

For now, your family’s safety was all that mattered. The rest could wait.

The carriage rattled over the uneven road as it moved away from the Red Keep, the faint glow of the capital's lights fading behind them. Inside, the air was charged. You sat close to Tyland, holding Jaeryn in your lap while Alysanne leaned against your side, her small hand clutching yours tightly. Loren and Rhaelle sat opposite, their faces pale but composed, while Kevan fidgeted nervously beside them.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady clatter of the carriage wheels and the muffled rustle of the wind. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice low but firm. “Tyland, how did Otto and Alicent allow us to leave? Surely they wouldn’t want us far from the court now.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t meet your gaze immediately. Instead, he glanced out the window, the faint glow of the moon casting shadows on his features. “They didn’t,” he admitted finally, his voice calm but clipped. “They have no idea we’re gone. By the time they notice, we’ll be far beyond their reach.”

You stiffened, your heart quickening. “Tyland, do you realize what they’ll do when they find out? Leaving the capital without permission—it’s practically treason in their eyes.”

He turned to you then, his eyes sharp but filled with determination. “Let them think what they will. My priority is our family, not Otto Hightower’s ambitions. I won’t let our children become tools in their schemes.”

Before you could respond, Rhaelle’s voice broke in, trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “And what about our dragons?” she demanded, her violet eyes shining in the dim light. “We’re not leaving them behind! We can’t just abandon them in the Dragonpit!”

Loren nodded in agreement, his expression resolute. “They’re part of us. How could we leave without them?”

Tyland hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line, but before he could answer, a piercing shriek echoed from above, followed by a thunderous roar that shook the air. The carriage jolted as the sound reverberated around you, and the children gasped in unison, their eyes wide with shock.

You leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and your breath caught in your throat. Above the carriage, several massive shapes loomed against the moonlit sky, their scales gleaming like jewels in the darkness.

“Belerix,” you whispered, recognizing your own dragon instantly. His massive, sapphire body shimmered faintly, his amber eyes glowing as he circled above, his wings spread wide and powerful. Beside him flew Valtyr and Aelirys, the twins’ dragons, their cries echoing as they soared gracefully through the air. Behind them, two smaller dragons flapped their wings, their roars lighter but no less fierce—Kevan’s flame-orange Orerion and Alysanne’s pearl-white Sylverith.

The children gasped in delight, their fear momentarily forgotten as they pressed against the windows to catch a better glimpse. “They came!” Rhaelle exclaimed, her voice trembling with relief. “They found us!”

“How?” you asked, turning to Tyland, your voice a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. “They were chained in the Dragonpit. How are they here?”

Tyland’s lips curved into a faint smirk, though his expression remained serious. “I bribed a servant,” he admitted, leaning back against the seat. “I sent a message to the Dragonkeepers before we left, instructing them to unchain the dragons. I knew they would follow us if they were freed.”

Loren stared at him, his awe turning into a grin. “You bribed the Dragonkeepers? That’s brilliant, Father!”

“It wasn’t without risk,” Tyland replied, his tone measured. “But I wasn’t about to leave your dragons behind. They’re part of our family.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you glanced out the window again. “Jason is going to be ecstatic when he sees all these dragons landing at Casterly Rock,” you said dryly, imagining your brother-in-law’s reaction.

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “He’ll have to get used to it. The dragons are ours, and they’ll go where we go.”

From above, Belerix let out a low, rumbling growl, as if in agreement. The sound seemed to calm the children, who leaned back into their seats with wide smiles, their earlier fear replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement.

As the carriage continued down the road, the dragons flew above, their presence a reassuring reminder of the strength and unity that bound your family together.

The carriage rattled to a halt at the base of Casterly Rock as dawn broke over the horizon. The towering cliffs of the ancestral seat of House Lannister rose before you, their golden hues catching the morning light, making the fortress appear almost otherworldly. The gates were wide open, and the sounds of a bustling courtyard echoed beyond—raised voices, the clatter of boots, and the unmistakable shrill cries of dragons.

You glanced at Tyland as the carriage door opened, his expression calm but with a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “It seems word of our dragons reached the Rock before we did,” you murmured wryly, stepping out with his help.

He chuckled softly, though his gaze scanned the commotion ahead. “Jason will be beside himself.”

The children spilled out after you, their excitement barely contained as they craned their necks to catch a glimpse of their dragons perched on the cliffs surrounding the Rock. Loren’s chest swelled with pride as he pointed to Valtyr, whose green-and-gold scales glimmered in the sunlight. Rhaelle clutched your arm, her eyes sparkling as she spotted Aelirys, perched daintily on a ledge with her silver-blue wings tucked in.

“They’re here,” Loren said, his voice filled with awe. “They followed us all this way.”

“They always will,” Tyland said, his tone firm but warm. “Dragons are bonded to their riders. They’ll protect you as fiercely as you protect them.”

The scene in the courtyard was chaos. Jason Lannister stood in the center, his arms crossed and his face red with irritation as he barked orders at the men around him. Soldiers scrambled, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror as they glanced toward the cliffs. One dragon gave a particularly loud shriek, causing a young stable boy to drop his bucket and bolt for the safety of the stables.

Jason caught sight of you and Tyland and strode over, his golden cloak billowing behind him. “Tyland!” he exclaimed, his voice exasperated. “What in the Seven Hells have you brought to my doorstep?”

Tyland’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Our family, Jason. Along with their dragons.”

Jason gestured wildly toward the cliffs. “Dragons, Tyland. Plural. Do you realize the commotion they’ve caused? My men are terrified, and the villagers are already spreading tales of fire and blood.”

You stepped forward, your tone calm but pointed. “Perhaps if your men were better acquainted with dragons, they wouldn’t scare so easily.”

Jason turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though his frustration remained. “Sister-in-law, I mean no disrespect, but this is Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone. We don’t deal with dragons on a daily basis.”

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “Our dragons are part of this family. They’re not going anywhere.”

Before Jason could respond, one of the dragons—a gleaming pearl-white creature you recognized as Sylverith, Alysanne’s dragon—let out a playful roar, sending a gust of wind through the courtyard. The soldiers scrambled further back, muttering among themselves.

Jason threw his hands up. “Seven save me,” he muttered. “I’ll need more wine for this.”

Tyland clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder, his smirk widening. “You’ll adjust, brother. Besides, think of the stories you can tell—Jason Lannister, host to dragons.”

Jason groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I’m sure the bards will sing songs of my bravery while I tried not to wet myself.”

The children giggled at his theatrics, and you couldn’t help but smile as well. Despite the chaos, the sight of your family safe and together brought a sense of relief you hadn’t felt in days.

“Let’s get inside,” Tyland said, his voice returning to its usual calm authority. “We have much to discuss.”

Jason sighed but nodded, waving a hand toward the castle. “Fine. But if one of those beasts starts breathing fire, you’re cleaning up the mess.”

As you followed Tyland and Jason into the halls of Casterly Rock, the children lingered for a moment, casting one last glance at their dragons before hurrying to catch up.

The heavy stone walls muffled the noise of the bustling castle beyond, leaving only the sound of the flames and the occasional clink of a goblet as Jason Lannister poured himself wine. He sat across from you and Tyland, his sharp green eyes studying both of you with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

“Well,” Jason began, swirling the wine in his goblet. “You’ve barely been here a day, and already you’ve brought chaos to my doorstep. Dragons, Tyland? Really?”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but resolute. “I did what was necessary to protect my family.”

Jason’s brows arched as he set his goblet down. “Protect them? From what? Or should I say, from whom? The raven arrived before you, Tyland. I know Viserys is dead. And I know Otto Hightower sent a message asking where House Lannister stands. If we declare for Aegon, all will be forgiven. Including your… insubordination.”

Your stomach tightened at Jason’s words, and you glanced at Tyland, whose jaw clenched imperceptibly. He met Jason’s gaze steadily, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Forgiveness comes at a price, brother. Otto’s mercy isn’t freely given—it’s a leash, one he expects to tighten around our necks.”

Jason sighed heavily, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “You took my men, my resources, and now you bring a storm to my gates. Explain to me, Tyland, why House Lannister should risk everything for this decision of yours.”

Tyland’s expression hardened, his golden eyes flashing. “Because Otto Hightower ordered my family placed under house arrest. That’s not an offer of forgiveness, Jason—it’s a threat. He wanted us to submit by force, to make an example of us if we didn’t bend the knee. I won’t stand for it. Not for me, not for my wife, and not for my children.”

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And where does that leave me? Where does that leave Casterly Rock, Tyland? You’ve put me in the center of a storm, and now I’m the one who has to decide how we weather it.”

You spoke then, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the tension. “Jason, I understand the position this puts you in. But I will not stand against my sister. Rhaenyra is the named heir. My father’s wish was clear. Supporting Aegon would be treason against the crown—and against the bonds of family.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded you. “And you think Otto cares about treason? About bonds of family? He cares about power, Y/N. And you know as well as I do that once the crown rests on Aegon’s head, his rule will be legitimized.”

“That’s the problem,” Tyland interjected sharply. “He’s using force and fear to make it so. If we bow to him now, it sets a precedent. House Lannister becomes a pawn in his game—a tool to secure his power. Is that what you want for our House, Jason? To be remembered as a family of opportunists who turned their backs on honor?”

Jason’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward. “Don’t speak to me of honor, Tyland. I’ve upheld our House’s honor through every battle, every political game. And now you ask me to risk all of that for your ideals?”

“Not for my ideals,” Tyland countered, his voice rising slightly. “For our family. For our children. Otto Hightower threatened us, Jason. If we bend now, what happens when his demands grow? When he uses that leash to drag us further into his schemes?”

Jason let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “And if we declare for Rhaenyra? What then? We’ll be at war, Tyland. War with the Hightowers, war with Aegon, and possibly war with the Reach and the Crownlands. You’ve brought dragons, yes, but dragons alone won’t win this fight.”

You leaned forward then, your voice low but resolute. “Rhaenyra is not without allies, Jason. The Velaryons, the North, the Vale—they will stand with her. This isn’t just about dragons. It’s about what is right.”

Jason stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and admiration. Finally, he let out a long sigh, reaching for his goblet. “You always were the stubborn one, weren’t you?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “And you always cared about doing what’s best for our House.”

Jason drained his wine in one long gulp before setting the goblet down with a clink. “Very well. But understand this, Tyland—if I stand with you, with Rhaenyra, we are committing ourselves to a war that could destroy us. You’d best be ready for what comes.”

Tyland nodded, his expression grim but determined. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I wasn’t.”

Jason pushed back his chair, rising to his feet. “Then let us prepare. If war is coming, House Lannister will not be caught unprepared.” He turned to you, his gaze softening slightly. “You’d better hope your dragons are as fearsome as they seem, sister-in-law. We’ll need them.”

As he left the room, the tension lingered like smoke in the air. Tyland reached for your hand, his grip firm but reassuring. “We’ve taken the first step,” he said quietly. “Now we see where it leads.”

The warm glow of the hearth in your chambers at Casterly Rock offered little comfort against the weight of the conversation you and Tyland had just shared with Jason. The sprawling fortress, so grand and impenetrable, felt smaller under the looming shadow of war. You sat by the window, gazing out at the cliffs where the dragons had settled, their faint silhouettes outlined by the pale light of the moon. The children were finally asleep, their soft breaths filling the nursery down the hall, but your mind was restless.

Tyland stood nearby, removing his doublet and laying it neatly over the back of a chair. His movements were deliberate, but his shoulders were tense, the weight of the day pressing down on him. When he finally turned to you, his eyes softened, and he crossed the room to sit beside you.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said gently, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, a comforting gesture that steadied you even in the storm of your thoughts.

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s hard to find words for everything I’m feeling. The thought of war, of our family being drawn into it…” Your voice faltered, and you turned your gaze back to the window. “I can’t help but think about our children. What kind of world are we leaving for them, Tyland?”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times, Y/N. But we’re doing what we must to protect them. That’s all we can do.”

“Is it enough?” you murmured, your voice heavy with doubt. “Loren and Rhaelle—they’re old enough to understand what’s happening. They’ll want to fight, to protect the family. And the younger ones… Kevan’s so curious, always asking questions. Alysanne is so sensitive, and Jaeryn is just a baby. How do we keep them safe from all of this?”

Tyland pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “We teach them strength,” he said softly. “We show them how to stand tall, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. And we remind them, every day, that they are loved.”

You closed your eyes, taking solace in his words. “I wish they didn’t have to learn strength like this. I wish we could give them a childhood free of fear.”

“So do I,” he admitted, his voice tinged with sadness. “But the world doesn’t always give us what we wish for. It gives us what we can endure.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. The flickering firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of worry etched into his features. “Do you ever regret marrying me, Tyland? Choosing to stand with my family, even knowing it would lead to this?”

He frowned, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Not for a moment,” he said firmly. “You are my wife, my love, the mother of my children. My loyalty is to you and to the family we’ve built. Whatever comes, I will never regret standing by your side.”

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you leaned into his touch, finding strength in his unwavering devotion. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’d manage. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as the fire crackled softly in the background. But the heaviness in your chest remained, the knowledge that this peace was fleeting, that the world outside your chambers was changing irrevocably.

“Do you think we made the right choice?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tyland didn’t answer immediately. He gazed into the fire, his expression thoughtful. “We made the only choice we could,” he said finally. “Otto Hightower threatened our family. Rhaenyra is your sister, the rightful heir. And our children—our legacy—deserve a future free of fear. If standing with her is what it takes to secure that, then yes, it was the right choice.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart didn’t lessen. “I just hope our children understand one day.”

“They will,” Tyland said firmly. “Because they’ll see it in us—in how we stand together, in how we fight for them. They’ll know it was always for them.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words, to cling to the hope that your family would endure the trials ahead. But deep down, you knew that the road would only grow more perilous. And as you sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the shadows of war loomed ever closer, threatening to upend everything you held dear.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXV

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Elain placed a hand on Lucien’s broad chest, stopping him right outside the carved oak door of the fitting room. The fabric of his brocade waistcoat was thick, but she could still feel the warmth of his skin on her palm. 

Elain knew she was blushing at the way his muscles tensed beneath her fingers. She wished for a moment that he was shirtless, the image flashing in her mind briefly before she shook her head to push the wildly inappropriate thought to the side. 

Lucien raised an auburn brow, amusement bright in his russet eye. His golden one whirred softly, the sound so familiar to Elain that she barely noticed. “I can’t even see the dress when you’re not in it?” 

Elain pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “Sorry,” she said, “not even then.” She pulled her hand away from him, still blocking his path with her body. She knew the fae did not have the same wedding traditions, but she was not about to test fate by ignoring this one. 

Lucien hummed softly, nodding. “You’re that superstitious?” He asked, no judgement in the question, just simple curiosity. 

“It’s bad luck,” Elain explained, chin tilted so she could look up at her mate.She traced the sharp curve of his jaw with her gaze. “I’m very determined to have a nice reception.” 

He smiled, an endearing dimple appearing on his unscarred cheek. Lucien leaned towards her, the action seemed almost involuntary. “Any other traditions I should know about?” 

“That’s the only one,” Elain reassured. She did not mention how most newly married couples in the human realm chose to have rice thrown at them, deciding that perhaps it was something the Autumn Court guests would not appreciate. She was having a hard time picturing Lucien’s brothers tossing grains of rice at anyone, let alone herself. “Now go, I’m already late, your mother and the seamstress were expecting me right after breakfast.” 

Lucien licked his full bottom lip, and Elain found herself tracking the movement. He inched closer, hesitant, but his intentions were clear. She was drawn to him, like a moth to flame, the bond urging her onto the tips of her toes. 

When their faces were a hair’s breadth apart, Lucien spoke, his voice soft. “I’m sure they can wait a minute longer.” 

Elain responded by pressing her mouth to his. With her eyes shut, she could conjure the illusion of privacy, could forget entirely that they were in a corridor where anyone might happen to walk by. 

Elain could not be bothered to care. Each stroke of Lucien’s tongue had her biting back a moan, and when he cupped the back of her head, heat pooled low in her gut. 

Elain braced her arm against the door. 

She could have spent an eternity with Lucien, his touch unbelievably gentle as their kiss deepened. Elain was dizzy with desire, his scent enveloping her, as comforting as any embrace. His canines grazed the skin of her lip, pulling a whimper from deep within her chest. 

Lucien broke their kiss at the sound, and Elain’s eyes snapped open. She glanced around them to make sure no one was walking towards them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear simply to do something with her hand. It took all of her self control not to grab Lucien by the collar and pull him to her once more. 

“Have fun at your fitting,” he said, his voice a breathless rasp. Before Elain could protest him leaving, he pressed a featherlight kiss to her cheek, turning on his heel elegantly. 

Elain fell against the door, the wood rough through the fabric of her dress. Her knees were weak and she needed the support to keep her steady in Lucien’s absence. She stared at his back, absently bringing her thumb up to her lips. She traced their shape, breaking into a smile as her mate turned around for one last glance. Elain waved as he winnowed, the hallway filling with the golden light of his magic. 

She stayed there for a moment, hearing the Lady of Autumn’s laughter coming from the room behind her. 

Elain did not know how she would manage to get through the rest of the morning if Lucien was on her mind, but as time passed, she was able to focus on what was happening around her. 

Callista had ushered Elain in front of a floor length mirror. It was still difficult for her to refer to Lucien’s mother using her name, but the High Lord’s wife had insisted. With the help of Cora, the seamstress, and her young apprentice, Elain was helped into her wedding gown. 

The dress was stunning, beyond lovely, and more beautiful than any other clothing she had ever seen. Even incomplete, Elain knew that the final product would capture everyone’s attention. 

The bodice was a shining gold fabric, intricate laces in the back tied tightly but not uncomfortably. The sleeves were made of the same material, countless shimmering beads adding sparkle along her wrists. Like Elain had suggested, the long tulle skirts flared around her, highlighting the shape of her figure. Leaves cut from thin sheets of actual gold had been added in a careful pattern onto the gown, and when Elain moved, it looked like they were falling in a gentle wind. In a thoughtful nod to her past life, Cora had managed to convince the seamstress and the Lady of Autumn to keep the long train of the dress free of any colour and entirely white. 

The dress was perfect. Elain found herself unable to tear her gaze away from the mirror as the final details were added and the last few adjustments were made. 

Elain had just gotten back into her everyday clothes when there was a knock at the door. Cora rolled her eyes before Eris’s deep voice travelled through the thick wood separating him from them. “Elain?” 

Callista walked to the other side of the room, placing her fingers onto the handle. She raised a brow in question at Elain, who nodded. As the door swung open, Eris grinned in amusement. There were flames in his amber eyes as he spoke. “Why are you torturing my brother?” 

Elain snorted, forgetting for a moment that there were others present. She waved him into the room, inviting him to come closer. The seamstress and her apprentice slipped through the slim opening, shutting the door behind them quietly. “What makes you say that?” 

Eris shrugged, but he looked entirely too pleased with himself, like a cat that had caught a mouse. “He seemed a bit…on edge, I suppose.” 

Elain felt herself blush, muttering under her breath. “That’s ridiculous.” 

Eris cast a look around the room, gaze falling onto the nearly finished wedding gown. “Ready to be married?” 

Three more days. 

Elain could hardly believe it. To her, it was like she had arrived at the Autumn Court a lifetime ago. 

She nodded, hoping that she looked confident in front of Lucien’s mother. “I think we’ve planned everything.” 

“There is just one more detail,” Callista’s soft voice was commanding, drawing everyone’s attention. “If you could choose someone to walk you down the aisle, it can be anyone you like.” 

Elain paused, furrowing her brow. She considered the human tradition, where only parents were part of the ceremony in such a way. Perhaps her sisters, Elain thought. “Just one?”

“Traditionally,” Callista said with a smile. “Anyone will do.” 

Elain was not going to choose between Nesta and Feyre. Besides, she did not think it would be entirely appreciated by Beron to have another court’s High Lady walk her down the aisle. She looked to Cora, her constant support since they had left Velaris. Her friend made a horrified expression in response, one that made her opinion on the matter dreadfully clear. 

Elain had to hold back a laugh, offering Cora an understanding smile. She could have guessed that the other woman would not have been too keen on such active participation in the ceremony, since she preferred staying out of the spotlight.  

“Eris?” Elain’s decision had been made, and she sincerely doubted he would deny her wish. It was for the best to have the Autumn Court’s heir do this one thing for her, especially since she was entirely certain Beron would approve of it. 

Eris had been looking at Cora, humming distractedly as he faced Elain. 

“Eris, you’ll walk me down the aisle, won’t you?” Her question hung in the air, and she could practically see him turning it over in his mind.

He waved a hand in a gesture Elain could only describe as lazy. “Whatever you like,” he said flippantly, eyes flicking to his mother as he bent at the waist in the smallest of bows. “How can I refuse my only sister?” There was no usual bite to the words, only affection. 

Before any of the women could say anything more on the subject, Eris had winnowed from the room, embers falling to the carpeted ground. Shortly after the prince had left, Elain and Cora followed. 

Callista had encouraged her to spend the next couple of days relaxing and spending time with Lucien, which Elain was more than happy to do. Cora and her walked in comfortable silence back to their chambers, and when no one was around, Elain knocked her shoulder against her friend. 

“You didn’t want to walk me down the aisle?” She asked jokingly, surprised by the frown that fell over Cora’s features. 

“I didn’t think it was fair,” she said quietly, tugging on her braid in a gesture Elain had come to realise meant that Cora was feeling uneasy. 

Elain pulled her to a stop, holding onto her elbow right at the foot of a staircase, making sure no one else was near. “Why would you think—”

“I’m not a lady’s maid,” Cora interrupted, her words seemingly pulled from her as she blurted the statement quickly. The outburst seemed to have shocked them both. Cora’s dark eyes were wide, scarlet staining her light brown cheeks. 

Elain paused, looking over the other woman carefully. She considered the little information she knew about her friend’s life and could only come to one conclusion. “A guard?” 

Cora glanced nervously down the hall, releasing a long sigh as she pulled Elain into the shelter of the staircase. “Not a guard,” she admitted, a glamour falling into place so that no one else might accidentally hear. “A spy.”

It made sense, Elain could admit.

She took the time to go over some of the more obvious clues, hindsight making everything more clear. Understanding Cora would have no reason to lie, but still wanting to have a better grasp of the truth, Elain paused. If Nuala and Cerridwen had come to Autumn, they would have been doing the same. She had probably remained in the dark for her own protection, but the ever familiar frustration at being excluded in important matters washed over her for a moment. 

Cora was good with weapons, could sneak around anywhere, and was an expert at researching. She always knew what every member of the Vanserra family was doing, a fact that Elain had blamed on gossip between the workers in the Forest House. 

A memory flashed in her mind of the first time she had been introduced to the woman who would act as her lady’s maid — Cora glancing towards Azriel, almost as though she had been searching his expression for cues on how to behave. 

Elain took a breath, nodding. “Who were you sent to spy on?” She asked, wanting to understand. Her first guess was Lucien, since the Inner Circle – excluding Feyre – seemed to distrust him wholeheartedly. 

“Not you,” Cora rushed to clarify, hands held in front of her placatingly. “And I’m not supposed to say, Az will kill me if he finds out, but I just…” She shrugged, looking at Elain with an apologetic expression. “I hate keeping things from my friends.” 

The words hung between them, easy for Elain to reject. Even given the chance, she decided she rather liked having Cora as a friend. She raised a brow, offering the other woman a small smile. “So then who are you spying on?” 

Cora was quick to answer. “A certain prince, just in case he’s planning to use you for some nefarious plot.”  Cora laughed awkwardly, “highly unlikely, by the way.”

Elain could have sighed in relief, glad she had at least been right to trust Eris with the knowledge of her visions. She began to walk up the stairs, Cora following after her eagerly. “Are you really from the Hewn City?” 

Although she was unable to see the other woman, Elain knew Cora was nodding. “That wasn’t a lie,” she assured. “Everything I told you about myself was true if you ignore what I do for a living.” 

“And what is that?” Elain turned to look at her, skirts clasped tightly in her hands as they marched up the last few steps. 

Cora wrinkled her nose in distaste. “The High Lord has me gathering information on Kier and his supporters. Very boring, nothing’s changed in over three centuries.” She smiled, the expression suggesting she did not mind revealing a bit more about herself. “The last two weeks have been very exciting for me,” she finished.

Elain barked an inelegant laugh. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she clipped, wanting to know more about Cora and correctly guessing she would share out of feeling a bit guilty. “Rhysand sent you?” She confirmed, continuing only once there was a nod in agreement. “I was expecting one of the twins to come, I know Az sends them everywhere.”

“I look High Fae,” Cora said with a shrug. Elain’s eyes flicked to her friend’s pointed ears briefly before her attention was once more on the conversation. “And my mother was a lady’s maid before she met my father.” 

“Was she Illyrian?” Elain asked, noting the obvious lack of wings on Cora’s part. She shuddered, remembering how Feyre had almost died giving birth to Nyx, wondering why Cora was not born the same. 

She shook her head. “My father was part Illyrian and acted as an emissary between the Court of Nightmares and the cities in Illyria, hardly matters since she stopped working once they married.” Cora cringed, ”I may or may not have let the High Lord and Azriel believe I knew what would be expected from a female in this position.” She offered an embarrassed smile, one that Elain returned.  “Not one of my finer decisions,” she admitted. 

Elain had been so interested in what Cora had been saying that she had not realised they had returned to her and Lucien’s shared chambers until they were standing right outside the doors. 

“I’m glad you lied about your qualifications,” Elain placed a gentle hand on Cora’s arm, squeezing affectionately. “But I’m going to have to tell Lucien.” 

“Make sure he doesn’t share the news,” she laughed, sighing. “I should have told you sooner,” she replied, her regret a heavy thing. “I’m sorry, Elain.” 

At the genuine apology, Elain could not help but pull Cora into a hug. Despite being stiff in surprise initially, the spy returned the embrace. “Thank you for telling me now.” 

Once Cora had left to return to her own room, Elain waited a moment outside. She did not like the Night Court’s secrecy and had resented for years the way they all seemed content to shelter her. 

Lucien would never.

The thought came to her suddenly, quick as a shooting star and gone before she could take the time to truly consider it. She pushed the door open, nearly stumbling as she threw herself into the familiar space. 

Lucien looked up from the ancient and worn book he was reading from. There were two neat piles from the library on either side of the coffee table, a steaming mug balancing precariously on the edge of the wooden surface. His hair was tied away from his handsome face, loose strands falling to his broad shoulders. Elain’s attention was instantly drawn to the way he had rolled up his shirtsleeves, the veins on his forearms forcing her to hold back a swoon. 

He smiled as she shut the door behind her. “Did you have a nice time?” 

Elain could imagine her future so clearly, even without being a seer. Coming home after a busy morning only to find her mate sitting comfortably on the sofa, waiting for her arrival. Lucien listened to the things she had to say, constantly encouraging her to do as she liked. He never doubted her abilities, he was confident in her decisions. 

My mate. 

“Do you want to hear something interesting?” Elain asked, watching as he snapped his book shut. 

Lucien patted once on the cushion next to him, the gesture inviting as he replied. “Always.”

[yua-nism]

I saw your tags and I’m now very intrigued like what do you mean yuhan has the SHORTEST TRAGIC BACKSTORY?!?! JUST WHAT IS GOING ON?? like granted I should have known a game about devil cat butlers would have some angst and tragic backstories but god damn 😭��

there was a miscalculation on my part and yuuhan's is in fact, not the one with the shortest backstory! however that's only because the others have yet to have their backstories be revealed. sorry for the late answer btw, exams have made me pretty tired.

ok so ill briefly explain a bit. this ties in to the requirement to become a devil butler that is, having felt so much despair that one feels like dying. normal people will be swallowed up by the devils they contract with. the despair essentially acts like chains for the devil. so to talk about their pasts in the Briefest Way Possible (lie):

miyaji has beef with lucas on the surface but really it's because he still can't get over the fact that lucas decided to save him from the verge of death instead of someone else he thought was more capable than him while lucas simply chose to save miyaji because he had higher chances of living.

lucas was basically a child prodigy/genius. since young, he's always loved reading books, and even read thick books that even adults struggled to understand. even though he was lonely and had no one to talk to, he still endured it, skipped grades, and became a doctor at the age of 10+. at first he was looked down on for being young, but an older doctor stood up for him. eventually he became the leader of the doctors, but due to his lack of social skills, he struggled to communicate well, which resulted in the doctors hating him. in the end, all the doctors except lucas quit their job. and the group collapsed. (tbf id quit too... imagine being said you didn't work as hard as him and don't have as much brainpower compared to him as well)

ammon has only had his mom since birth and lived with her, selling flowers for a living. ammon would always make sure the flowers would be sold out at the end of the day for his sickly mother, but if he doesn't manage to sell all of them it's heavily implied his mom whips him like he does to himself even now. they were like super poor but ammon still loved his mom because he only had her

berrien has like this super mysterious past but rn it's starting to unravel in chapter 4. he's an orphan and got adopted into a church backed by the grovanas or whatever nobel family to nurture warriors who could fight angels, but surprisingly the church is actually full of love and was ran by someone who fighted angels named Goetia. berrien also met his soon-to-be older brother figure named Beren/Belen. btw all of the kids go by the last name Cliane because goetia wants everyone to become true family.

when berrien was 26 (Beren 29), goetia died from a chronic disease and Beren had to take on goetia's responsibilities. berrien became the one running the church, however shit happened, Beren got demonized, and berrien used his powers to keep Beren alive after forming a contract with his current devil. he's still residing in berrien's basement as of current, but in a coma. berrien still thinks he himself has no rights to be a butler and really does not believe that he's the one keeping the damn thing running

also the church got destroyed like 2400 years ago and yes berrien is 2000+ years old

haures was born into some wack ass family, his dad ran away with some other woman and his mom projected her rage and stuff like that onto haures, and his newborn younger sister Tricia. haures is 10 years older than Tricia. when he was that age, he ran away from home with Tricia (literal baby) because he no longer trusted his mom to take good care of them. after that, when haures was 18, he trained hard to become a soldier under the grovanas nobles so he could afford to let Tricia get treatment for her worsening vision. one heartbreaking scene was when haures showed off his red uniform to Tricia and she said the blue uniform looked good on him... but 5 years later, haures managed to get Tricia's eyes healed!!! surely nothing bad could happen!!!!

sike. haures caught one of the grovanas nobles illegally trafficking humans with some dealer, and arrested him. however that led to the seller getting revenge, and he decided to capture tricia. he stabbed her and threw her into the woods. when haures found her, she only managed to call out to haures before she died after a few breaths. haures was really really really devastated. he sought revenge on the noble, and while the noble didn't die, he was jailed 5 years for harming the noble (not death sentence because he was determined mentally unstable after losing Tricia.). after he got out of jail, he found the noble again and wanted to kill him, but he was reminded of how Tricia admired him for protecting the people and helping those in need, which stopped him. after that, he became a devil butler because of his proficient fighting skills.

lamli was forced to work at a circus by his mom at the age of 10, while starting up with simple duties, he decided to train to become a circus troupe performer so he'd earn more money for his complaining mother. its heavily implied he's abandoned by her and becomes a devil butler because of his nimble body. btw his mom said she never wanted to have lamli right in front of him. jesus.

fennesz was born into a wealthy happy family, and had an older sister. however his war general father lost a war against nobles, and the economy went into shambles. his mom remarried but even though their stepdad was nice, fennesz and his sister ended up strays on the street due to some reasons i forgot of. fennesz would get bullied by kids on the street because of his father's loss in the war, but his sister would always protect him, and they relied on each other for survival. she's very smart, as shown in the story. she also loves history, as she said, it can help people learn from the past. its heavily implied she is dead.

ok flure! flure grew up with his older sister and mother who both did ballet (can one of you have an actual dad for once?), and he also followed in their footsteps. however when he was a child he was bullied for liking stereotypical girly things, like playing with his sister's dolls, doing ballet and having long hair. even though he was laughed at for doing it, he still underwent strict training guided bg his sister and mother. he never found the courage to tell his sister or mom even though his sister could tell something was wrong (heard him crying at night). he still thinks he should be more courageous to this day and thinks he's pathetic. we don't know what happened to his family but they probably died.

i wanted to talk about boschi but i realized idk much about him apart from the fact that he only had his grandmother (who's actually a great caretaker for once!) and he was bullied for being a bookworm/nerd at school and had no friends. though he did actually beat those bullies up later for mocking his grandma when she wanted to take him back home. she didn't want boschi to fight but she said herself she was actually rooting for him when he was fighting LMAOOO love her for that

lono. ok so lono was really poor and had no parents, and he acted as the older brother for the younger kids living on the streets with him. he'd work as someone who'd clean up rubble from battling angels, which was a job that had unstable income since no one knows when angels are gonna appear. they were family basically. lono would rather starve than let his siblings eat less, and his love of cooking originated here because he loved seeing them happy from his cooking. we don't know what happened to them, but they're probably dead

nac was born into a rich family, and has a father, not sure if he has a mother, never mentioned at least. apparently the stein family was great at sales or trading or smth??? they're just some very rich and well-known name. however on his 12th birthday, his butler led him to the forest near the stein mansion, and revealed himself to be someone the stein family harmed. just as he was about to kill lil nac in shock, nac retaliated in defense. and when he realized, he already stabbed the man at his vital point. his dad appears out of nowhere and reveals that he knew this all along, and that the stein family is actually a long line of assassins with sales as their front personas. nac was trained to kill since then, and thought he'd never feel positive emotions again before he became a devil butler. he also has scars all around his body, probably from the assassin work he did.

lato and his non-blood related brother, Aleks I think? were kidnapped by people who wanted to train people to become angel fighters. however unlike berrien, this time it's just pure cruelness and literal torture. they were 8 when this experiment started. not only that, all the children were sold by their caretakers to this place, including lato and aleks' "mother", the head of their orphanage, who they deeply loved and believed in. when lato finally found a way to escape, almost half the children were dead.

and when he told the others, they told lato that they already gave up on escaping, including aleks. from, i suppose, all the suppressed anger and trauma, he burned the experiment facility down, leaving the other kids to die because he hallucinated that they wanted them to be burned so they could be free. after that, lato returned to the orphanage even though he knew the "mother" sold him in the first place. guess what the mother did! that's right she ran back into the orphanage when she saw him, locked the fucking door and told him to get the fuck away from her. and lato burned the orphanage down.

now onto the new butler trio!

teddy is the one with the most details in his backstory so far. when he was young, he Had a twin brother, and teddy was a far cry from who he is now. he was negative and gloomy compared to his brother, who was positive and talented, and people always favored teddy's brother more. but one day, his brother died protecting him from an angel, but since they were so alike people didn't know whether the one that died was teddy or his brother. and after grieving his brother, teddy decided to become him, and used his brother's name to live on as him so people wouldn't be sad, because "teddy" was the one that died. and that led to teddy forming his personality today. teddy is his actual name though, he started using it after he became a knight. he became a knight because he wanted to protect people from angels.

but during an attack by an intelligent angel, namely seraphim, one of the angels that appeared at the end of chapter 1 and also the major antagonist of the story, teddy's entire unit got killed. at the start of chapter 2.5, he recuperated in a hospital, however he kept terrible nightmares (reliving the massacre, and hearing the voices of his comrades asking him why he abandoned them and why he got to survive) and so didn't sleep at all. he eventually snuck out of the hospital to visit their graves, and then started wondering what the point of him still being alive is. he almost threw himself off a cliff before haures and aruji reached him.

hanamaru. ten years before the story, hanamaru was fleeing from something- he walked all the way from the east to the central, and collapsed in a forest. a nun found him and took him back to a church that doubled as an orphanage. however the nun soon fell ill and died, so hanamaru began taking care of the kids in the church after he was saved by her.

but 5 years later, the church was attacked by angels. he was away from the church when the attack happened, and when he came back, all he saw were angels flying away from the ruined church. only 4 kids survived. hanamaru had a breakdown, and kept kneeling and pressing his head against the ground, saying things like "i couldn't protect them", "i swear ill keep them safe next time", implying this is not the first time something like this has happened. he swore vengeance against the angels that day, that he would never forgive them, and himself. so berrien suspects that the 4 kids that survived were the people that kept hanamaru around. who knows what could've happened if they passed as well...

lastly (finally), yuuhan. at the age of 9, he trained to become a soldier of the sardeis family so he could protect his hometown, and made it after 3 years. he quickly rose up in the ranks, being a prodigy. in the main story, he started doubting his loyalty to the family after they attempted an assassination on the devil butlers. and he betrayed the sardeis family and fell into their trap when investigating forbidden records. he got thrown into jail by the head, and the head decided for his punishment, yuuhan's whole village and everyone he knew there will be burned and killed. he could only despair in jail. in the story, after his prison guard left after serving him food, yuuhan started crying. he called out to his father, his mother, everyone from his hometown, apologizing again and again, believing that it's his fault that they died.

after that, the head, fubuki, paid him a visit. fubuki beat yuuhan up, pushed him to the verge of death, but not grave enough injuries to die. yuuhan asked fubuki to kill him, but fubuki refused. he even says he'll force feed yuuhan till the day of his death execution if necessary. however, yuuhan was rescued by the butlers during his execution. (it took place in a forest with tigers. basically the death penalty is getting eaten by tigers) he became a devil butler after that.

holy shit. also im not typing Bastien's since you can read his backstory from the tls available here.

[intheticklecloset]

Lighten the Load (Kaguya-sama: Love Is War)

Summary: Shirogane and Shinomiya walk in on Fujiwara tickling Ishigami and decide they want in on the fun.

A/N: Love Is War is one of those animes that I could only watch in spurts of an episode or two at a time because of how hard they made me laugh! I'm pretty sure I literally almost passed out laughing at one point in Season 3 - *ahem* But all that to say, I LOVED Love Is War and absolutely HAD to write for lee!Ishigami! He's such a sweetheart with the best backstory and he deserves all the love and tickles in the world! Idk if I'll write any more for this fandom of this will just be a one off, but either way, I hope you enjoy! ^^

Word Count: 1363

~~~

Shirogane entered the room first.

At first, it didn’t register with him that the high-pitched giggles he was hearing weren’t coming from Fujiwara. Instead he blinked as his eyes roamed over her body where she was looming over their treasurer, who had his back pressed into the couch cushions, a giant smile on his normally downcast face.

Those noises were coming from Ishigami.

“Heya, prez! Look,” Fujiwara giggled, continuing to pinch and prod the boy’s ribs and sides. “He’s super ticklish! He’s been holding out on us, haven’t you, Ishigami~?”

“Plehehehehehehehease, Fujiwahahahahahara!” Ishigami squealed, giggles becoming more frantic as she clawed her way up his ribs toward his underarms, which he clamped to his sides protectively. “No, not thehehehehehehere!”

“Aww, are you a little ticklish up here? Huh? Cootchie coo!” she teased, giggling along with him as he whined and squirmed on the couch, admittedly adorable giggles spilling from his lips out of his control.

Shirogane just stared for a long moment, then found himself beginning to smile. He’d never given much thought to whether any of his fellow student council members were ticklish, but he had to admit, it was nice seeing their gloomy treasurer smiling and laughing for a change. He wondered briefly what had brought about this turn of events, but just as quickly decided it didn’t matter right now. The urge to join in was becoming stronger by the second, heightened even more when Fujiwara turned to him again, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, are you gonna help me or not?” she asked.

Ishigami let out a shriek when he noticed that his friend was starting to move toward him. “Nohohohohohoho, no! Not yohohohohohohou, too!”

And then Kaguya walked in.

“Oh, my, what is all this?” she asked in that refined tone of hers that always made Shirogane’s heart flutter. He turned, watching her watch the scene before them, analyzing her features. Does she think it’s cute? Is she upset? Does she want to help or make it stop? Give me a sign, Shinomiya!

At the briefest flicker of unease in her eyes, his mind was made up.

He cleared his throat and assumed the role of student council president, closing the rest of the distance between him and his friends and placing a hand on Fujiwara’s shoulder. “I think he’s had enough for now, don’t you, Fujiwara?”

“Awww, fiiiiiine,” Fujiwara relented, removing her tickling fingers from Ishigami with a pout. The poor boy collapsed against the cushions, gasping for breath and still giggling slightly, crossing his arms over his stomach.

“On the contrary, president,” Kaguya spoke up at last, turning all of their attention towards her. She was smiling slightly, in that mysterious way Shirogane was still trying to unravel. “I rather think he could use a little more.”

“Oh?” Shirogane asked.

“Yeah!” Fujiwara exclaimed.

“Why?!” Ishigami cried.

“If you’ll look closely, I think you’ll notice that Ishigami doesn’t seem truly distressed at all,” she explained reasonably, eyeing their friend with a sparkle in her eyes. “I never heard him asking her to stop. I rather think he enjoyed it.”

“I did not!” Ishigami screeched, his face turning a bright pink even as he made no move to try and run away while he had the chance.

Shirogane considered for a moment. Even though she’d walked in a few seconds after him, he also hadn’t heard him asking Fujiwara to stop. Could Kaguya be correct in her assumptions?

Fujiwara bounced excitedly. “I knew it! You like being tickled, don’t you, Ishigami? You little grump, all you wanted were some tickles!”

Ishigami could not be more flustered. He shrunk under their intense gazes, stammering, “O-Of course I don’t! What – why would you think—?!”

“President, perhaps you should hold his arms for us,” Kaguya suggested sweetly, giving Ishigami a wink that Shirogane was willing to pretend he hadn’t seen.

“Good idea. Don’t want him accidentally hurting you two,” Shirogane agreed, moving in to help for real this time.

Ishigami looked panicked, but not in an “I want out of here” kind of way. If anything, he looked so excited he didn’t know what to do with himself. Shirogane hummed as he gently took his friend’s wrists. Could Kaguya be right about him after all? If so, how did she know? What was that wink about?

It didn’t matter.

Shirogane whispered, “If you really want out, say ‘mercy,’ all right?”

Ishigami blushed furiously but nodded once, averting his eyes.

Soon the usually gloomy treasurer was lying back on the couch with his arms pinned above his head, both Fujiwara and Kaguya tickling all over his torso and even pinching his hips, making him squeal and giggle hysterically, unable to hide his face anymore now.

“Plehehehehehehehease, nohohohohohohoho!”

Shirogane listened closely for their code word, but after a few minutes of not hearing it, he decided he wanted in in on the fun, too. He shifted so he was pinning Ishigami’s arms with his knees, then reached down to gently scribble in his friend’s armpits.

The yell that broke free from Ishigami startled all three of them.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO NOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!!” he cried, giggles shifting into real laughter, his light writhing becoming full-on struggling. “PREHEHEHEHEZ, DOHOHOHOHON’T!!”

“Ooooh,” both of the girls cooed, and Ishigami’s eyes went wide.

“No, no!” he cried, giggling helplessly. “Please, I can’t – don’t do this to mehehehehehehehehe! AHAHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

At this point, even Shirogane couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re pretty bad, huh? But I have to wonder if Shinomiya is right, Ishigami. You haven’t actually asked us to stop even once.”

“Shut up!” Ishigami cried, twisting his head to hide in his bangs as much as possible with three sets of fingers all over him, tickling his armpits, ribs, sides, belly – anywhere they could reach. “Plehehehehehease, I cahahahahahan’t! It reheheheheheally tihihihihihihickles – NO, FOHOHOHOR THE LOHOHOHOHOVE OF – DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T!!”

By now, all four of them were laughing. It was impossible not to, the way Ishigami tossed his head back and cackled so openly, writhing beneath their touches as if his life depended on it. His face was cherry blossom pink, his eyes shining with mirthful tears that had yet to spill over. Shirogane was just beginning to wonder if he should call it when their friend finally gave in.

“STOHOHOHOHOP, STOP, PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! MEHEHEHEHEHERCY!!”

“He’s had enough,” Shirogane said authoritatively, letting him go and waving at the girls to do the same. “Let him up, he’s had enough.”

Fujiwara and Kaguya followed his lead easily, getting to their feet and letting Ishigami catch his breath, curling up and letting his leftover giggles spill out. Shirogane helped him sit up while Kaguya got him a glass of water. Fujiwara took over the task of gushing about how cute he’d been and how fun it was to tickle him.

Ishigami didn’t say anything for a long time – just sipped his water and let Shirogane pat his back in a friendly, supportive manner. Finally, after a few minutes, he ducked his head. “Um.” He coughed. “Thanks, guys.”

Shirogane chuckled, slapping his back one final time before getting to his feet, sensing that his friend didn’t want to linger on what had just happened or talk about it anymore. “Well, that was certainly a good way to lighten the mood for today’s workload, wouldn’t you say?”

Kaguya – also understanding Ishigami’s reservations – nodded and began a casual walk around the room. “I agree. But we’d best get to work now; we have a lot to do. Fujiwara, would you mind helping me with this?”

As the room settled back into its usual routine, Ishigami set his water glass down and reached for his headphones, Shirogane took his place behind the desk, and Fujiwara got to work helping Kaguya sort through some papers.

Kaguya, meanwhile, was distracted. She glanced fleetingly up at the president, darting her eyes away when he did the same to her. She felt a blush coming on, but she willed it away, clenching her fists in her lap under the table. Now that she’d seen how ticklish Ishigami was, there was one burning question in her mind that she absolutely had to have answered by any means necessary.

Was the president ticklish, too?

[defectivevillain]

make a mercy out of me

pairing: Damien Karras/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: Damien shifts next to you and you open your eyes at the noise, studying him. His eyes are locked on the bedroom door, as if he’s contemplating whether he should enter once more. You swallow hard and try to find the right words. “Damien,” you eventually say. He flinches and looks over at you, a guilty expression flickering on his face. It seemed he truly intended to go back into the bedroom alone just now.

You’re the exorcist summoned by the Catholic Church to free Regan MacNeil from the demon possessing her.

word count: 4.1k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence/exorcisms; allusions to suicidal ideation, hospitals and IVs, fainting

Just as you begin to grow comfortable with the idea that you can move past exorcisms, you are summoned by the Church to perform another. You know that you don’t actually have to agree to it, but the thought of refusing to help would weigh far too heavily on your mind. So, you begrudgingly agree to exorcise a demon from a twelve year old girl named Regan MacNeil. 

This is how you find yourself standing on the porch of the MacNeil home, wearing your cassock (which you admittedly haven’t worn in a while) and shifting your balance from foot to foot restlessly. You convince yourself to ring the doorbell and, within moments, a woman answers the door. You exchange introductions and learn that she is Chris MacNeil—Regan’s mother. She has dark circles under her eyes and a gaunt look to her face—she clearly is very stressed about her daughter and her… affliction. Chris leads you through the house and offers you a drink, which you dutifully accept. Before you can take a seat on the sofa in the living room, you hear someone say your name. 

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You turn around, only to find a dark-haired man with deep brown eyes staring at you. You notice the clerical collar he’s wearing and realize he must be Damien Karras—the clerical psychiatrist who requested the exorcism. 

“Father Karras,” you say, extending a hand to him. He shakes your hand firmly. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Please, call me Damien,” he tells you. You swear his hand lingers in yours for the briefest of moments, but you’re quick to second-guess that thought. The two of you move to sit across from one another and you take a deep breath. 

After a few seconds, you decide to cut right to the chase. “What have you noticed so far?” You ask. Damien’s eyes briefly widen, as if he hadn’t expected you to bother asking. Technically, the Church views him as your glorified assistant in this situation—but you get the feeling he’ll be more helpful than that. He recounts his experience with the demon so far—how Regan seems to be housing multiple personalities (which you secretly doubt) and the supernatural feats that have occurred since he visited—doors falling shut, drawers opening on their own… He tells you that he got a recording of the demon speaking in Latin, which proved that Regan was possessed and allowed him to call for an exorcism. 

Even after he has told you everything, you get the feeling there’s something he’s hiding. You just met Damien, but you can tell his shoulders are drawn particularly tight and he looks rather tense. “You seem troubled,” you remark lightly, trying not to offend him. The man’s brows furrow and you try to glean what he’s thinking from his facial expression. He’s interacted with the demon before—maybe something it said upset him. “Did the demon say anything weird to you?”

His silence is enough of an answer. You’re reminded of your brief exchange with the Church representatives: 

“Damien Karras, psychiatrist and priest at Georgetown University,” the priest explains, elaborating on the man who called for the exorcism. “Now that I think of it, I believe his mother passed away recently…” He trails off, a regretful look on his face.   “Yes, she did,” the other designate responds. “Such a shame.”  

It doesn’t take you long to connect the dots. The death of Damien’s mother is likely still taking a toll on him. No doubt the demon tried to use his recent grief to its advantage. “It mentioned your mother, didn’t it?” You realize aloud. “It blamed you for her death.” Damien is staring at you in complete disbelief now. You blink back at him and he abandons his surprise, instead looking remorseful.

“I should’ve been there.” Damien shakes his head. The look on his face is completely tortured. You grimace, suppressing the inexplicable urge to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. You just met the man—no doubt the gesture would fall flat, regardless of how reassuring you would wish it to be. 

“It’s alright,” you try to reassure him anyway. Again, you’re not sure how much comfort he’ll get from a near stranger like yourself, but you figure it’s worth a try anyway. More importantly, if there’s one thing you know about exorcisms, it’s that they require an absolutely sound and clear mind to be executed successfully. Damien can’t be thinking about his mother as the two of you attempt to free Regan. “It’s not your fault. You know that.” You say determinedly. 

Damien stares at you for a moment, his eye contact unwavering. You swear that, for a moment, his eyes are glassy. You push the thought aside and get to your feet, resigning yourself to your fate. Damien follows your lead and, before you move to leave the room, you look back at him. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” You ask once more. If you were in his position, you don’t think you’d be comfortable volunteering for more conversation with the spirit—not when it was so antagonistic before. “I can conduct the exorcism on my own, if needed.” It’s true. In fact, you conduct the majority of your exorcisms alone. You haven’t had another person with you in a while. You’ll have to adjust the process slightly—namely, adding the call-and-response bits so that Damien’s participation will increase your collective power. 

“No, I… I should be there,” Damien says resolutely, nodding quickly. His choice of words is very deliberate, you think to yourself. He didn’t say “I can do it,” but “I should be there.” He may not actually be up to the task, but he feels he is obligated to participate. You stare at him for another moment and exhale slowly. 

“Very well,” you acquiesce. Damien will know his own limits better than you will—or, at least, he should. “Shall we?” You motion for him to lead the way, since you’ve never been in the house before. Damien walks up the stairs and towards the door at the end of the hall. For a split second, he hesitates—stilling before the door. Before you can inquire after his well-being, he’s turning the doorknob and opening the door. 

You’re instantly hit with a cold, rigid breeze of air. Goosebumps run along your skin and your exhale of breath is released in a puff of visible vapor. It is absolutely freezing in the room. You’re quick to pull your cassock around yourself in a futile effort for warmth. Once Damien and you are both inside, you close the door behind you and immediately lock eyes with the girl, Regan. Your stomach turns unpleasantly. There are gashes and scratches all across her face, and her lips are incredibly chapped. You’re met with a haunting yellow-green gaze filled with maleficence and hatred—sentiments far too profound for such a young child. You take a moment to acknowledge how unsettling this entire situation is, before smoothly compartmentalizing those thoughts. You can’t pay attention to your feelings right now, because the demon will latch onto them and use them against you. You must be entirely sound of mind—clear of any emotions.  

You take a deep breath and round the bed, moving to the nightstand and hovering over it for a moment. There’s no turning back now. You remove the crucifix from your pocket, kissing it and placing it on the table. The demon hisses, tugging at the restraints around its wrists. You look to Damien behind you, who looks vaguely sickened but resolved nonetheless. 

You begin reciting your first prayer and Damien joins in at the appropriate moments. You hardly get to recite the entire thing before the demon is shuddering and shaking, turning its head and regurgitating a disgusting slime all over you. You cough and wipe your sleeve over your face, grimacing at the unwelcome feeling. You quickly forget about the foreign substance once you resume your recitations. 

By your third prayer, the bed is rattling and shaking against the ground. The restraints around Regan’s wrists are slowly ripping as you continue uttering the words to eradicate the demon. As you continue, Regan slowly rises in the air—until she’s completely levitating in midair. You’ve seen this kind of feat before, but it’s clear Damien has not—judging from the way he forgets to utter his response until you remind him moments later. Once he finishes the statement, you hold your hands out in front of you. “The power of Christ compels you.” You announce. 

The demon hisses, but continues to rise above the bed. The air around you whips at your skin and you continue. “The power of Christ compels you,” you repeat resolutely. This time, Damien joins you in repeating the statement. The demon is writhing in the air. Damien and you continue uttering the sentiment and Regan slowly descends through the air. Finally, after what feels like far too long, she’s reclined back on the mattress once more. The demon is practically writhing now, but it doesn’t appear to be significantly weakened—rather, it is only momentarily subdued. Meanwhile, Damien and you are both kneeling on the ground in exhaustion. An exorcism takes a lot of energy from those who perform it. While this isn’t anything new, you’re surprised by the sheer amount of strength of this particular demon. You’re not sure you’ve subdued one this powerful in quite some time. 

“We’ll rest for a bit and try again,” you eventually say, grabbing the bedpost for support and pushing yourself to your feet. You’re the first one standing, so you offer Damien a hand. For a moment, it looks as if he isn’t going to take your hand; then, he clasps your proffered hand and you pull him up. The demon is momentarily stunned—silent on the bed with its head pushed to the side. You take a deep breath and walk out of the bedroom on unsteady feet, before sitting on the carpet at the edge of the stairs. Damien sits himself down a few steps beneath you.

A tense silence descends in the air between you. You rub a hand over your face roughly, before reaching into your pocket and clasping your rosary. You feel your fingers moving along the beads automatically and you close your eyes for a few moments. Memories flicker before your eyes in intangible bursts of light. 

Damien shifts next to you and you open your eyes at the noise, studying him. His eyes are locked on the bedroom door, as if he’s contemplating whether he should enter once more. You swallow hard and try to find the right words. “Damien,” you eventually say. He flinches and looks over at you, a guilty expression flickering on his face. It seemed he truly intended to go back into the bedroom alone just now. 

Now that you think about it, the demon was hissing obscenities at Damien throughout your first attempt at exorcism. It was crooning at him, whispering words in a language that you didn’t understand. Damien must have understood them—and it seems that their intended meaning was disturbing. It doesn’t take you long to come up with an alternate solution. “Go rest downstairs,” you suggest, not unkindly. “I’m going to proceed alone.” 

Damien stares at you for a moment, before nodding resignedly. You shoot him an apologetic grimace before he departs; then, you step into Regan’s room and close the door behind you. You take a deep breath and repeat the process once more. You feel your conviction growing stronger as you continue reciting the prayers, and the demon begins hissing louder with each completed recitation. When you begin to channel the power of Christ, the demon is screeching and screaming—as bright red welts appear along Regan’s skin. You can only hope that she isn’t in immense pain right now. 

“The power of Christ compels you!” You state. The demon screams. “The power of Christ compels you!” You repeat the statement over and over again, until you’re practically yelling. “The power of Christ compels you!” That last recitation seems particularly impactful, as the demon writhes on the mattress and smoke rises from Regan’s form. You shove your hands forward as you repeat a prayer, and with the last word, there’s a blinding light that overtakes the room. Every object in the room seems to be shuddering and, before you can begin another invocation, you’re thrown backwards and into the wall behind you. Your head slams against the wall and stars float before your eyes as you fall to the ground. For a long moment, you’re sprawled on the ground with ringing ears. After what feels like far too long, you manage to pick yourself up and stand again. 

The air somehow feels less frigid than before. You squint at the mattress, where Regan is curled on her side. There’s no sign of the demon. “Regan?” You ask. The girl is shaking and nearly convulsing as she scrambles backwards, falling down to the ground and retreating to the corner of the room. She’s leaning as close to the walls as possible in evident fear. It doesn’t seem like she heard you. “Regan?” You ask again. She hasn’t tried to attack you or do anything harmful, which is a good sign. 

Regan blinks as if thrown out of a trance, before clarity graces her features and she yells for her mother. You try to approach the girl with outstretched arms, but she only curls further into herself and screams. You take a few unsteady steps backwards, before the door slams against the wall as Chris rushes in and races towards her daughter without hesitation. Damien is hot on her heels, looking around the room before staring at Regan. The girl is crying now, as her mother embraces her and wipes the tears from her cheeks with a gentle touch. 

It seems the demon has been successfully exorcised. In the wake of that realization, you realize your adrenaline is fading by the second. You’re somehow standing at the edge of the bed now—you’re not entirely sure when you got there— and you’re gripping the bedpost so hard that you feel bolts of pain sliding down your fingers. 

You lock eyes with Regan as she hugs her mother and you’re relieved to see that you’re meeting a frightened brown-eyed gaze, not an eerie and malicious yellow-green gaze. Right then, something in your subconscious clicks—ensuring you that everything is alright. Your mind takes that exact moment to completely shut down, as your knees crumple from under you and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You hear a sharp, quiet intake of breath before your vision promptly fades to black. 

While you’re unconscious, you catch glimpses of what’s happening around you. For a moment, you’re slightly jostled—as someone’s hands brace your back and support you under your knees. Then you’re lifted onto a stretcher of some sort. You actually manage to open your eyes at some point, only to see stars as the fluorescent lighting above burns through your eyes. A tear rolls down your cheek at the light’s brightness (and maybe the pain, you’re not quite sure) and you feel someone grasp your hand. You weakly try to squeeze their hand back, but your body doesn’t seem to cooperate. Instead, you’re left to the overwhelming darkness once more. 

You don’t dream. Instead, you’re floating in an infinite void of nothingness. For a while, there is no one—nothing—to keep you company. No demons, no people. Just… absence and shadows. You’re not sure how long you spend drowning in this oblivion. You just know that, when you finally manage to pry your eyes open, your head aches and your skin feels tight over your bones. You run your fingers along your neck, frowning at how tight it feels.

The lights above burn into your vision and rip tears from your eyes. Once the shadows creeping at the edges of your vision finally fade, you find yourself to be sitting nearly upright in a hospital bed. White walls irritate your sensitive eyes and you close your eyes for a selfish moment, before opening them again to find Damien Karras sitting in a chair at your bedside. You stare at him in surprise. “Damien,” you say raspily, nearly choking. The man immediately presses a glass of water into your hand and you’re quick to take the proffered drink, coughing and clearing your throat until you regain your ability to speak uninhibitedly. “Thank you.” It doesn’t take you very long to ask what’s weighing on your mind. “What are you doing here?” 

“Praying for your recovery,” Damien answers, his gaze intent. Indeed, his left hand is holding a rosary and his fingers are paused on one of the beads. He notices you staring and seems to grow self-conscious, as he gently places the rosary back in his pocket. 

“That’s very kind of you,” you remember to remark. Your memories of the exorcism come rushing back, and you find yourself concerned about Regan. Is she alright? Did she survive the ritual in one piece? She seemed fine immediately after, but you haven’t seen her since. “How is Regan?” You ask. 

“She’s fine,” Damien says. Your shoulders relax and you feel lighter. You were so focused on banishing the demon that you nearly forgot the entire reason for the exorcism: Regan’s renewed health. “Some scratches and scrapes, but otherwise, she’s back to normal.”

“Excellent,” you breathe a sigh of relief. 

A small smile graces Damien’s lips and he looks down at his clasped hands. “She wants to see you, to thank you,” he says after a few moments of silence. “Chris does too.”

“Oh,” you remark dumbly. You don’t think you really deserve gratitude—you were just doing what was right. You like to think that anyone else in your position would’ve done the same. But, judging from what you’ve heard through the grapevine, that isn’t always the case. Moreover, exorcisms are a bit controversial these days—many religious figures will refuse to perform them. You’re glad you were trusted with undertaking this one.

“I also wanted to thank you,” Damien says, tearing your eyes from the scratchy sheets laid over you and breaking you out  of your thoughts.

“Why?” What does he have to thank you for?

“You carried out the exorcism in my absence,” Damien reminds you. “Alone.”

“Yes…?” You trail off, waiting to hear of the feat that supposedly justifies his gratitude. But that’s it, apparently—judging from the expression on the priest’s face. 

“I was determined to help, but I was only a hindrance,” Damien says, averting his eyes momentarily. You immediately feel guilty for allowing him to feel that way. You can only hope that you didn’t perpetuate that attitude. 

“You were not a hindrance,” you’re quick to argue. Damien’s eyes snap up to yours, clearly surprised that you didn’t concede the point. The IV in your arm stings, grounding you to the present moment. Your heart is hammering in your chest. “If it weren't for your assistance, I wouldn’t have succeeded at all.”

Damien is clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t argue any further. That’s probably for the best, because you fear you don’t have the energy to make much of a compelling case. He’s still staring ahead with that strange expression on his face—the one that betrays his inner conflict. “What is it?” You ask, after a minute passes and the expression doesn’t fade. “You look like you want to say something else.”

Damien shakes his head with a disbelieving quirk to his lips, muttering something about mind-readers. “Why was the girl chosen as the vessel?” He questions. He’s clearly been grappling with the thought for some time now, if the tight pull to his lips is any indication.

You inhale slowly. “Truthfully, I stopped asking myself those questions a long time ago,” you admit. “Sometimes, it’s better not to know.” You used to devote energy to answering those types of questions, but they ultimately caused you more distress—rather than giving you a sense of resolution. Ultimately, you don’t believe there is much of a real rationale to the ordeal. Bad things can happen to good people, and that’s just the way things are. You can only hope that your efforts mitigate some of the damage. 

Damien is silent. You sigh. “You’re not satisfied with that answer,” you realize aloud. Damien’s gaze is locked on you once more with that heated intensity. You struggle with maintaining your composure, when faced with his full attention in such a manner. “The other answer might be something like: sin induces despair beyond measure. It can possess even the most good-hearted and innocent of people: in this case, Regan.”

Damien takes a shuddering breath in. “I see.” He takes a slow breath. Idly, you wonder if you shouldn’t have said anything at all. But it seems that the prospect isn’t bothering Damien as much, now that you’ve spoken about it. Before you can contemplate the conversation much further, Damien is continuing to speak. “I have something else to thank you for.” 

“I can’t imagine what that is,” you huff truthfully. Indeed, you can’t think of anything you did that warrants more gratitude from him. You were only doing what you were supposed to do. 

But what Damien says next rips the breath from your lungs. “You… saved my life,” he admits quietly. Amidst the buzzing air of the hospital room, filled with the occasional beep of a machine, the confession is nearly suffocating. 

“What?” You manage to choke out. That is news to you. And surely you’d remember doing something like that. 

“I was debating going into that bedroom and exorcising the demon, no matter what it took,” Damien reveals. “I was willing to offer myself up as a vessel, if only to free Regan of the possession.” You stare at him in disbelief, your stomach turning with unease at the thought. Damien continues, immune to just how troubled you are by the admission. “I fear I would be dead right now, if you hadn’t stopped me. I owe you a life debt.” He locks eyes with you and you nearly recoil at the intense sincerity in his gaze.

“I don’t believe in those,” you respond. The thinly-veiled look of reverence in his eyes feels like an exaggeration, but somehow, you know it to be true. And that scares you—you’re entirely undeserving of the sentiment. “You owe me nothing.” You maintain.

Damien seems like he expected that answer, but he doesn’t look any less tortured.  You take a deep breath. It doesn’t seem like he’s keen to let this go. And if it’ll placate him… 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. His eyes widen. “I have something to request of you. Something that will fulfill the boundaries of a ‘life debt’… You have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Damien responds, with a worrying amount of sincerity. 

The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. “Come to me if you feel that way again,” you say. Damien’s brows furrow ever so slightly. “I understand you often shoulder other people’s burdens, as a psychiatrist. But you shouldn’t neglect your own feelings in the process.” 

There’s a pause that seems to drag on for far too long. Just before you can surrender to the tension, Damien breaks the silence. “That’s it?” He asks disbelievingly. You nod. “You’re strange,” he remarks, something that could be mistaken for fondness lingering in the pull to his lips. 

“So I’ve been told,” you say resignedly. Your exhaustion is beginning to catch up to you, as your eyelids burn with fatigue and your body aches. Damien must notice your sudden weariness, because he’s quick to reassure you. 

“You should rest,” he says. You’re too tired to argue or pretend to be well-rested. Taking a deep breath, you lie back against the pillows behind you and close your eyes. Even with the bright lights nearly burning into your vision and the presence of a certain handsome priest’s attentive gaze, you’re still dozing off within moments. The last thing you register before you fall asleep is the sensation of lips being gently pressed to your forehead. There’s a swipe of a thumb along your cheek and a worried, appreciative set of eyes looking down at you—but by then, you’re long gone.

endnotes: WHO HID THIS MAN FROM ME. WHOWHOWHOWHOWH GRGRRRR ARF BARK BARK

anyways... thanks for reading! <3

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[bunnyandbooks]

Babel, Or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revolution by R. F. Kuang

This book has been getting a lot of traction on social media so I was interested to read it. Very briefly (and for my own recollection later), it centers around a boy from Canton, orphaned by the plague, who is summarily rescued just on the cusp of death that claimed his family and brought to England by Professor Lovell to be trained in the art of translation, with the goal of getting admission to Oxford’s prestigious translation school, nicknamed “Babel.” In this world, the industrial revolution occurs through the globalization of languages, using the connotative gaps in translation of words to proliferate magical effects through the medium of silver, which means non-English kids like the boy, self-named “Robin,” are valuable. But as Robin grows up and wrestles with the inherent colonialism of Babel, he struggles with his own morals that both privileges him and enslaves him. Possible spoilers under the cut.

There’s a lot going on from the just the title -- you can pick this book up and guess it’s probably not going to end happy. Kuang isn’t exactly hiding the ball on what her thesis is, and the story hammers it home pretty clearly: violence is necessary to disrupt and challenge inherently racist institutions. This is the conclusion that Robin spends the entire 500 page novel coming to; the rebels championing a non-violent solution are killed; Robin’s former cohort, a white woman named Letty, who ostensibly champions changing the system from within is so unforgivable by the end of the book that nothing she says sounds credible -- a bit like Glinda in Wicked, if Glinda didn’t have any character development; the other white woman character in the book only finds redemption through death. There isn’t any room for compromise in Kuang’s book, but it’s also important to remember that a reconciliation story is now what she’s setting out to tell here.

Babel is inherently an allegory to government institutions that benefit from foreign assets and knowledge, who thrive off the exploitation of people, but are offended by the notion of such foreign nation and its people’s own sovereignty. The briefest reviews of any period of history can show scenarios that are applicable. And because Kuang is so learned and so brilliant, and is a skilled linguist and writer, she can weave an incredibly compelling narrative that explains the philology that forms the basis of the unique magic system in this book, while also expounding on the socio-economic ramifications of both colonialism and also domestic rebellion. While I agree with a lot of assessments that the pace is slow, I never once felt bored, and I credit to her strength as a writer.

I suppose if I have any complaints, the first was the lack of resolution. Even Les Miserables, which I kept thinking of throughout the third act, showed us the final defeat, with the townsfolk sadly picking up the pieces. We don’t know the result of the great last stand by the translators’ rebellion, and it feels rather unsatisfying. It also felt unfair that we get introduced to Victoire in the epilogue of the 500 page book, especially given that takes place of a true resolution. Couldn’t she at least have heard news? 

The second is related to the lack of compromise, I suppose. Robin and his cohorts are motivated to take down racist institutions largely because of loyalty to the motherlands from which they were stolen, and most characters don’t have any ties to those countries in the present day of the narrative. Instead of focusing on acting because it’s the right thing to do, it’s the idea that people of color, and I say this as a person of color, owe something to the land of our ancestors. Which does not account for people who are bi-cultural. And that solid line of a person of color only allowed to belong to one bothered me, though I again had to remind myself that Babel wasn’t that kind of story. So it was mostly about fighting my inherent biases, too.

[johnmalevolent]

my brother told me he wanted to buy my art and then resell them as NFT. what the fuck 👍

[weirdlyobsessedwithegos]

The Host x reader

Anon: “I can’t help that I’m curious.” w/ host

Combined with an idea that I had a while back that fit the prompt well, thank you anon for blowing life back into that! Warning for blood and some gore. (Hosts has no eyes under his face cloth)

Wordcount: 1.2k+

The Host’s narration was almost always constant, and over time you had come to appreciate his voice as you’ve grown to be friends. Eventually it even evolves into teetering on the edge of something more.

He’s a strange man (or whatever he is) for sure, but you enjoy his company.

You know not many do, and that he trusts even fewer, so you don’t want to squander that in any way.

Which is why, one day when you notice there is more blood than normal coming from the cloth tied around his face, you’re cautious to approach him about it. (It surely says something about you that you even notice.)

You find him in the kitchen, waiting for the water kettle to boil, a cup with a teabag in it on the counter in front of him. You see him wipe at his chin with a blue handkerchief, a few drops of blood getting away from it and staining his hand.

“Host?”

“The Host turns around to indicate that he has heard you, and asks what?”

“You okay?” You notice that his cloth is almost soaked through, and that there is already a new streak of blood going down his left cheek.

“The Host explains it has been a rough couple of weeks, but that he is fine.”

“Don’t lie, I know you don’t bleed this much normally.” Host actually startles a little at that, twitching for a brief second.

“The Host did not know you knew that.” He wipes at his face again, narrating still as you watch the motion.

“I care for you, of course I notice.” You let the words linger, but Host doesn’t say anything directly to you, instead narrating that the kettle is done, but that it goes ignored by you both. “Can I help in any way?”

“The Host frowns, before saying that there is, but he does not know if you will be able to do it.”

“Please, Host, just let me help you.”

“The Host sighs, then explains that he needs to change out the cloth that covers his face, as the one he is currently wearing is not doing its intended purpose.” Your answer is quick, with no hesitation.

“I can do that.” The Host’s narration stops for the briefest of seconds, one of the few ways you have learnt he shows surprise.

“The Host does still not quite believe you, but he abandons his tea to take you up on that offer.” He leaves the kitchen and you follow.

He takes you to his bedroom, and then to his en suite bathroom. It’s nothing big, just a shower and toilet on one side, and a sink with a drawers below and a mirror above it on the opposite wall. You wonder why a man that can’t see has a mirror, but you suspect that the bathroom was just built like that originally.

You stay in the doorway while he rummages around in the drawers, pulling out a new cloth, some towels, and wet wipes. He places it on the counter before turning towards you.

“The Host explains that the towels are to wipe away most of the blood, and then it is best to go over with the wet wipes. The Host also expresses gratitude. The Host says this is because sometimes he will accidentally poke at sensitive areas with the wet wipe when he does this himself, and that is not a pleasant sensation.”

You frown, even though you don’t know yet what hides under his face cloth, you can guess, and it sounds right that that would hurt.

Host keeps narrating as he sits himself down on the toilet lid with a towel in his lap.

He reaches up behind his head to untie the knot that keeps the cloth in it’s place, keeping his face tilted slightly forward. He struggles with it for a few seconds, and you wonder briefly about how often he normally changes it.

Finally getting the cloth undone, he lets it fall in his lap, but he keep his head down. You can’t fully see hat was hidden by the cloth like this, but you can when you step closer and til his head up with a hand under his chin.

Where his eyes should be there are just bloody holes.

It’s not only that, there is some fully black darkness making it look like you’re seeing inside a black void, but mostly it is red and irritated flesh, blood seeping out from it.

Perhaps you should be scared or terrified of what you see, but if anything, you only feel sorry for what pain it must cause Host.

You briefly turn around to get a towel, and start wiping over his chin and cheeks, soaking up as much blood as you can. You keep your hand on Host chin, and can feel his mouth move as he keeps narrating, voice so low that you can barely hear it.

It’s the quietest you have heard him, and you wonder why that is.

You also wonder how he lost his eyes (or perhaps he never had any in the first place?), but you do not want to pry, so you stay silent as you switch over to cleaning with the wet wipes.

“The Host knows you want to ask about his eyes.” His voice is clear, more of a normal volume, but he sounds tired. You hum, tilting his head so you can catch a drop of blood that almost makes it to his ear.

“I can’t help that I’m curious.” You glance at the holes in his face. “But I won’t.”

“The Host is grateful for that.” He sits quietly for a few seconds, not even narrating before he addresses you again. “The Host is also surprised that you are doing this, that you haven’t run away in disgust.” You shrug, trying to see if there is any more blood to clean up before you put on a new cloth.

“I guess I’ve never really been the squeamish type.” You pick up the clean cloth from the counter, holding it up in front of him. “May I?”

“The Host says yes, tilting his head forward so you can easily tie it behind his head.” You do just that, slipping it over his face, once more covering the holes in his face, being careful to not tie the cloth too tight or too loose. You tug lightly on it to test how it fits, and Host gently touches your wrist.

“The Hosts says it is fine, and thanks you for helping him.”

“Anytime.” You lean forward and plant a chaste kiss on his forehead. The Host chuckles as he stands up, putting the towel and the old stained cloth on the counter.

“The Host thinks you are a strange one. Not many people are able to see the true look of the Host’s face, and no one has ever kissed it afterwards.”

“Well, like I said, I’m not really squeamish. Besides, that was not a real kiss.”

“The Host hears the teasing tone of your voice. Was it not, he asks.” You grin, taking his chin in your hand once more.

“No, but this is.” You lean forward to capture his lips with yours.

[gaevaer]

Caitlyn kept her eyes fixed on Singed as he approached, the trust in her gaze evident. She knew he was of no harm to her, nor was he going to rat her out to her father. Hopefully. When he spoke, his calm and precise tone explaining exactly what to do brought a sense of reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed. As he handed her the gauze, she took it gingerly, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment before she turned her attention back to her injury.

She began unwrapping the blood-soaked bandages from her shin, the old fabric sticking to her skin as she pulled it away. The gash wasn’t deep enough to leave a permanent mark, but it was jagged and raw, seeping blood in light waves. Her brow furrowed as she worked, her lips pressed into a thin line to keep herself from hissing in pain.

❝ Wouldn’t making it too tight stop the blood flow to my foot?❞ she asked, her voice edged with curiosity, and simultaniously carrying the uncertainty of a child eager to learn. She glanced up at him briefly before unraveling the fresh gauze, holding it over the wound the way she thought he might have meant.

❝ Like this, right?❞ she asked, wrapping it tighter this time, her movements more deliberate, though still hesitant. She paused to look up at him again, her expression softening into something childlike — hopeful, eager to please. ❝ I don’t want to mess it up again. If I don’t do this right and they see, they will never let me hear the end of it.❞

She managed a small smile, though her hands trembled slightly as she worked. ❝ But… I don’t mind learning. You could teach me, couldn’t you? Not just bandages, but—❞ She hesitated, biting her lip as if weighing her next words. ❝ Other things too? How to do what you do, maybe? For the family.❞

Her voice was quiet but hopeful in her question, her tone clearly carrying yearning — not just for approval, but for knowledge, for understanding, for a place in the intricate web of Silco’s plans that she could enter "once she was old enough", as he'd say.

He recognized the iron scent quite well. His senses were always in a flux of dull ignorance to a state of heightened acuity. He followed it to a door which was shut but not locked. He opened it slightly observing what was a young woman tending her wounds. Singed was not trying to keep his presence a secret but he naturally was a quiet man until he opened the door more.

Uncle....a term he still was growing accustomed too but one he did not hate. His real daughter stayed in stasis he wish to hear her say something so similar......Singed let the thought pass and grew closer to the other. He approached Caitlyn with the same air of neutrality he saw to others. His eyes focused on the wound. She was still young learning.

Singed finally spoke a little warmer then he would address Silco perhaps, "To stop the bleeding you should make sure the pressure is sufficient. Wrap the gauze tightly around the wound and do not make it too thick or it shall become obvious." He handed her gauze from his pocket. His own body covered in bandages he was no stranger to the process.

[twistnet]

winding through [ hunter ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; after returning from a long mission; hunter seeks out the only way to calm his senses

⋯ PROMPT ; run — for your muse to run their fingers through mine’s hair

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, mentions of headaches + general fluff

at the sound of the internal passcode, you release the ramp lock. hearing it extend down to let the rest of the batch up and into the marauder. you stand from your seat, rushing to meet them when hunter brushes past you quickly.

“is he... alright?” you question quietly as hunter stumbles toward his bunk. hand pressed into his forehead as he attempts to rid his armor. your eyes soften slightly at his struggle, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your chest upon seeing him in pain.

“ah, yes. he will be fine. just simply overexerted himself while out. he just needs rest.” tech answers, and given his response, it seems as this had been a normal occurrence. sensing your hesitation on the matter, tech shoots you a reassuring smile, “i’ve already given him a stim for the pain, he just needs to sleep it off. i wouldn’t worry about it.” he disappears a second later, eyes locked back on his datapad. 

echo, wrecker and omega climb up the ramp a second later, sparing glances over towards the sergeant curled up in his bunk. omega’s smile falters, moving to go comfort him when echo stops her with a shake of his head, “just leave him for now ‘mega. he needs some quiet.” he states, turning to specify the last bit towards wrecker as he nods.

you watch as everyone busy’s themselves with quiet tasks as tech makes the jump to hyperspace -- heading back to cid’s to complete the job and get paid. it’s not until you clear the bulkhead, separating the bunkroom from the main space, that you realize your feet carried you in there. the door sliding open for the briefest moment before your walking over to hunter’s bunk.

he whimpers slightly, pressing his face further into the pillow. his head is pounding, so much that it feels as though his brain may be jettisoned out as if it were an airlock. nails digging into the pillow as another ripple of pain shoots across his forehead.

the pain builds in your chest as you take a seat on the edge of his bunk, careful not to accidentally bump him in anyway as you turn to look down at him. he winces painfully, eyes scrunching as he gently moans through the pain. 

gently you reach out, fingers loosening the red bandana around his forehead before placing it off to the side. there is a small sigh of contentment as his brown locks flow free. hestiantly, your fingers drift up, combing through his hair as softly as possible, “what are you doing?” a hoarse voice asks, scaring your slightly as you pull back your hand.

“i just... your head was hurting... and i just thought...” you rambled, trying fully explain yourself without sounding awkward before huffing and gathering your thoughts, “when i was a little girl, anytime i was sick, the family healer would always rub my head or back as the medicine sank in. it was... comforting and worked well. i thought since i run my fingers through your hair anyway, it might help.”

hunter seemed to ponder for a moment, before nodding, “please.” you slid forward, fingers brushing through his locks before starting the motion over again. he hums gently into the pillow, head tilting ever so slightly to chase the movements of your fingers. it continues well into the night, adding quiet hums of old lullaby's you use to hear growing up and caresses of the back.

until hunter is brushing your hands away before sitting up, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “thank you, cyare. don’t know what i would do without you.” you chuckle briefly, before eyeing him curiously, “how did you deal with these before i joined your team?”

“usually, just tuffed it out. slept for a whole day while tech kept me boosted on some stims to ease the pain. so, believe me when i say i’m grateful for your assistance.” he stands, holding out a hand for you to grab before he’s pulling you back toward the main part of the ship.

echo and wrecker quickly observing how short it took for hunter to recover, “you seem... better.” echo comments, drawing the attention of tech, who comes into the hold to see what the fuss it about. just as surprised to see hunter up and moving so quickly, “yeah, well... i had a great nurse.” he shoots you a smile just before omega bounds up to him with an excited smile, showing off her newest piece of hardware she and tech had put together.

blog navigation ⇢ [ star wars masterlist ]

[velvetcloxds]

MUTUAL ATTRACTION| S.B.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Plus Size Fem!Reader

Word count: 2800 words.

Warnings: Bullying, negative body image, negative comments about body, mentions overweight/plus size reader being bullied, degrading nickname for reader

Summary: Reader doesn't believe that Sirius Black truly likes her, thinking that his interest in her is part of some joke to embarrass her for being a plus sized girl. Sirius finds out why she feels this way and attempts to convince her otherwise.

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent, so feel free to scroll past it if it's not for you. Mxx.

“Shove off, Sirius,” Y/n mumbles, the words meeting the ears of a rather confused Sirius Black as he treads out of the classroom behind her. He scoffs lightly as he falls into step next to her.

“Why are you always so mean to me, love?” He muses with a light tone, lightly brushing her shoulder with his own. “Truly, if you continue on like this, I may just think that you don’t like me and give up,” He notes, earning a side glare from her as the pair slip past some first years rushing towards the class they just exited.

“How close are we to that happening?” She questions quickly, pausing briefly at a pileup by the stairs. “Just a general timeframe for the sake of my sanity?”

“I think I could hold out a bit longer,” He confirms, and she shakes her head with a soft sigh.

“You’re that committed to this ploy?” She asks him softly, the crowd starting to move again as a professor guides students into the right directions.

“What ploy?” Sirius asks, brow raised as he stares down at the girl.

“This ploy,” Y/n explains, gripping her books in her one arm as she gestures between her and Sirius. “Convincing me that the great Hogwarts player has somehow decided to court me,” She further explains, rolling her eyes at the boy who holds a confused stare. “I’ve been at this school for six years, Sirius. I’ve outlived all of the pranks, all of the bullying and all of the weight jokes, even this one specifically. And though, to be honest, you’ve held up much longer than the other bastards at this school, it still won’t work.”

“There seems to be a rather large miscommunication happening here, love,” Sirius defends, just barely catching a glance of Y/n’s glare before she starts walking away. ‘I’m not trying to prank you, Y/n. There is no ploy,” He announces as he starts following her. She scoffs. “I like you, is that honestly so hard to believe?” He questions carefully, a hand delicately gripping her elbow to keep her from stepping into her next class. She extends a shy glance at the gentle gesture before carefully pulling away.

“Yes,” She notes plainly, not even sparing Sirius the briefest look before disappearing into the steady stream of students heading to potions.

Sirius lingered for a mere moment before walking to the Gryffindor common room in a haze, shutting the door behind him in a rush as he waited to be acknowledged by James and Remus, currently studying for their DADA quiz.

“She doesn’t like me,” Sirius announces as he falls onto his bed, his friends looking up from their work as he does.

“Who?” James questions, shoving his textbook to the side at the newfound excuse from studying.

“Y/n,” Sirius clarifies and lifts his head to look at his dark-haired friend. “I don’t get it, I’ve been a complete gentleman,” He notes and both James and Remus scoff playfully, locking eyes to share a knowing look. “What was that?” He asks, lifting himself to lean back against his headboard. “What was that look?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Remus answers, also sliding his textbook close, folding his arms over his chest.

“I think what Remus means to say, is that you are the furthest thing from a gentleman poor Y/n will find,” James offers with a sly smirk and Remus looks down to hide a small smirk tugging at his lips as well.

“I’m offended,” Sirius muses with furrowed brows. “Utterly scarred by your insinuation,” He adds with mock hurt and shakes his head when the boys laugh in reply. “Besides, it’s not my adventures with the girls that worries her, I think it’s my adventures with you bunch that’s making her question me.”

“I don’t blame her.” Remus says as he refocuses his attention on his books. “We aren’t exactly the posterchildren for antibullying.”

“Why does that matter?” James asks before Sirius could and Remus sighs, lifting his gaze once again to explain.

“You’ve been practically stalking this girl for a month now and you’re telling me you haven’t noticed how she steers clear of Lucius Malfoy and his friends,” Remus shakes his head. “He has been bothering her for years.”

“That bastard,” Sirius mumbles and drags a hand through his hair. “Why?”

“Well take your pick, she’s a Hufflepuff and a muggleborn and as of lately, he’s been enjoying pointing out that she’s a plus size girl in a sea of smaller girls.” Remus explains which earns a slow nod from James who is now realizing how obvious Y/n’s misfortune has been.

“Wait, you’ve noticed this too?” Sirius asks with a pointed glare at James. “Why haven’t anyone said something to me?”

“Hey, it’s not our fault you’re this oblivious.” James points out and Remus nods slightly.

“Well, bloody hell, I don’t blame her either,” Sirius sighs softly, sinking back onto the bed again. “She probably thinks that I’m just another asshole taking a turn to make her life horrible.”

“Well, do you really like her?” Remus asks to which Sirius nods quickly, hair falling around his head as he moves against the bed. “Then prove her wrong.”

With Remus’ words echoing in his head, Sirius makes his way to the class he left Y/n at, a slight skip in his step due to his newfound knowledge and his plan to not only prove his intentions are pure, but to put an end to her struggle.

“Watch out,” A voice whispers behind him and he pauses, looking back to see his friends stumbling after him.

“What are you doing?” Sirius questions, pulling a hand through his hair as the boys still in front of him.

“Helping,” James explains, patting the raven-haired boy on his shoulder as Remus joins him in leading Sirius on his mission.

Y/n was unaware of the three boys heading towards her current classroom, she was however very much aware of the blonde boy that was in the same class with her at the very moment. Lucius whispered something to the boy at his side, his eyes never leaving hers as a soft laugh echoed from the group surrounding him. He musters a sly smirk as he moves to wave at her slowly. Y/n looks down at her textbook, hand shaking slightly as she adds another ingredient into her cauldron, stepping back just in case an unexpected reaction follows.

“Are you okay?” Lily Evans asks from her side. Y/n tilts her head when she hears the sincere question coming from a girl that may as well be a stranger. She nods slowly.

“I’m fine,” She replies too quickly, Lily stepping closer towards her just as another fit of laughter echoes from Lucius’ side of the classroom, a slight frown tilts into Lily’s lips as she watches the scene unfold, Y/n seeming to grow more anxious as Professor Slughorn announces the end of the class.

“Do you want me to walk out with you?” She asks, settling a hand on Y/n’s shoulder causing her to tense under her touch. Y/n frowns, closing her textbook as she turns to Lily.

“I’m fine,” Y/n repeats her earlier statement, managing a small smile before walking to the door and out of the class in a hurry, her books tightly pressed against her chest as she hears a group of determined footsteps following her, not even noticing the curious gaze of Sirius Black as she passes him in a rush. She pauses for a mere second to consider her route before turning the corner that leads her to the Hufflepuff common room, knowing that even if Lucius does catch up with her, he won’t be able to follow her inside.

“Y/n…” Lucius muses, his mocking tone slicing at her nerves as the hall around her starts to clear, her pace picking up as her heart beats in her throat.

“Where are you going, Piggy.” Another voice chimes in, laughs filling the air as a result of the comment. Y/n tightens her grip on her books and takes in a shaky breath, considering hiding in a cupboard or classroom, trying her luck in finding the room of requirements, but a sharp hand pulling her back empties her head of plans and thoughts, panic shivering though her body as her books drop to the ground in a loud thud.

“He asked you a question,” Lucius notes as he breathes into her neck, pulling her hands behind her back to keep her from running. “Answer him,” Lucius demands, not needing to raise his voice, the closeness of his body against hers fulfilling his flare for fear.

“To the common room,” Y/n admits, voice controlled as she looks at the ground, slightly struggling against his hold.

“Trying to skip out on our daily meetings?” One of his friends ask and Lucius smiles against her ear.

“Pity,” Is all he says as he loosens his grip, throwing her to the ground next to her books where she shuffles back towards the wall, desperately looking around for an escape, the boys making sure to surround her in a way that she couldn’t identify a single one. Lucius removes his wand from his robe, smiling as he points it directly as her, eyes dark as he considers which spell to begin with.

“Step away from her,” A voice commands and Y/n’s eyes shoot up, meeting the beautiful pair of brown ones first before she carefully rakes her gaze over the other two boys standing next to him, wands in their hands. “Now!” Sirius adds coldly the sharp shout filling the entire atmosphere. Y/n flinches at the guttural laugh dripping from Lucius lips. He looks from the girl on the floor to the boys in front of him and grins.

“How sweet,” He notes, bending down slowly where he reaches forward and settles a strong hold on Y/n’s chin, forcing her to keep still as his fingers pinch into her skin. “Defending her honour,” He laughs again. “You’re a few years too late, Black.”

“I know,” Sirius admits, voice forced as he tries to control himself. “But you’re done,” He steps forwards, paying no mind to Lucius’ friends turning to point their wands at him instead. “You’re done hurting her and scaring her, you’re done trying to dim that light,” He pauses briefly as he stills but inches from Lucius’ face, his eyes meeting with Y/n’s for a second as he shakes his head at the soft tears that roll down her cheeks before looking at Lucius. “I will not leave her side, not for a second.”

“But if he does, she’ll have us,” Remus declares from behind him and James nods in agreement. “And Lily and Peter and Marlene and every other person that we know will have her back.” He adds and steps closer to Y/n as well, James moving with him as they shove past Lucius’ friends and still next to Sirius.

“Get her,” James instructs, and Lucius moves aside, grinning still as he mockingly lifts his hands in surrender, his friends doing the same. Sirius wastes no time as he moves towards her, hands carefully latching onto her shoulders as he gently guides her to her feet, removing one hand to gather her books. Y/n avoids the boy’s gaze, numbly wiping at her cheeks to remove evidence of briefly cascading tears as she stumbles slightly.

“Go,” Sirius demands calmly, hands sliding down to the small of Y/n’s back as he faces Lucius, his cold tone earning a surprised reaction from everyone. “And spread the word too, Y/n is under the protection of the marauders, if you cross her, you cross us,” He notes simply, Lucius’ friends nodding quickly before collecting themselves and scurrying away. Only Lucius pauses as he extends another sly smile towards the girl in question.

“Very well,” He comments lightly and shrugs. “I’ll see you around, little Piggy,” He offers with a wink before walking away, Y/n’s hands nimbly grabbing hold of Sirius’ arm to keep him from going after him.

“Are you okay?” Remus questions when he meets the girl’s gaze, she nods slowly in reply.

“You guys didn’t have to do that,” She notes, reluctantly stepping away from Sirius and taking her books from his hold. She shakes her head. “I appreciate it, I truly do. But all you’ve done is shift his attention and tactics to you,” She explains and the boys nod, small smiles tugging at their lips as they look at Sirius who hasn’t removes his gaze from her for even a second.

“We know,” James confirms and shrugs. “But you’re important to him, which makes you important to us,” The dark-haired boy states plainly before tapping Remus’ shoulder, silently inviting him to leave.

“Thank you,” Y/n almost whispers, loud enough for the boys to hear though as they leave her and Sirius with kind smiles and gentle shrugs.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius informs her not missing a beat. “I’m an idiot for not noticing, but I swear I didn’t know.”

“I know,” She sighs, shyly looking down to her feet as his gaze intensifies on her face. “I also know that you’re not like Lucius Malfoy, despite your questionable activities with those friends of yours.”

“I wish I could’ve put a stop to it sooner,”

“It wasn’t your place to do so,” She notes and then shakes her head when she realizes how forward it sounded. “I meant that I could’ve done it myself. I know the spells and to be honest if that didn’t work, I could have just sat on the boy,” She jokes lightly, expecting Sirius to smile only to be met with a rather misplaced frown.

“You thought you deserved it?” He asks after a lingering second and she nods. “It that why you refuse to believe that I truly like you?” She nods again, slower this time, eyes back on the floor as an embarrassed tint of rose meets her cheeks.

“I don’t like myself very much, Sirius Black and I’d be damned if I tried to pretend that anyone could like any part of me when I can’t even do so myself,” She moves her hands to fiddle with the corners of her books. “There’s a lot not to like, is all, and I mean that literally,” She gestures to her body. “There’s a lot,” Sirius scoffs, tilting his heads as he looks down at the girl in front of him, quite unused to this level of honestly.

“You are a phenomenal girl, Y/n,” He notes honestly and moves a hand to her arm, fingers sliding down over her robe to intertwine with hers. “I can’t possibly explain to you what I see when I look at you, but you clearly need some enlightenment," He smiles softly. "I see the dimple on your right cheek when you laugh at Dumbledore’s comments, I see those worn-out band shirts that you wear when you’re studying in the library after everyone has left, I see that little twinkle in your eyes when someone asks you for help with their work, I see how excited you get when they have croissants at breakfast and I see how fragile you look when you’re staring up at the candles in the dining hall alone. I see you, more than you see yourself maybe, but I have yet to see a single thing that hasn’t made me completely and utterly mad about you, Y/n.” Sirius' voice is almost a whisper, his adoring tone causing a bashful smile to sink into the girl’s lips as he waits for her eyes to meet his.

“You like me,” She notes softly, more to herself than to him as she looks down to where his thumb is moving rhythmically across her hand, the movement causing shivers to tickle through her body.

“I like you,” Sirius clarifies, other hand lifting to the crook of her neck, delicately shifting the hair away from his fingers to caress her skin, keeping her in place so she doesn’t look away again. “And I’ll like you enough for the both of us for now, but I will not let another day pass without reminding you just how relentlessly extraordinary I find your very existence,” She smiles, nodding almost mindlessly as she steps forward, not quite ready to kiss the boy just yet, but yearning for the softest touch as leans into him, her books against his chest as his hands remain where there are, only shifting to be sure she’s comfortable against him. She smiles into his shirt, allowing the sweet sensation to consume her when he places a delicate kiss to the top of her head.

“I like you too, Sirius Black,” She announces carefully, tugging numbly on the hand that is folded around hers. “I like you too.”

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubertt. Mxx.

Masterlist 

[jiminrings]

Hey bb! First of all, let me just tell u how much I love your writing! You're fabulous, love. Don't ever doubt yourself. Secondly, I wanted to know if u could do a college professor! Jungkook and pretty student reader where Jk is absolutely enamoured by her.. (also, with a bit of the good ol smut🤭) It's a-okay if u can't tho! Just know that you're appreciated!❤️

the probability of us

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 6k

glimpse: jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories. 

notes: there’s something so warm about this request that it made me write it as an actual fic and not a bullet one!!! i did alter it a little bit but i was genuinely so happy writing this so thank you sO much for this babe :D // gif from pinterest!

Jungkook, in his better and most definitely unbiased judgement, thinks he knows enough about you.

He knows you well enough to have noticed your patterns and habits with almost everything in between. They were predictable for the most part, and that was partly because he takes pride in being observational, but you manage to unintentionally throw him a curveball every now and then that makes him smile.

You always come into class when there’s atleast fifteen people in it and Jungkook wonders if you know it in the back of your head or if you just sneak a peek at the room every now and then. He’s not keen on being early to classes, and on the three straight occasions his dad left something in the classroom from the day before and got him to retrieve it for him, you were already there.

You’re fixated and practically attached to your knitted cardigan, seemingly having no problem wearing the same outfit for days straight — something so both adorable and visibly heart-racing when it’s almost always a tank top underneath that’s on the lower scoop, and a rotation of pants and sweats that sometimes feel so misplaced with your cardigan that it matches.

Jungkook’s found out that you probably wear atleast three rings on a daily basis, and that only took him two days to figure out because you’d exit the classroom with slight marks and indentations on your cheeks or on your jaw. Whether it’s to being sleepy, being bored, or being focused is something he has yet to discern — but yeah, he looks at you with his eyes silently when the class is dismissed, wondering if he’d see the same Pandora tiara ring mark on your cheek, or this time from a signet ring you sported more often.

He’s eight weeks in doing whatever this is. Whatever having the definition of him trailing behind his dad, a back and forth between his classes and his office, then them eating out for lunch break.

Sometimes, Jungkook forgets that his dad’s the president of this very university. 

He’s only really known him as dad and he’s grateful for that, and the only times he’d see his father as the educator he was with the fancy doctorate degree was whenever Jungkook’s been a little lacking in his studies as a child up until high school. His mom, a doctor, would be on duty for nights and at home for mornings so that’d be the window she’d teach him the alphabet and addition with the carrying, something that eight-year old him would tear up just at the mention of.

His dad would just sit beside him in a very calm manor, take out two notebooks for one of them each, and make reviewers. Jungkook writes down what he knows and what his dad tells him to, highlights the key terms, and for some totally odd reason, making his own reviewers saved him from failing altogether and become an honor student with little help from his parents and most especially his dad.

It humors him that people are so rigid and intimidated by his dad, and he knows that not everyone would believe that this is the same guy that taught him how to give someone a proper wet willy. Jungkook sees people left and right going out of their way to greet him and pay their courtesies, stifling in a giggle that his dad also fights the need to laugh.

He loves and looks up to his dad, feeling a lot more thankful that he has a healthy relationship with his parents as an only child. Jungkook feels he owes that much to his dad that he took education for his college course, despite his blatant lack of interest for it.

And here he is — a senior at another college his dad’s not the professor of, studying a degree that he’s not gonna practice, and shadowing his father for eight weeks while he goes and teach for the “experience” as his dad calls it.

This has got to be a little ethically questionable, but that’s okay. Jungkook takes some comfort knowing that his dad’s the boss and he could just sit in a chair, pretending to absorb his lessons. In fact, he doesn’t even know why his dad opts to teach still even if he’s well high up in that ladder, the only explanation being that his father just really really likes teaching and not just be moving between airconditioned offices and meeting rooms all the time. And if that was enough, his dad just had to teach two classes to which Jungkook needs to accompany him in both — Statistics and English Literature.

Jungkook has a memory of stone that’s probably of the same kind the Code of Hammurabi was inscribed in (because he just swears his memory started way earlier than the age of four), because he practically knows everyone in each of his dad’s classes.

Eight weeks in. He’s only known that long.

But Jungkook knows for a fact that you’re never late — that much he knows. He refuses to believe that you’re actually gonna be late to class. 

His dad comes in early and normally, he sits by his chair just when he’s a minute away from starting class. For some odd push today, he felt the need to enter the room with his dad and be early for once; but for the one time that he did this, you weren’t around for it.

You’re late, and you’re never late, and you’re throwing him a curveball, but something tells him in his gut that this just wasn’t something you pull out of your cardigan sleeve to confuse him.

You’re confusing.

You’re never usually confusing.

He visibly straightens in his seat when you enter the room with a sense of complacency and without the need to rush, the class only in the quieting down stages before the lesson begins when you walked in.

Mr. Jeon’s flickered to the entrance briefly, his tinkering with the HDMI cord continuing nonetheless. “Kook,” he just barely manages to get out because he’s already standing up from his seat, nimble fingers grabbing a slip from his desk that makes his dad perplexed.

Jungkook walks all the way to you at the back of the class, holding out the late slip to you a little too eagerly as it seems, and you can’t help but feel confused and irritated at the same time with how you started your morning.

For starters, coffee was spilled on your cardigan from the night before, and soaking it overnight in a mix of detergent, softener, and the tiniest bit of bleach wasn’t enough to completely rub the stain off — which meant you had to get up extra early to have it dry-cleaned (the staff looked at you a bit weirdly) and head off to where you needed to be, in a rush.

“But I’m not late though.”

You murmur as you peer up at him, refusing to even take the slip in between Jungkook’s fingers. He turns impatient, even more-so at your retort that honestly sounded genuine, that he settles on dropping it down your desk.

“You are, Y/N.” He says as convictedly as he can, only having to glance sideways briefly to your nosy seatmate to keep him out of a conversation he clearly isn’t a part of, and you make a note in your head to apologize to Jimin who gets scared easily, especially by the president’s son.

As if to prove his point, Jungkook rolls the sleeve of his bomber jacket in the slightest, enough for you to see a glimpse of his flashy gold Rolex in an attempt to tell you the time, one you couldn’t decipher because it was analog and your eyesight’s not that quick-witted nor clear.

“It’s three minutes before the start of the class,” you make it a point to outstretch your forearm, one that isn’t covered by your cardigan as he now realizes, your silver and digital Casio telling him that it’s 9:57, indeed three minutes away from the start of his dad’s class.

He barely even blinks before he adjusts himself to stand between your stretched legs so he could hold your arm and adjust your goddamn watch to be set four minutes later, his movements done so quickly that you straighten your back to the seat.

Jimin pretends he’s looking away, but deep down you already know that he’s gonna ambush you with questions as soon as Jungkook leaves.

“See that? You’re late,” he hums contentedly, pushing the late slip towards you and stands by himself with his hands across his chest, all-knowing that he wouldn’t leave not until you comply with his stupid request for a late slip.

His dad sees the interaction unfold from a distance, still confused but somehow amused, and a curious smile appears on his face as he now has something else to bring up on the dinner table later.

After all, he only called out to his son to tell him that they should go pick up a few groceries over lunch break — not to give you a late slip.

Jungkook collects the piece of paper from you wordlessly, letting his hand linger for the briefest moment but you pay him no mind, too occupied to looking at your left and gesturing for Jimin to scoot closer.

Something’s wrong.

His instincts are not exactly the most accurate but after all, it does account for something. He’s not the best at reading people when they’re indifferent, and normally you’re never indifferent to him. 

He decides to lay low at that, sitting back on his chair and only twirling the slip in between his fingers and not once setting it down on the desk, preventing himself to look at it.

It’s only when his dad calls him to do a summary and explain to the class about his lesson’s breakdown, and he turns stern when he crushes the paper within his palm for the sake of being indiscreet that he totally wasn’t fiddling with paper for an hour and a half.

Jungkook returns and that’s when his dad starts giving out final reminders for their next meeting, straightening it out as much as he could until he can see your messy handwriting more than he could see the creases.

Tutored Hwang Hyunjin; state quizbee next week.

And why, exactly?

As far as he knows, Hyunjin’s the faculty’s favorite because he was such an intelligent student. He might be the favorite of his dad but he’s not entirely sure because his dad says he doesn’t like playing favorites, but he seems to think so nonetheless. If the guy who’s in the line-up for summa cum laude is asking help for a mere quizbee, what exactly is it for?

You’re an honor student, sure. In the dean’s list and in the running for cum laude, but you’ve said it yourself that you’re no Hyunjin and in verbatim, anyone who takes education as seriously as he does needs a hug and an emotional support system. Do you see yourself doing all the extra credits when you already have the highest average on all of them?

Did you hug him?

Jungkook scoffs to where his mind is running, a little dejected as he ponders on it even more as he stands next to his dad’s desk, nodding curtly at the students who bid him goodbye.

He’s extra quick to stepping up when it’s you who passes him, hands on his pocket as he asks under his breath.

“We cool?”

He tries to search for a hint of distaste in your face and he’s almost disappointed to find none, a genuine small smile on as you reply and come out the door without so much of a look back at him.

“‘Course we are, Mr. Jeon.”

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

“What’s up with you?”

Jungkook utters the moment the door of your apartment swings open. It was straight to the point, really. No buttering up to you and no unnecessary bullshit before he drops the question that’s been plaguing his mind the whole day.

You had only been brushing your teeth when you hear a series of crisp and heavy knocks that led you to think that your neighbor Hoseok next-door has finally screwed up the pooch completely, and accidentally set his kitchen on fire with the cookie batter he’s been doing a series of trial and error with for a dozen times already.

Oh.

It’s only Jungkook, then.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned being out in the hallway that gave everyone an opportunity to see him. Frankly, everyone who’s set foot to the president’s office, which is everyone, could tell who he is simply by looking at the few hundred picture frames Mr. Jeon has on his desk. 

He’s not concerned and he doesn’t have the gall to be concerned either, because as much as he knows that although underneath his dad’s section, the housing section of the college wasn’t under his close supervision. Besides that, he finds that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this.

Jungkook only looks up to you for a few seconds, wide-eyed with your toothbrush in your mouth, and decides to let himself in.

This being yours and Jungkook’s interactions for the past eight weeks. There’s not a label to it, but it goes along the lines of the occasional fuck, and then the ranting about each other’s days, and binge-watching that either ends up as hook-up, or trying to pick up new hobbies the other’s just suggested, or whatever’s playing is actually playing and the two of you just watch, your head laid on his lap and his hand brushing your hair.

Yeah, that one. Whatever that’s called — that’s what you and Jungkook are.

It’s been painfully obvious to your tight knit of friends, namely only being Jimin and Hoseok, that those things practically yielded to the commitment of him being something that starts with boy and ends with a friend, no spaces in between and all in one word.

You blink away your internal monologue, remembering that you need to spit before replying to his question that he’s asked you point-blank two seconds ago.

“You saw me in class today.”

That one couldn’t be anymore obvious and he huffs at that, once again going on a grumpy fit of frustration while he lies on your bed upright, arms across his chest. “Off,” you swat his leg immediately, making him haphazardly throw away his shoes if he want to keep being frustrated with you.

That’s the exact bit though. Regardless if you forced him to take off his shoes while he’s on your bed, he’d be frustrated at you regardless. He doesn’t know why he’s frustrated with you in the first place and that just makes him stressed even more.

The realization hits him that Jungkook doesn’t really know why he’s so pressed about you, his tone considerably softening because now he feels a little smaller under your curious gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. I clearly know that. I, uh, I meant outside of class.”

Normally, he’d find your avoidance of things actually endearing because you seemed to worm your way out of any situation you just deem to be unrelated to you — but for the first time, he doesn’t know if you’re avoiding his question. If this was still your passive-aggressiveness or genuineness showing its head right now.

“You’re starting to sound like a professor, y’know,” you note with intrigue, relishing to how Jungkook lying on your bed and looking at you under such intensity seems normal to you at this point and at this moment. “A professor hanging out with his student outside of class, in her dorm, and on a weekday.”

The comment you add was supposed to be humorous but you find it rather odd now having said it out loud, the realization dawning on you that whatever this is, is just too ambiguous and vague that you’d never wanted something so specific in your lifetime.

“Just trying to appease dad. Do I look like I have the patience to teach a class, better yet show up?”

That’d be the actual bane of him.

Don’t get him wrong, professors must be so cool and patient with their workload and stuff, but holy fucking shit does he hate it for himself. He means no disrespect to his dad but he honestly can’t see himself doing what he does, even for a fraction of his life willingly.

You sort of envy him for the upbringing he has and the wholesome and healthy relationship he has with his family that you wouldn’t mind telling people all about. Not everyone expects Jungkook to be as family-oriented as he looks, and the little nugget of information he made you privy too puts a gentle smile of your face.

“You do have the patience to ask me if I’m okay though.”

It’s a question between reeling yourself in and putting yourself out there more, plopping to sit on the edge of your bed as you try to put lotion on your legs all the way down to your heel.

Jungkook finds it normal to see you putting lotion on and zit cream on your face, and he doesn’t question it for one second.

That doesn’t automatically mean that he’s gonna address it though.

“Well, baby, are y’okay?” he crawls the short distance from you, putting half of his body weight as he slings himself on your shoulders from behind, lips brushing against your ear as he pulls you tighter.

“Mhmmm.”

He finds it that as much as he pulls you tighter, you grow a bit more distant. You’re there with him but your mind isn’t, perhaps lost on the lotion that only adds into your scent that seems engraved in his mind nowadays.

Jungkook does as much as to tug a sleeve of your shirt to expose the slightest bit of your shoulder blades, pressing wet gentle kisses that leaves you, surprisingly, unfazed.

You make no move nor action, just continuing on rubbing your arms with your hands and him taking the momentary act of silence to look around your room, seeing your textbooks piled neatly on your desk with your lamp on.

“Long night?” 

He asks and not a second later do you hum in confirmation, making him roll his eyes and his stomach churn, but it probably just has something to do with a heartburn that’s beginning to form because the ache’s spreading to his chest.

It’s got to be heartburn, right?

“Alright. Didn’t have to answer me too quick just so you can kick me out.”

He mutters underneath his breath a little hurt, taking your responses as his cue to leave. His flair for what you think is the dramatics makes you roll your eyes and slap his thigh, following him out on the way to the door.

Jungkook’s fazed because he doesn’t exactly know the essential purpose plus his expected outcome of this five-minute visit. He doesn’t have a clue, but dropping to your apartment unannounced and seeing you for just even five minutes, even if he doesn’t know why, doesn’t seem wrong.

What is wrong, is that you’d normally kiss him goodbye.

This time, you don’t.

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

Jungkook’s gut tells him to come early to class, even telling his dad that he’d come down there by himself so he could scope out his class like the great son that he is, and he does exactly that.

Some of the early-birds are pleasantly surprised to see him there, early and alone without Dr. Jeon, sitting on his usual chair.

This setting’s odd for him and as much as he wants to leave, he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t really care if he’s intimidating the students because after all, that’s not the reason why he’s here. In fact, he’s aware that he seems to be quite the talk of the campus, the verdict being half and half if he was as fun, easygoing, yet stern like his father — or if he’s something else entirely. Either way, none of them could catch on to the fact besides you that he’s not here out of passion, but rather obligation.

There’s less than thirty students in the room but Jungkook could just feel it at the back of his spine that you’re gonna walk through the door soon enough. You’ve got to be, right? Jungkook stands by himself near the door, practically barricading the door with how he’s built.

This familiar guy he can’t put a name to is walking through the door carelessly, eyes completely fixed on his phone that his shoulder’s barreling into Jungkook’s.

“Oh hey dude, what’s up?”

The guy in question barely even looks up for a second, a meek smile on his face before turning to his phone again and just staying there by the door, a character paused to block it all for a fucking text as what it seems.

Jungkook barely needs a second to look at him eye to eye; tall, pale, long blonde hair, and smooth pronounced features.

Hwang Hyunjin.

He’s only seen him in passing but never on this scale, his first instinct being straightening his back. They’re roughly the same height, Jungkook shoving his observation to the back of his head that Hyunjin’s only a millimeter higher than him.

He’s probably the only one applying pressure to this scenario, thick brows furrowing as he almost grimaces looking at the younger guy in front of him.

“Are you in this class?”

What?

Hyunjin’s confused to say the least, not only because this random dude he bumped into is suddenly making conversation with him, but because someone’s actually questioning about his presence here.

He lowers his phone, putting a pause to his heated exchange of which installment of this series they’re watching this, all in the favor for staring at this guy who’s cowling at him.

“... Yes?”

His answer even sounds unsure, Jungkook’s questioning raise of his brows prompting him to explain.

Hyunjin doesn’t even know why he feels compelled to explain but he does it nonetheless. “They say I could sit in this class. Some topics would show up in the quizbee next week.”

That’s just grand.

Before Jungkook can simmer in his irritation even more, his dad slips through the door by holding his shoulders in place, looking between the two of them briefly before walking to his desk.

“Kook? Thought you’d open up the lesson without me.”

Blondie tilts his gaze, eyes narrowing as he tries to scan a Kook in his brain’s directory and why it sounds so fond coming from Dr. Jeon.

“Mmmm, sorry dad.”

Jungkook emphasizes a little more than needed, turning to him and sending him a half-hearted grin while unbeknownst to him, Hyunjin pales and is having a breakdown and a half.

Did he really just accidentally bump into the college president’s son? Is he gonna be expelled now?

Jungkook’s oblivious to the inner turmoil that’s unfolding in the guy in front of him, crossing his arms before looking at his dad once more.

“Is he allowed here?” 

He questions sharply like a toddler who’s just seen an inconspicuous man by the swing, his cheeks rounding with his lips pursed.

His dad’s really confused because this is the most intrigue he’s seen Jungkook inhibit for the whole eight weeks.

Of course his dad knows; he’s more than aware that his son has literally no interest in being a professor, and honestly speaking, he’s not even mad at that. He’a outsmarted him on this one and just went along with the lengths of hi son trying to impress him, falling into this eight-week routine of them bonding together with little practice teaching, yet Jungkook still wonders where he got his wit from.

He looks back and forth between Jungkook and Hyunjin, perplexed because he’s pretty sure that the two of them don’t know each other and that doesn’t explain the tension lingering.

“Hyunjin? Yeah. President’s lister, right?”

Hyunjin grins and chuckles at that, bowing slightly as he just passes Jungkook that appalls the latter.

“You put me there, sir.”

Jungkook mocks him under his breath, not going unnoticed by his dad who just chuckles all the same. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies right out of his teeth, sitting on his chair and spreading his legs until his dad nudges him to be atleast decent because he wants the students to focus on his presentation and not his son’s crotch.

He feels cursed having such clear vision because even when the lights are dim, Jungkook still finds his gaze looking for you out of habit. Cursed for seeing Hyunjin sit on the other side of you and suddenly he wishes that this would be the time that Jimin interferes.

He’s unsure if you’re making him confused or he’s confusing himself, but the way his head feels like splitting just by thinking about you and what he could’ve done wrong tells him that he should be definite.

“Would you mind wrapping up the lesson, Mr. Jeon?” his dad asks outloud and for any other context, they’d share identical smiles on how they should be professional towards each other (as suggested by his dad) during class.

“Not at all, Dr. Jeon.”

God, he’s so oblivious to see how he has everyone gravitating towards him that it’s actually endearing. You sitting all the way up gives you a front-row seat to see how everyone sits up a little straighter and how heads follow his every move.

Jungkook has everyone wrapped around his finger and he doesn’t even know — you’re everyone; he can’t know.

He steps up to the plate and the natural dominance and hold he has on everyone broke through, a lesson about statistics never being this intense and a large majority of the people would really stay for another hour and a half if it’s Jungkook who’s teaching.

He’s so absorbed into summarizing as a way of destressing that he ended up giving perhaps one of the best makeshift lectures ever, his dad positively awed and ending up even more confused.

Jungkook’s coming down from his lecture high, nervously fiddling with his fingers as his dad gives the final reminders. What doesn’t help is also you coming out of the classroom with Hyunjin in tow, wearing your cardigan, and that’s what considerably sets him off.

Suddenly, he now decides that your cardigan is the ugliest and most disgusting piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life. It’s the furthest thing from adorable, and the nearest thing into being set on fire.

You still smell sweet and homey when you’re nearing him, and the realization that your cardigan’s tainted by the smell of you and soon enough, Hyunjin will — it hits Jungkook too hard that he mutters under his breath, his jaw lax from being clenched.

“If you have a problem with me, just tell me about it.” 

He can’t find the will in himself to care whether or not Hyunjin’s gone on without you and is waiting for you by the corridor, or that his dad’s arranging his shelf and could be possibly listening.

“I don’t,” your face reflects the same thing as your answer, devoid of any uncertainty that you have a problem with him.

“You don’t?” he prods further even if he knows that asking the second time wouldn’t even help.

“I don’t. Do you?” 

There’s no malice in your tone. It’s the same gentleness laced with mischief underneath, head tilting in question.

That’s when he narrows his eyes at you, always knowing how to play your cards right without him knowing.

“With you or with myself?”

You shrug carelessly, an automatic giggle tumbling out of your lips that it bothers you too because you shouldn’t be okay with pulling yourself away from Jungkook, and the fact that it could be because you made peace long enough that the two of you will never be more is something to blame.

“You tell me, Mr. Jeon.” 

He’s never hated his family name more and the formality preceding it than now. In reality, he’s just a year older than most of you in this class and the last time he’s checked, no one calls their senior, despite being from another university, like that.

Everyone assumed that he should be called with respect because after all, they’re probably looking at the future of this institution anyways. 

Stable breaths aren’t enough and Jungkook seems to despise the way your slightest change towards him affects him the most, and his pride over not reaching out to your first has long been gone since.

He figures that this is just your way of detaching from him because his eight weeks are almost up, and that he should be totally fine with it because after all it’s only been eight weeks.

He can’t see another eight weeks of you pulling out from him, and even worse, eight weeks without you.

“We’re not cool.”

Jungkook says as soon as you open your door, not waiting for you to gesture him to come in. In any other situation, he’d find you adorable having traded your contacts for glasses, and absolutely sexy if his blood’s rushing elsewhere besides his cheeks. There’s no introduction of asking about your day nor catching you off-guard with a kiss either. 

It’s him going straight to your bed and lying upright, looking at you somberly that you feel sorry you’ve been establishing this change in the first place.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

His question is a complete 180 from his voice that’s been gravelly since morning, sincerity underneath the rough edges.

You shake your head no, a signal that there’s absolutely nothing wrong and you don’t have anything to tell him about.

“Are you sure?”

He looks at you with wide reassuring eyes just begging for anything, atleast something, the only time that he wishes there’s something wrong going on so he could chalk it up to that instead of facing this shift with you blindly and aimlessly. 

You’re wordlessly climbing up on bed too, making him automatically scoot over to his side of your bed when he stays overnight, instant warmth welcoming you just by having your shoulders touch with him. It’s a head nod of yes, I’m sure that there’s nothing wrong with your eyes closed. 

Being beside him is the equivalent of all the comfortable nights you’ve slept. Jungkook’s the ultimate compilation and the most expensive goodie box of warm hugs and warm tea that tasted familiar instead of incredibly earthy. He’s white noise and eight-hour loops of rainfall against your windows and humidifier-goodness of sleep that you take indulgence and warmth in.

Jungkook’s in another realm of thought when he almost snaps at you because your roles have been reversed and it’s him who’s doting over you.

“Are you usually this non-committal?”

You’re always warm with a cherry on top when you talk to Jungkook, and just only two days of you giving him timid replies has him asking you if you’re the opposite of the adjective that people most commonly attached to you.

“I think we both know best that I’m loyal.”

You are. 

It’s a word that’s almost always attached to your name. You’ve never really sustained a large group of close friends, and it wasn’t needed, but Jungkook finds it funny that you’re oblivious to how people look at you.

He’s well-acquainted with what goes around, and the only things that go around about you was that you’ve touched them in one way or another. You’re the most loyal friend Jimin has because you’ve stuck with him even if he’s spilled his guts on your bathroom floor, missing the mark of your toilet bowl. You gave up your bed for him and tucked him in even if he was still at risk of throwing up because he just couldn’t stop, and made him breakfast the next morning. You’ve only known each other for three days.

Hoseok considers you his most loyal neighbor slash friend ever, because you let him have a go at your pantry even if you knew at the back of your head that he’d screw up something in his recipe one way or another. Even started buying extra ingredients whenever he needs them, and him purposefully forgetting that he has brown sugar at the back of his cabinet.

You are loyal, and that’s what he sometimes hates about you too because it makes you more vulnerable. A little too easy to trample on. A little too easy to have you cheering for someone from the bleachers when they’re still on the bench.

Jungkook wonders if you’re loyal to him too, and if you were (which he’s sure of, and there’s no denying it), would you still be even if he feels like the two of you are growing apart?

“Then why do I feel that-“

He sighs in exasperation, head turning to face you and he’s greeted with your finger outstretched, digging in to where his dimple would appear.

He could look at you properly this time because he’s not in a rush asking if you’re okay. Eyes glazed looking up at him underneath your glasses, scrunched nose with the cutest smile and all that he wants this to never stop.

“Hey.”

You whisper in a rush all of a sudden, a toothy grin fading steadily when your thumb comes to rest on his cheek, whole hand soon pressed to it whole that Jungkook finds himself leaning.

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out of you fluidly; no baited breath and no hesitation at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, actually. Not once did you think that you’d ever tell Jungkook you love him in this way, or ever for that matter, but it’s something that materialized out of thin air.

It’s as quick as a passing thought and as stable as a core memory, reiterating what is only a truth instead of a confession.

There’s no sadness in your gaze and no distrust either, but the smile that stretches on your cheeks doesn’t look as giddy.

He’s a little cross-eyed with how close you are, but Jungkook audibly whimpers when you pull away suddenly and out of the bed altogether, picking up your laptop from your table.

You don’t know what you’re doing either, but you could only hope that it looks as natural as it seemed, wanting him to know that your sudden realization that you need to make a twenty-page essay in size 12 font has nothing to do with your profession of love.

“But I know I shouldn’t, and besides, it’s a conflict of interest. Anyway, let’s just end this here now and-...”

“Are you insane?”

Jungkook exclaims in punctuation marks and of deep urgency, looking at you as if you suggested the most ridiculous thing ever after what you’ve just said, which you exactly did.

“Just continue loving me!”

He says it as the most obvious thing ever, his chest feeling an odd sense of relief after having blown up with emotion. He’s a sponge at this point in whatever relationship the two of you have. He’ll take what you can give, but this was something Jungkook would run to hell and back for to not take from you.

“You didn’t even ask if I loved you back! And that’s my honest answer, not something that would appease you when you return the question.”

He looks a little softer around the edges at the moment — arms flailing around and hair bouncing as he keeps moving his head. 

His cheeks are puffed out when he’s angry and his lips are red from trying to get his point across strongly, stammering with what more he could think of in his head.

“It’s not a conflict of interest either! I only shadowed my dad to please him, but we both know that I don’t want to become a professor like him. You just think that it is because you’re up on the seats and I’m down on the podium!” he’s heated and his cheeks are warm and there’s no way it has something to do with your airconditioning.

“It’s a stint. It was a literal eight-week stint for free, because he’s the president for god’s sake — that’s it! I go back to my university in like what, a week? And they don’t even need me passing requirements, because they already know, again, that I’m the son of a university president! Honestly, it’d be stupid of them to.” 

Jungkook feels like he’s gonna pass out with how overwhelmed he is. Too overwhelmed to the point that he doesn’t see you smiling out of the corner of his eye, hand rubbing down the length of his nape to his back.

It’s only then that you realize that he’s rambling and his voice is wavering, concern dripping down from you instead of amused laughter.

“Y/N, please, it’s convenient — more than convenient. I graduate this year, and you next year. The last thing I’d do in my life is grade papers. You know what I want to be? I wanna be-...”

Jungkook’s cut off with a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth that’s grounded him, blinking twice to look at you.

He should really kiss you right now.

“You could’ve condensed that into a single simple sentence,” you snort when you pull away from Jungkook’s hold, sending him a look of faux disappointment to which he whines. “It’s called I love you too, Jungkook.”

He squints at your teasing but reasons just as quick, sneaking in his head underneath your shirt to escape from your teasing and importantly, press a gentle kiss to your chest, then your boobs, and settling to lie down on your stomach as he’s content.

“I was panicked!”

Jungkook’s certain that he loves you, laughing to himself when he heard heavy knocks against your bedroom wall that just conveniently happens to be adjacent to Hoseok’s.

“Fucking finally! I was about to flirt with either of you just so you could cut to the chase and admit it to each other!”

Your laugh is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, coming out from hiding underneath your shirt and just laying on top of your clothed tummy, hand looking for yours to hold on to.

You’ve been sleepy the entire time, he’s figured. You having switched to your glasses meant you’ve already had your night shower, and only had three hours maximum before succumbing to your bed. You’ve had a long day clearly, and it’s when you’re starting to succumb into sleep right exactly where you are that Jungkook suddenly remembers.

“You know what I want to be? I wanna be-…”

“With you.”

“Mhmm?” you all but mumble, feeling him adjust your head on the pillow while he lays on his, literal weight being lifted off from you.

Jungkook feels even more endeared if that’s any more possible, the tiniest boop to your nose and the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I wanna be with you.”

[absentia-if]

Of Playground Insults

A commission from the Ko-Fi for some Margot Steele fluff. I hope you enjoy! (Margot Steele x F!MC)

“I love you.”

The statement passes so easily from your lips– as if it was always meant to do so– but the reaction was always the same; blue eyes flashing warmly, a light dusting of red across high cheekbones, and the sweetest of smiles curling full lips. An elegant hand rising– from its curled position around a steaming mug of tea– to cup your cheek with a gentle air.

“I love you too.” The reply, as it always is, comes in a soft whisper; as if it were a solemn oath that she’d uphold until her last breath. “More than you could ever know.”

Everything settles back to normalcy after– the calm feeling of tranquility settling between you both– as you go about your day.

Of course, it wasn’t always like this. Where gentle words and looks were all that you needed to communicate; you still remember when sarcastic quips and unspoken feelings were the currency between you.

The memories cause your hands to flex— tightening your arms around her neck— as you instinctively made sure that she wouldn’t back away; as she so commonly did in the past. An action that Margot didn’t even need to question— though an elegant brow did arch briefly— as her own arms lazily loop around your waist.

“Is there something troubling you, baby?”

Baby. It was such a simple name but coming from her? With the smallest hint of an accent, that no one but the Steele’s seemed to possess, allowed your earlier feelings to settle. An almost embarrassed smile gracing your face as an airy chuckle escapes you.

“It’s just something silly, Maggie.” You roll your eyes at your outlandish feelings. “You know how I get lost in my head sometimes.”

Margot tucks a strand of black hair behind your ear; her soft smile never wavering in the slightest. “If it’s bothering you then it’s not silly, Vivienne.” Dipping her head, she places a light kiss to your still slightly furrowed brow. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

Sighing— as you knew that there wasn’t any way Margot was going to let this go— you explain your earlier feelings. “I was just thinking of how we used to be with each other.”

She tilts her head. “How we used to be?”

“Yeah, you know—” Your hand waves behind her head— still refusing to untangle yourself from her— as you try to make your point. “How we used to squabble like children. Playground insults even when we were in university. I—” You shake your head. “I don’t want us to go back there, you know? I love you so much and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing what we have. Not when I know what it’s like to have you. To see the real you behind all the snark.”

“I feel the same way, Viv.” Margot tuts as you try to speak, which automatically quiets you down. “We will always be those two kids arguing over who got to play on the monkey bars next, that will never change, but our ending will.” She dips her head to place a gentle kiss to your lips; her soothing scent of rose-vanilla, and something that was purely Margot, washing over you. The taste of her cherry lip gloss lingering on yours as she pulls away. “You’re my everything, Vivienne, and even if we argue that doesn’t mean that will ever change. Please believe me when I say that.”

You smile— seeing the genuine adoration within sparkling blue— as you press a kiss of your own to her cheek. “Of course, Margot.” Pulling away, you gesture to her outfit. “I thought we were going to take Athena on a walk. Are you going to go dressed like that?”

Margot’s brow furrows as she glances down at her ensemble; a tight fit lilac tank-top, that gave the briefest glimpse of chiseled abs beneath, paired with black shorts that went to mid-thigh. “I wasn’t planning on it.” She peers up through her eyelashes; a teasing smirk quirking her lips. “Do you think I should?”

You roll your eyes at her. “You can do whatever you want but I know that you’ll end up hating it if you do.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Margot agrees, her attention briefly shifting to her mug of tea as she takes a sip. Her body already headed towards the stairs to change. “I’ll be back in just a moment, baby.”

“Take your time.”

“What do you want for dinner?” The question comes out of nowhere— as you had been walking in a companionable silence with only the sounds of nature and Athena breaking— and you turned your head towards Margot, noticing that her gaze was still locked with the horizon.

You shrug. “I don’t know. Did you have anything in mind?”

“I was thinking we’d eat out tonight.”

“Really?” You question with some incredulousness leaking into your tone. “You hate eating out.”

Margot whistles lowly for Athena to heel— a command that is followed immediately— before she responds. “Correction. I don’t like eating out at the places that are open at the God forsaken times you wish to do so.”

“Hey!” You cry out in mock outrage. “I’ll have you know that Rolling in Dough is a staple to any sane person's diet.”

Margot rolls her eyes playfully. “Yes, I agree. If that said sane person doesn’t wish to live past the age of forty.”

“At least they died doing what they loved.”

“Eating greasy burgers?”

“Yes.” You nod as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which causes Margot to laugh. “I get the feeling that you’re not taking me too seriously right now.”

“What gave you that impression, baby?” Margot asks, with a smile curling her lips. “Was it the tone of my voice?”

Your eyes narrow. “Now I think you’re just teasing me.”

The responding laugh from full lips is cut short as Margot gets distracted by something; your gaze following hers and what you see causes your own smile to appear.

Monkey bars; situated in one of the various parks that littered Aurora. There wasn’t another person in sight— Athena already sniffed around one of the swings— as you shift your gaze towards Margot.

“Are you thinking—”

“What I’m thinking?”

There’s a brief moment of silence before you both shout.

“The last one there’s a rotten egg!”

You barely have time to blink before you’re making a mad dash for the playground. Laughter and playful teasing passing between you both as you do so.

Things may not be different in some things but they were in all the places that mattered.

And that’s all that mattered to you.

[viastro]

they were pretty | chwe vernon hansol

ミ★ synopsis: the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate is when the world will become bright and colorful, but it’s only when the two of you hold eye contact. [dedicated to @memesolvernonchwe​ ! surprise, i’m your secret santa <3]

ミ★ genre: soulmate!au, fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: none !

ミ★ word count: 2,116

ミ★ pairings: vernon x gender neutral reader

ミ★ notes: merry christmas everyone ! and to those who don’t celebrate, i hope you’re having a great day ! especially to my friend, mia. i’m your secret santa !! i hope you enjoyed this, i wanted to make it as fluffy as possible hehe. hope you’re doing well <33 as to everyone else reading this oneshot, i hope you guys enjoy it ! make sure to give vernon lots of love, and to also be safe this holiday season !

“I’m so excited for you to be able to see colors, yn.” You nod your head aimlessly at Nayeon’s comment, knowing that she’ll eventually stop talking about meeting her soulmate once a month passes by. You bite the inside of your cheek at a particularly long paragraph in the textbook, trying to scan through it to find what to take note of. 

“It’s truly so beautiful, I wish everyone would be able to experience it. I can’t wait to go and see her again so that I can see the color of the sky.” Glancing up from your notes, you see Nayeon staring longingly out the window of the library. You let out a breath, before deciding to close your textbook, causing her to turn to look at you. Giving her a smile you say, “Let’s head back to the apartment, mm? So that you can go see Jeongyeon.” 

You watch as Nayeon’s face practically lights up as she nods her head, and the two of you begin to pack up your things. You listen as she continues to ramble about how she can’t wait to look at the color blue again, and you nod your head calmly as the two of you walk out the library. 

“I feel like you’ll like the color pink a lot.” Nayeon tells you when you both reach the crowded crosswalk. Raising an eyebrow, you turn to glance at her as you wait for the crosswalk signal to show that it’s your turn to cross the street. She smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“Pink is like a sweet and delicate color. It tastes like bubblegum or cotton candy. And it makes you feel… love. I guess.” Nayeon explains in a soft voice, and you nod your head. You glance at your surroundings that are in black and white, the world that you’ve grown used to seeing. 

You wonder if you’ll ever be lucky enough to be able to see the world through Nayeon’s eyes.

The crosswalk signal turns green, and the two of you begin to cross the street. You look at the ground as Nayeon speaks animatedly beside you about how excited she is to see her soulmate, while you half-listen as you walk past all the people going to their own destinations. 

You glance up from the road, and make eye contact with a few people passing by. You’re about to look back down at the crosswalk again when you lock eyes with someone for a brief moment, and you feel your breath get taken away. 

Your world isn’t black and white for a fleeting second. 

“Yn? Are you okay?” Your breath hitches when you see that everything is black and white again. You glance around in panic as you see the normal different shades of grey when the two of you finally cross the street. Nayeon shakes your arm to try and get your attention, but you stare with wide eyes at the other side of the street, heart beating wildly against your chest as you realize your soulmate just walked past you.

and you don’t know who it is.

“WHAT?!” You grimace at Nayeon’s screech as you watch her pace around your bedroom, trying to process the rather unfortunate information that you just bestowed upon her.

more unfortunate for you rather than her but alas…

“So you’re telling me, that you locked eyes with your soulmate as we crossed the street, saw color for one second, then LOST THEM?!” Nayeon asks, stopping in her tracks to turn and face you with an incredulous expression on her face. You slowly nod your head, and she raises a hand to her forehead out of stress. 

“Do you even remember what they looked like? Distinct facial features? Anything?” You stare at Nayeon for a moment, knowing that your answer to her question is going to absolutely destroy her sanity. And so, out of love for your best friend, you slowly shake your head, no. 

Nayeon stares at you, before sinking down to the floor and resting her head in her arms. The two of you stay like that in silence for a moment, and you bite the inside of your cheek. You briefly remember the brilliant colors you saw, but there’s one that stood out in particular to you that you can only describe as being pretty. 

It was a pretty color.

“What are you gonna do now, yn? You met your soulmate and yet you don’t remember anything about what they looked like.” You glance down at your hands, wondering whether or not fate is on your side. You met your soulmate on a busy street for the briefest moment, and you have no recollection of what they may look like other than the color you saw. 

Turning back towards Nayeon, you give her a smile, and her eyes squint in confusion as to how you’re able to muster such a happy smile when you’re in a rather terrible situation. Shrugging your shoulders you look up towards the ceiling, “I’m just happy to have seen colors in that short moment.” 

Nayeon groans and reaches out to slap your leg, making you yelp out in shock. You give her an offended look and she wiggles her finger at your face, “How are you so carefree? I both despise and envy that feature of yours.” 

You grin, reaching out with your foot and nudging her so that she topples onto her side. She turns and glares at you, making you giggle. Running a hand through your hair you mutter, “If fate allows it, I’ll find them again.” 

“You found your soulmate?!” 

“Ah, Seungkwan you’re too loud.” Vernon says with a wince, making the latter squint at him. Seungkwan rolls his eyes, “How can I not be loud? You met your soulmate a week ago and yet you don’t remember what they look like?!” 

Vernon rubs the back of his neck, wondering the exact same thing. He only remembers the burst of color that appeared in that brief moment the two of you locked eyes, but is unable to recall what you looked like. The color of your eyes is all he can remember, as it was what stood out the most to him. 

He thought it was pretty.

The two continue to walk through the park, with Vernon listening quietly as Seungkwan creates a very intricate plan on how to find you as they do so. Vernon glances up at the cherry blossom trees, watching as the petals fly through the air. He’s heard that the color of cherry blossom flowers are magnificent, and he’s dreamt of the day that he’ll be able to see them in their true beauty. 

“Vernon, are you listening? I’m telling you that if we just get Gong Yoo to listen to your story and he likes it, then we can broadcast to the world that you’re looking for your soulmate. All while Gong Yoo plays you in the drama adaptation of your situation. It’s a win win scenario!” Seungkwan explains with a look of certainty on his face, and Vernon bites his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I think Gong Yoo is on a whole other playing field when it comes to visuals.” Vernon tells Seungkwan, to which his friend scowls, slapping Vernon’s arm. “You’re both handsome.” 

“Yeah but Gong Yoo is something else.” Seungkwan purses his lips at what Vernon said, before nodding his head in agreement. “He do be really handsome at 41 years old.” 

The two converse as they walk around the park, trying to decide where to eat lunch when Vernon hears someone’s loud voice. Seungkwan and him turn towards the direction of the voice, finding two very pretty people laughing underneath the cherry blossom trees.

“Nayeon! You’re so loud, please!” You laugh, and Vernon tilts his head at the sight of you. He takes note of the crinkle to your eyes as you laugh, finding the sight to be rather pretty. Seungkwan raises an eyebrow at Vernon’s silence as they pass by you and Nayeon, wondering what Vernon finds so enticing. 

It’s only when you feel someone staring at you that you turn your head, and your mouth falls open when a burst of color appears right before your eyes. Vernon’s eyes widen when his world is no longer the black and white that he’s known his whole life, and the two of you just stare at each other in a shocked silence.

“Why are you so quiet?” Nayeon asks with a bright smile, only to pause when she sees how flabbergasted you look. Her eyes follow your line of sight, only to gasp when she finds the handsome guy staring at you with an equally shocked expression on his face. 

“I found you.” Vernon breathes out as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

Seungkwan glances between you and Vernon multiple times, waiting for either of you to make a move, only to let out a sigh when he realizes that neither of you are planning on moving. And so, out of love for his best friend, Seungkwan says, “Bitch, go and talk to your soulmate!” and shoves him in your direction. This promptly snaps Vernon out of his daze, and you feel warmth rush to your face when he smiles shyly at you.

Vernon walks towards you, not breaking eye contact, only to stop once the two of you are a foot apart. He grins, reaching his hand out towards you and saying, “Hi. I’m Vernon, your soulmate.” 

A smile breaks out over your own features as you extend your hand and grasp his warm one, “Hi, I’m yn. I think I’m your soulmate.” 

Vernon chuckles, tilting his head at you, “You think?” 

To which you giggle back, nodding your head. “I think so.” 

You’re about to ask Vernon if he’d like to go and get food so that you can get to know each other, only to pause when a soft cherry blossom petal falls directly onto your nose. Vernon smiles softly at the sight, reaching out to pick it off your nose. Your eyes widen slightly at the contact, only for your mouth to fall into an ‘o’ shape when you realize the cherry blossom petal is similar to the color of Vernon’s lips. Without thinking, you take the petal from his hand, and hold it up beside Vernon’s mouth, making him pause at the close proximity between you two. 

Cheerfully you say, “The cherry blossom petals are similar to the color of your lips. It’s pretty.” 

You glance back up into his eyes after staring between the cherry blossom petal and his mouth, only to also physically pause when you realize how close the two of you are. You take notice of the color rising to Vernon’s cheeks, and you bite the inside of your cheek when you realize how pretty he is. 

Nayeon and Seungkwan watch from the side, and Nayeon lets out a happy sigh. She nods her head peacefully, patting herself on the back when she overhears you say that the color pink is pretty. 

Called it, Nayeon thinks to herself with a grin. 

“Do you wanna go and get food together? Get to know each other, maybe?” You ask after a moment of you and Vernon just staring at each other, and he promptly snaps out of his daze. He takes a step back, and you finally exhale the breath you were holding in. He nods his head with a grin, “I’d love to get food. Where do you want to go?” 

You put your finger to your pursed lips as you think, and Vernon hides his smile behind his hand at how cute he thinks the gesture is. After a moment of thinking, Vernon watches as your eyes brighten when you finally come up with where to eat. “Let’s get tteokbokki!” 

He nods his head in agreement, unable to stop himself from smiling at you. You grin, and the two of you begin your descent towards the tteokbokki restaurant, completely forgetting that you both came with a friend as you converse.

Seungkwan and Nayeon let out a sigh, before turning to glance at each other. Seungkwan gestures to you and Vernon’s shrinking figures as you get farther and farther away, “Should we go and get tteokbokki with them even though they forgot we existed?” 

Nayeon turns her head to glance at you and Vernon, letting out a smile when she catches the way you and Vernon turn to look at each other with happy expressions on your faces. Nayeon nods her head after a moment of thought, “Tteokbokki sounds good.” 

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Hi, it’s me again ^_^ Thank you for the lovely answer to my Edward and Henry ask, I have another! Does Henry live at Vicarstown with your OC s or is he still at Tidmouth? is Rosie there? Was Shedward a thing in your canon?

Hi, you! <3

I’m gonna make up for last time by jumping this one up in my queue of asks.

tl;dr: no, yes, and no

For more juicy detail, let me rearrange the order of the questions:

Was Shedward a thing in your canon?

The plot of “A Shed for Edward” wasn’t a Thing. Edward’s been based at Wellsworth since the end of WWII, and he tended to be moved around a fair bit for the two decades before that. (He is fond of Philip—fun fact: they actually met briefly in 1965 while Edward was en route to Crewe, twenty-two years before Philip was brought to Sodor—but they aren’t roomies. Philip is usually allocated to Knapford.)

But, uhhh, it is true that Edward asked to be written off the main cast. He had spent ages making lots of extra trips out to Tidmouth or Knapford for TVS-related promo events, there were new engines around his line, he felt he was Too Damn Old for all this running about. (True to type, he still makes a good number of those PR events anyway. One thing Edward’s terrible at is retiring.)

Does Henry live at Vicarstown with your OC s or is he still at Tidmouth?

To build off the previous meta-HC, Henry had wanted to be the one written out, but he had stepped aside so that Edward could quit his extra travelling. He probably would have been pretty cross that Edward kept doing most of those trips anyway, but it turned out that he didn’t last until Series 23, when he had been promised a similar departure episode.

Henry had been increasingly frustrated with his portrayal as “the whimpery, panicky, scaredy engine” for years. (In true Henry fashion, the more the others told him not to worry about it, they had all been butchered, don’t take it too seriously… the more he doubled down and decided that This. Was. Intolerable.) Then, he found out that 22 was to include a story where he developed a phobia of… water troughs.

Henry went spare and quit on the spot. (James, looking on, enjoyed very much being the “voice of reason,” telling Henry he mustn’t “overreact”!)

Anyway, they had to do a hasty last-minute rewrite to explain why Henry was no longer on the main cast. And that’s how we got the world’s briefest explanation in “Forever and Ever.”

So Henry’s still at Tidmouth.

However, he did spend 1936-39 at Vicarstown. Relations between him and Gordon were dire after Gordon’s… problematic… processing of the Kipper wreck and Henry’s rebuild. With Henry’s re-introduction a banger success, and with Gordon worn down after 15 years of hard service and in need of overhaul himself, FC1 at first arranged for 3 and 4 to split the heaviest services at Tidmouth between them. Gordon was such an ungracious arse about this, however, that Henry wound up in exasperation asking to be moved to Vicarstown, and so FC1 put Henry in charge of express services there.

If the goal was to shock Gordon into remorse and a newfound gratitude for his best friend… and it was… it succeeded completely. Gordon was devastated and literally couldn’t talk sense for the first six months of the separation. After that, he decided that Henry’s success reflected well on him, Gordon, Henry’s stalwart and benevolent patron—and that he deserved all the credit!

Henry, still living his best life, just rolled his eyes with not-unaffectionate exasperation and got on with things.

He did enjoy this period, despite (because?) them all regarding Vicarstown as “Siberia” during this period: the facilities were much less nice than the big new ones at Tidmouth, there was no turntable (it had been moved to Tidmouth in ’25, and a new one wouldn’t be installed until later) so Henry had to run over the bridge to Barrow whenever he needed to turn ‘round, and the place was staffed entirely by ‘little engines’ (tanks and a couple 0-6-0s, one of whom spent much of this time filling in at Tidmouth) plus 98462.

This engine, along with 87546, stayed on the island much longer than it appears from RWS illustrations, although after 1925 they were kept separated from the other tender engines. ’46 had been gotten rid of in the early Thirties, but ’62 was kept on due to the railway’s continued lack of big engines, and by this point exchanges between him and The Three Railway Engines were even… civil. Strained, but undramatic. But ’62 had long lost any shred of credibility, and his days on the N.W.R. had been numbered from the day the first shipment of Welsh coal had arrived, a stay of departure only issued due to the need to overhaul Gordon, and then Henry’s wreck and long absence.

Henry’s voluntary transfer to Vicarstown relieved ’62 of most express duties, the crews preferred to use the 0-6-0s whenever possible (and sometimes when it kind of wasn’t) rather than deal with ’62, and the upshot was that ’62 wound up spending a good deal of time sitting idle in Vicarstown sheds as spare engine. Henry only made a gleeful point of making hay out of the irony and kicking ’62 when he was down four or five times… a week. (If you’re wondering why it wasn’t even more often, it’s mostly because the other engines kept him in rein. ’62 wasn’t popular with them, either, but, Henry, why are you rousing the sleeping bear?!?! Just let him alone and then we don’t have to hear from him!!!!!! Between Gordon and ’62, poor Henry honestly may have been too used to the idea that one always had to live with some blustering, self-absorbed, semi-insufferable big engine running his mouth; the possibility of just living a peaceful life was completely novel to him.)

And living a peaceful life is pretty much what Henry did; he had a grand time being “his own engine” for a couple years. He was made much of over on the eastern end of the line as "the express engine," he got to spend a lot of time over at Barrow making even more friends and getting interested in mainland rail politics… he got to meet and mentor a fair number of the new Black Fives as they were built and as the class made a name for itself… hmm, the only one of my OCs actually there at this time was Bernice; at first they had some crossed wires but then settled into a good working relationship… most of all, just the sheer confidence boost from having decided to strike out on his own gave him quite a high.

Pretty much the first day a German bomber was spotted over the channel, however, Henry immediately moved back to Tidmouth in order to stand buffer-to-buffer with his friends. No hesitation. No question.

It felt so natural to everyone, and everyone was so busy, that there was hardly even any commentary when Henry returned. Gordon cracked a wide, deep smile, though.

(So did James, who reckoned—correctly—that this meant he was relieved of the Flying Kipper duties!)

is Rosie there?

She is now. I have her brought in to Tidmouth Harbor while new, at the same time her class arrived at Southampton Docks—the N.W.R. was allotted one for defense purposes—and she worked there for quite a while. She was made Vicarstown station pilot only decades later.

Frankly, she used to be too spineless to have such a big responsibility, but she’s come a long way!

It is also true that, especially before her transfer, she and Henry were on excellent terms. Rosie might be the only new engine that Henry never dreamed of lightly hazing; she was just too sweet, and he was very “i’ve only known her for two days but if any of you yobs ever looked at her the wrong way i’d kill everyone in this depot and then myself” from the start.

[vee-double-u]

welcome distractions

pairing: kenma x reader smut

summary: “You being some horny sex pest isn’t about to stop me from getting this boss,” Kenma muttered, his eyes turning back to the game.

Y/N continued to press herself against him though as she could tell his words had no bite. He had even slightly readjusted his leg, pressing his knee higher to allow her a better surface to rub against.

or reader rides her new roommate kenma’s thigh to try and convince him to stop playing his game and go to bed (with her)

word count: 1600

requests: open

--

Y/N stumbled into her shared apartment, trying but failing to stay quiet so as not to wake her roommate. She could still feel the bass of the music at the nightclub she’d just been at reverberating through her body. The rush of alcohol to her head made her feel all light and giddy but she paused when she heard the unmistakable sounds of shooting from the next room. She walked over and stuck her head into the doorway to peer in. The cold, blue light of the tv made the living room and it’s single occupant glow unnaturally. Said occupant spared her the briefest of glances before he quickly moved back to his game.

Y/N came to stand next to her roommate and took him in for a moment before she addressed him.

“Are you really still playing?” she pushed gently. A silent pause before she continued, “Maybe you should go to bed, you look exhausted.”

Kenma offered her only a small hum of disapproval in response and Y/N was just happy she received a response at all. She flung herself down on the couch next to him and reached down to begin the arduous task of trying to drunkenly take off her heels. After some struggle, she succeeded and brought her legs up, maneuvering herself until her back was against the armrest and her feet were almost touching Kenma’s thighs.

Y/N’s eyes raked over the slouched form of Kenma as he tackled the boss in some video game he’d been trying to defeat for days now. She took in the heavy creases under his eyes and the messy mop of hair that had been tied into a loose bun at the nape of his neck. Her eyes continued to travel downwards, past the lounge shirt he’d thrown on, until they rested on his fingers on the controller. They were moving in a fast and precise way as he pressed the buttons, expertly pulling off a combo.

Y/N couldn’t help it as her mind wandered to other things Kenma could be doing with those long fingers, as they often did whenever she was around him lately.

They’d been living together for a couple months now, after Kuroo had introduced the two of them based on a shared need for someone to split the bills with. At first Y/N had been a bit hesitant to move in with a male but Kuroo had insisted, explaining that Kenma often kept to himself most of the time anyway. 

Y/N recalled the first few weeks they had been living together. He had barely looked her in the eyes and said few things to her, leaving her with the assumption that he hated her. It was only after some time (and assurances from Kuroo) Y/N had become used to his seemingly standoffish demeanour. She could often tell when he wanted company, and when he wanted to be left alone. They had settled into something that was resembling friends. 

It wasn’t soon after that Y/N had found herself drawn to the enigmatic figure. He was quiet in a thoughtful way and would stare at her with these intense eyes that would make her heart race. The way that he would stare and concentrate on a game made her wish he would stare at her like that. Like she was an interesting problem that he needed to spend hours to unravel. 

Her best friend had laughed at her when she confided in her about the predicament and her friend just quipped that maybe Y/N just really needed to get laid.

Well yeah Y/N quietly agreed as she reminisced. Preferably by Kenma.

“What?”

The annoyed voice from the figure she was analysing made her eyes snap from Kenma’s hands back to his face, to find him staring at her inquiringly. Feeling less embarrassed than if she had been sober, Y/N just stared defiantly back into those cat-like eyes, allowing herself to get lost for a moment. 

She decided to try again.

“Go to sleep, Kenma-san. The boss will still be there and your skills will be better after some sleep.”

He barely regarded her before turning back to his game.

A flash of slight annoyance and liquid bravery made Y/N sit up abruptly and move towards him. 

“Well if you’re going to be that way, I’ll just have to pull you away from the game myself.”

Y/N pushed Kenma’s legs further apart to make room for the stupid thing she was about to do and settled herself onto his right thigh, her tight skirt riding dangerously up her thighs.  Kenma had finally moved his concentration from the tv to her as looked up at her curiously. He didn’t push her away and Y/N took this for approval as she began moving her hips slowly. 

She concentrated on her fantasies from just before and her disappointment at the lack of male attention when out clubbing earlier as she rotated her hips slowly, pressing her core against Kenma’s thigh, desperate for any friction to soothe her sexual frustration. 

“You being some horny sex pest isn’t about to stop me from getting this boss,” Kenma muttered, his eyes turning back to the game. His fingers continued to move again, though much slower and clearly distracted as he tried to concentrate on the game.

Y/N continued to press herself against him though as she could tell his words had no bite. He had even slightly readjusted his leg, pressing his knee higher to allow her a better surface to rub against. Y/N’s eyes flickered down to see the growing bulge through his tracksuit pants and she couldn’t help but let out a tiny whimper. 

Kenma was determinedly staring at the screen in front of him rather than the moaning girl gyrating against him, which only further fueled Y/N’s determination to pull him from his game. If she knew him a little less maybe she wouldn’t have picked up on the subtle change of his breathing quickening or the way his fingers moved harshly against the controller now. Controller buttons clacking down loudly which joined the sounds of Y/N’s mewls of pleasure as they filled the room. But she did know him and she knew he was frazzled right now. Knowing how badly he wanted her served to only turn her on further.

Just a little more Y/N thought, unsure of if she was talking about her orgasm or stealing Kenmas attention.

Kenma slightly readjusted and the new height created a delicious new pressure against her clit which caused Y/N to let out a loud moan, Kenma’s name stuttering from her lips. His tongue stuck out briefly as he licked his lips, a sign his concentration was further slipping. She was feeling powerful, and in control, and sexy, sat on top of him like this. 

“You know how long I’ve been thinking about this?” Y/N asked with her new found confidence. “How long I’ve seen you sitting there and ignoring me while I’m wondering what else you could do with those hands? How long I’ve thought about those hands holding me down while you fuck me?”

Y/N groaned as she got lost in her fantasy, the curse word clipping in her mouth at the hard ck sound. Her words had come out in an almost growl that she couldn’t help cause God, she was so wet.

It’s this confession that finally seems to break Kenma as he throws the controller to the side with a mutter; “Fuck this.” 

Kenma’s hands come to rest on her hips, gripping tightly so his nails dig into her soft skin. His face moved towards Y/N, finally capturing her lips in a kiss that is hot and desperate. Her arms moved around him and she eagerly responded to the kiss, his body emanated an intense heat that still somehow made her shiver. There was a coil in her stomach which was desperate for a release and she furiously moved her hips against him, arms grabbing at his hair. Hair that she had been fantasising to feel under her fingertips for so long. It felt so good to finally be experiencing something she had been yearning for weeks. 

“Look at you, making a mess of yourself on my leg like this,” Kenma murmured as they pulled apart so his eyes could take her in. “You’re so fucking hot all flustered like this”

The coil in her stomach seemed to wind tighter as Kenma praised her. It was all just too much to handle; the constant friction against her clit, the proximity of Kenma’s warm body pressed against her, the bruising grip he kept on her waist, the way his eyes were focusing on her like she was the only thing he could concentrate on.

“Are you going to cum for me?” Kenma whispered, their foreheads pressed against each other. 

His hand moved from her hip to her face, tangling into her hair. With a tug that's a little too sharp yet still excites her, Kenma exposes her neck so he can begin leaving wet kisses along there.

That was it. The coil in her stomach snapped apart and Y/N’s orgasm hit her hard. She reached her climax with a loud gasp of his name, back arched and her core aching for him. Kenma continued to move her against him as she rode out her high, tempo slowing down as Y/N tried to get her breath back. 

After a few moments, Y/N pressed her lips against him again in a simple kiss before getting up and moving towards her bedroom. She looked back over her shoulder at him.

“Are you coming?” Y/N’s hand reached out.

Kenma gives the video game just one longing glance before getting up and following Y/N to the bedrooms.

She was right, he agreed. The boss would still be there tomorrow.