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inuyashaluver · 8 months ago

Note

if you do start doing player x r x player you could do one with leah and alessia 👀

slice of life - alessia russo, leah williamson

alessia russo x leah williamson x reader

description: in which you and your two girlfriends enjoy life together

warnings: i am not shipping these girls together THIS IS FICTION, LOVES, polyamory, i dont really think there's many warnings?

a/n: another fic for my lovelies and its a THROUPLE?! this was actually so fun to write but it’s SOOO RANDOMMMM, i hope you guys enjoy this because i know its not everyone's cup of tea! enjoy, enjoy, enjoy, and thank you so much for the request!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

if someone were to tell you in the past that you would be dating two of your teammates, who also happen to be your best friends, you would laugh in their face.

you didn’t think it would be possible, basically growing up with the two girls and then suddenly finding yourself in a relationship with both of them.

it was exciting and just worked, it was a mutual understanding between the three of you. there was just something so simple about being with each other, in the beginning it was confusing but it slowly grew to be more comfortable.

you all played together in the lionesses, as well as arsenal, so the progression of the relationship came naturally.

you originally were dating leah, when you were 23 and her 25. and as the two of you grew closer, so did another certain blonde unexpectedly.

you and leah weren’t really sure how it happened, but alessia added herself into the equation, and now the three of you have been together for essentially 3 years and you all couldn’t be happier.

you had your own lives, the relationship not a secret rather private, and that’s how you all liked it.

—

“baby, i cant find my boots anywhere!” alessia whines from the living room, you could hear the pout laced in her words, alessia was always one to misplace something and come crying to you for help.

“clumsy lessi” leah chuckles from the ensuite bathroom, watching you trudge out the bedroom to help your girlfriend.

“lessi baby” you laugh, watching her throw the living room apart for her shoes. “yeah?” her head pops up from behind the couch, you’re unable to stop yourself from smiling at her slightly dishevelled appearance, to which she amusingly rolled her eyes.

“babe, they’re right there” you snicker, pointing to the two neon yellow cleats by the door. her head snaps in the direction of your finger, immediately groaning once she saw her boots in the place she swore she double checked. her head falls back as she lays flat on the floor, you laugh brightly at the curses falling from alessia’s lips.

“what’s all the giggles in here for then?” leah’s voice fills the space of your giggles, the older girl coming behind you with her arms wrapped around your middle. your head swivels slightly to face your other girlfriend, the blonde quickly closing the gap and placing a kiss on your lips.

“lessi’s funny” you mumble against leah’s lips, making her chuckle against yours.

and of course, alessia’s whines pick up again at feeling slightly left out. leah chuckles when she spots alessia scrambling to stand up, she lets go of you for a moment, spinning you gently into the arms of an awaiting alessia.

alessia without a second thought cradles your cheek, kissing you sweetly. “i get no fun around here, always sharing” leah mocks watching you too, making alessia outstretch her hand to leah, pulling her into an impromptu group hug.

you were sandwiched in the middle of the two, the girls now sharing a kiss above you before both of them attack your cheeks with kisses, all three of you giggling cheekily.

“alessia lost her boots and they’re right over there” you chuckle, leaning back into leah when alessia moves past the both of you to get changed, always finding herself running a little late.

leah laughs with you as you explained the situation, alessia’s groans only making the moment funnier. “don’t be mean to her, she’ll sulk all day” leah whispers in your ear.

you turn to her with a mock look of offence, “she will not” you whisper loudly back, leah mocks your voice with a smile, running away from you as you chased her back into the bedroom.

—

“(y/n) was so mean to me today, you know? i asked her for help in a life or death situation and she just laughed at me” alessia explained to a laughing vic and kyra, making you stop rolling out your quads in the gym with leah, “i told you” leah says under her breath but you heard it.

��russo! it was not life or death, it was just your boots!” you exclaim, making alessia snap her head toward you, “who do you think you’re talking to? who is russo?” she scoffs, clutching her heart at hearing her last name fall from your mouth instead of your usual pet names.

“i’m talking to you” you grumble, feeling leah place her hand on your bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. “baby, that hurt!” alessia chuckles, playfully winking at your unamused expression.

you turn to look at leah, looking at her for back up.

“lovey, she’s mucking around, go kiss and make up” leah pleads with a smirk, clearly teasing you. you give her a slightly shocked expression, the older girl usually backing you up in situations like this.

“lee-” you pout, leah places a quick kiss on your lips, squeezing your cheeks together to form a pout. “no, darling, go make up with less, i’m not dealing with the bickering all the way home” she says firmly, always the most level headed in your relationship.

she gives you a hand up before giving you an encouraging squeeze to your hips, pushing you over to alessia sitting on a bench. you huff but sit on the blonde’s lap, her hand immediately placed on your thigh as you sat down.

“hello, gorgeous” alessia swoons, kissing your cheek affectionately despite your blank stare. “say i wasn’t mean to you” you say simply as alessia tries to kiss your lips before you dodge it.

“baby, i was joking” alessia smirks, bumping her nose on your cheek. “alessia” you whine, the blonde giggling as she placed more apologetic kisses to your cheek, making a little giggle escape your lips occasionally.

“you weren’t being mean, baby, i’m sorry,” alessia says earnestly, making you smile down at her cheekily before giving her that kiss she wanted, later talking with her and the other girls back and forth before you made your way back to leah. the younger blonde giving your behind a playful slap.

“thin ice!” you remind her, walking into leah’s outstretched arms. “good girl” leah croons, giving you a tight squeeze and sending alessia a wink.

—

“what if she forgot something?” you say to leah anxiously, the blonde watching you pace in front of her with an amused smile on her face.

“two weeks ago, you were fighting about boots” leah chuckles, you send her a glare and she stops, “she didn’t forget anything, love, you packed her bag” leah reminds you,

“i know, but i’m worried about her” you say anxiously, thinking about your girlfriend who was currently travelling to australia for a friendly match against the A-league all stars team. both you and leah weren’t selected in the team this time.

“my girl,” leah coos, “alessia will be okay, baby, i know you miss her” you pout and flop on the couch, “you’ve got me though, sunshine” leah teases, smoothing the furrow between your eyebrows with the pad of her thumb.

“i know, lee, i love you” you send her a small smile "i love you more", you couldn’t help but miss alessia, the three of you were so used to each other’s company now. when one was away from the trio, it made the other’s a little sad, even if they didn't want to admit it.

leah could tell alessia’s absence was hitting a little harder than normal, she missed the other blonde too but didn’t want to dampen the mood. leah knew, the only thing that you were thinking about was that message from alessia that she had arrived at the hotel.

“how about we watch an episode of our show? i promise i won’t tell less” leah attempts, clearly working by the ways your eyes lit up at her words.

leah immediately grabbed snacks and made the couch more comfortable, cuddling up next to you and pressing play on the tv.

you kept anxiously checking the time, waiting for alessia’s message that she had landed safely. cuddling with leah on the couch, the two of you chatted.

you felt bad about your mind being preoccupied about your girlfriend when your other one was basically melted on top of you but you knew leah understood your worries about the youngest out of the three.

it was until leah’s phone began to vibrate that you both sat up, seeing the name ‘lessi bear’ on leah’s home screen with a silly photo of the two of you under it.

leah chuckled at the sound of your gasp, shaking her head amusingly before passing you her phone, you answered immediately. "pause the tv" you hiss before pressing the green button.

“8 seconds, williamson, that’s appalling” alessia grumbled, hating when leah was slow with answering the phone, “oh, you're not williamson, hello, baby girl!” alessia says brightly, you smile back at her through the facetime call, ignoring the scoff that came from leah’s mouth.

“i can’t believe you called leah first and not me!” you tease, watching alessia laugh brightly, dressed in one of your hoodies, her hair lightly framing her face with the hood on top of her head. she looked so comfy and cozy, you were really missing her at this point.

“leah told me to call her first” alessia clarifies, smiling at you with pink cheeks, “traitor” leah mumbles, “what was that?” you smile at leah, clearly smitten at hearing the voice of alessia.

“nothing, darling” she smiles, kissing your temple affectionately before reaching out to hold the phone for the both of you to be in the frame.

“how was your flight?” you ask her, weirdly shy for some reason, something alessia caught onto quickly, she chuckles, rustling in the bed slightly adjusting herself to be more comfortable.

“it was good, love, except i dropped my phone during the beginning of it” leah laughs at alessia through the phone, you couldn't help but chuckle as well before your other girlfriend began whining about how you both didn’t love her.

after a room tour and chatter between the three of you, you couldn't help but grow a little drowsy, the time difference proving to be a little difficult for you.

“as soon as she hears your voice, she’s out” leah grins at a dozing you on her chest, alessia chuckles affectionately, “i miss you both” she breathes out, taking a few screenshots of the cute scene playing out in front of her.

“she's been worried about you, less, she keeps thinking you forgot something” leah says quietly, her hand rubbing up and down your back in an attempt to keep you asleep.

“don't tell her, i forgot my phone charger” alessia says sheepishly, leah bites back a laugh, body shaking a little but some miracle keeping you asleep. "the one thing she told you to pack yourself" leah teases, alessia rolling her eyes "shut up, babe"

“i knew it” she whispers, chatting back and forth with alessia, making sure to go captain mode and tell her some tactics.

“say goodnight to her for me?” alessia pleads, leah nods instantly, kissing the crown of your head before whispering “lessi says goodnight, bubba”.

they exchange a loving goodbye and a kiss to the camera before getting some sleep. you and leah waking up extra early to watch the match.

—

leah sits at the kitchen island of your shared apartment absolutely glued to her computer, the older girl insisting she must be the one to book all your flights for the off-season, not wanting anything to go wrong at all.

alessia was on the way home from her australia trip, having already landed and getting a lift with steph, her house close to yours. you were currently making some dinner, alessia’s favourite that she had been begging you to make for her when she came back home.

leah was extremely focused on her task at hand, offering you simple, ‘mhm’, ‘yeah’ and ‘okay, baby’ when she could.

you were bored waiting for alessia, only needing to do the finishing touches when the blonde walked through the front door. you wanted to cure your boredom with your other girlfriend but she simply was preoccupied and you couldn’t have that.

“i'm thinking of going to get a new outfit tomorrow” you attempt, “that’s nice” leah offers mutely, barely giving you anything. you frown at the lack of response from the england captain.

“i can’t wait to see alessia” you smile, “mhm, me too” she mumbles, you scoff at her response, you know she’s doing something important but you were just so bored, and alessia was due to come home at any minute. the rapid typing of leah’s keyboard was beginning to get on your nerves.

“you know, alessia is definately my favourite player” you say proudly, hearing the complete silence now filling the room. leah looks up at you with an icy glare, suddenly all her attention devoted to you.

“do you want to say that again?” leah grits out before being interrupted by alessia trudging through the door.

“lessi!” you say happily, rushing over to alessia and pulling her into a tight hug, alessia drops her bag to catch you just in time, chuckling affectionately as you clung onto her. “aw, my love” alessia grins as you peck her cheeks repeatedly.

she places you down with your arms interlocked, “don't look so happy to see me, lee baby” alessia laughs, both of you now looking at a frowning leah, her arms crossed firmly over her chest as she watched you two in your loved up bubble.

“what’s her problem?” alessia whispers to you, you just shake your head and smile up at her brightly, “doesn't matter” you assure, pulling her in for a quick kiss.

“i’ve got a bone to pick with you, russo!” leah complains.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you! ily tooney

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 44,232 others

alessia: my favourite girls in the world!

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yourname: one more than the other, though, right?

↳ alessia: cheeky baby

↳ leahwilliamsonn: you’re not denying anything?

↳ yourname: oooooo you’re in troubleeeeee

↳ alessia: sigh

↳ leahwilliamsonn: both of you are in time out.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader

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proshippers-against-censorship · 6 months ago

Note

I have a question about proshippers that I’ve been wanting to ask for a while. Do you guys genuinely like it when you see a character get raped? Do you get a good feeling in your chest? When I read about my fav character or ship, I feel really happy and joyful. Do you feel the same when you’re reading or watching someone getting raped? Like if a father raping his daughter? Genuine question, I’m rly curious.

-a curious anti

Personally, I tend to see stuff like that as cathartic, taking away bad feelings I have and expressing them in a way that ensures that no real-world being comes to harm. Seeing stuff like that can also help me - somebody who's been a victim of stuff like that - to feel seen, as it shows that I am not alone in my feelings.

This obviously isn't the same stance for everyone, but what's important to remember is that regardless of reasoning, expressing emotions (whether positive or negative!) through something completely fictional ensures that those feelings are entirely expressed in a way that is safe for everyone, which is why fiction is so important. Imagine if somebody struggling has no outlet for the emotions they're grappling with - all that would build up, and those feelings could then end up expressed unhealthily in a way that could hurt a real person, which is something that nobody should want.

Even if reading these darker fictions aren't to help express emotions, however, I do want to roll back on the point of 'its fiction'. And while it's not everyone's cup of tea (for example, I don't read incest and only read a very specific type of lolicon), so long as it's utterly harmless to the real flesh and blood beings, why that person is reading or how has no effect on anyone else's life, and thus doesn't matter.

My apologies if this reads a bit blurry, I just got up and am tackling two cats and a dog who all desperately want my coffee, hah.

#thank you for the civil ask #proshippers against censorship #jackal barks #proship please interact #proshippers please interact #proship positivity #proship #proshipper safe #proshipping #proshipper #anti anti #ask #asks #anti stance

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tootoomanycats · 1 month ago

Text

The Plan

Chapter One: Best Laid Plans...

Pairing:

Gil-Galad x Human Reader Fem

Word Count: 6,415 words

If you prefer to read on AO3 its HERE

Summary: (SET IN THE RINGS OF POWER TV SERIES) (Takes place years before the first episode) As time settles the world’s chaos, Gil-Galad begins to feel an unusual boredom. After centuries of war, his days are now filled with mundane paperwork, the ink on the parchment mocking him with its monotony. When he receives a letter from Master Boat Builder Cirdan, asking for aid for a small group of humans whose ship has sunk, Gil-Galad agrees, recognizing his duty to help. Upon meeting the High King, you are caught off guard by an unexpected attraction. With your ship at the bottom of the bay, you aim to use your charm to secure a new vessel for yourself and your crew. However, as days go by, Gil-Galad's genuine compassion and kindness complicate things. The initial plan to flirt and deceive begins to clash with the genuine emotions that develop. You find yourself torn between the charming facade and emerging feelings for the High King. As the truth looms closer, the question remains—how will Gil-Galad react when he learns the real reason behind your visit?

Warnings:

Mentions of fire

Descriptions of injuries

Descriptions of partial nudity

Reader is not a holy good person.

Two ideots pining and refusing to acknowledge it.

Not Beta Read

(smut stuff will be in chapter two, promise)

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone!

It’s finally here! Thank you for being so patient while I finally got this done and posted. In my overeagerness, I was hoping to get this finished on New Year’s Day, but sadly, life and depression got a hold of me. I have entirely rewritten this chapter and how it plays out over four times. This time, I finally had to reel my worry that this wasn't good enough and just be okay with where it was. Please note that I'm writing this without sitting to very strict guidelines of what elves are commonly like in the book. I am writing Gil-Galad and Elves with the idea that history books and lore always paint figureheads and royalty as if they lived by strict morals and values. And I think it's much more interesting if we see what Gil-Galad would have experienced if he had fallen in love, and it, in the end, was kept secret from history. You'll notice that Elrond isn't going to be in this; that is because at the same time this story is going on- I have a one-shot of what Elrond is doing elsewhere. I am working on it, but I have no set date for finishing it as of right now. As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks. Have you fed your starving artist today?

Tea.

Every night since his arrival in Grey Havens, the Master Boat Builder has made a point to enjoy a cup of tea before heading off to bed. Be it rain, snow, or shine, that cup of tea will always be had.

The weather was sublime this evening: cool temperatures, clear skies, and a calm breeze. Weather being what it is, he opened the workshop’s doors to watch as the sun’s last glow gave way to darkness.

Once the last sip was finished, he reached for the large doors to close them for the night. But as he pulled the last one, a shimmer of light in the water caught his attention; its reflection was unusually bright.

Leaning out the side, hand gripping the door handle for balance, he gasped in shock at finding the source. Just a few leagues away was a double-masted ship- inflamed.

Its bow was raised dramatically into the cool night air, exposing an accumulation of maritime fauna. The vessels aft dragged along the sea bed, echoing whenever it hit high points of rocks. What wood was visible was already ashes or becoming the next fuel source for the inferno. Screams and bodies jumping into the river could be heard above all else.

Running out of the boat house, Cirdan reached the town’s warning bell. Its massive size was stuck from disuse and rust. He kicked hard and kept kicking until his ankle and foot burned in protest, until finally, it groaned in movement. The piercing sound of the tocsin woke and alerted those who lived nearby as he shouted, “FIRE!”

It became chaos as orders were given, supplies packed, and horses mounted. The few elves who could, followed the older one, sprinting to offer aid to the tragedy’s survivors.

——

Wet, freezing, and homeless.

The strength it had taken to carry your first mate from the ship’s bowls to the deck had caused more than one muscle to pull. Short as he is, the man is surprisingly heavy.

Unfortunately, jumping from a burning ship was more manageable than carrying him to shore. As the line of buoyancy and gravity met, a new struggle began as you started to stand halfway out of the water.

Heavy, wet clothes worked against frozen, numb limbs with each soaking step to dry land and out of its icy grip. Ankles almost twisting with each slippery step on the shore rocks before finally collapsing onto soft sand.

A small blessing was the man you had carried came too with only a few short chest compressions. You joined him on the sand once he could fully sit up and catch his breath.

What was left of the crew watched as the top of the crow’s nest disappeared, the bay groaning and gurgling in its consumption. The ship you and many others once called home had been swallowed into the water’s depths.

A hand gently pressed into your left shoulder, its callouses felt through the singed holes of your shirt—the contact causing you to look at the much shorter man. “I’m sorry, Captain. You did your best.”

The words meant well, but instead of commiserating, they reminded you that this was your failure. When the sensation of your throat tightening and eyes misting began, you shook your head. There would be no grieving until a new home was acquired.

Looking back at the shorter man, face composed and emotions pushed to the side. “Do we know where we’ve landed, Sal? I didn’t have time to look at the map; when I saw the opening, I thought it would be the only chance for our escape.”

Sal’s singular green eye widened before looking around the visible area, knowing he would be the only one of you to see in such darkness. “Not sure, we’ve never been this far north before.”

Not good.

Standing up, you internally shivered as the sensation of wet, sandy, cloth peeled from your damp, chilled skin. The only possessions left were on everyone’s backs, holes and all.

A strike of panic set in at that realization. Taking inventory, a hand reached up to count the baubles that adorned your earnings, relieved to feel all was accounted for. Looking down at the blistered and burned fingers, you grimaced at the thought of how bad the pain would be when removing the various roughly smithed rings. One of the bands looked almost embedded past the first few layers of skin, potentially touching bone.

Sal had followed in checking his personage for anything of value, even lifting his eye patch and ensuring that the smooth, unpolished diamond he kept was still hidden in the empty socket.

“We’re going to be stuck on land until a new home can be procured.” Turning, you saw the group huddled together for warmth, teeth chattering as they shivered.

“From here on out, it’s dry land rules and roles. We’re starting from nothing, so best behaviors until that changes.” At the nods given in response, you turned to your first mate. “We need to start a fire; we don’t need anyone dying of hypothermia-“ Everyone froze at a distinct sound.

Hoof-beats.

The sound rumbled further up into the tree line, accompanied by voices that called out, echoing into the fjord. Lanterns swayed and grew brighter with each moment the owners grew closer.

Head snapping back to the others, you whispered, “Remember the rules. No one speaks until I say so.” A groan caught your attention just before Sal almost lost his balance. “What's wrong? Why-“ Pulling your hand away from the back of his head, you felt the warmth just as you smelt its metallic scent.

Your hand was entirely coated in bright red blood from just that moment of contact; a quick glance back at the sand where he had first laid showed a small puddle where the ground's compression had helped to pause the bleeding, only momentarily. “Why didn't you say anything?” you hissed before trying to apply what little pressure your pain-filled hand could tolerate. A gruff whisper was his only response: “Didn't want to worry you.”

“Idiot” was the only word that could be mustered while ideas sprinted in your mind at what to do next. The lanterns were getting closer, the voices becoming more evident each second. It was a gamble, but it was the only possible choice you could see.

“Someone, help us!” Shouting into the night air, voice raising louder with the following sentence. “Pirates have attacked us!” At first, the crew members' confusion read clearly on their faces, until your stern glare made them realize what was happening. One by one, they began clutching various parts of their bodies, crying out and groaning in pain.

Sal chuckled in your arms, shaking his head before he lost consciousness, his full weight now on you to hold up. Once the owners of the lanterns broke through the bushes, they rushed in to help. But it was clear that there was surprise on both parties’ sides when seeing who the other was.

Elves? Just how far north had you drifted?

Cirdan was genuinely shocked at what he and his townspeople stumbled upon. When first spotting the burning ship, the assumption was that the sailors aboard would be his own kind—not humans. As the others rushed to those rolling in agony on the sand, he quickly made his way to where you were struggling to maintain balance while holding a relatively short man.

Finally, you allowed the tears to flow, teeth chattering as the adrenalin began to wear off and what little warmth you had dissipated. “Please, help us.” The older elf’s heart broke at the sight before him, and within the hour, you and your crew had been taken back to town to be tended to.

By midnight, Sal’s head had been stitched and bandaged. Once asleep, the shorter man's snoring rattled the walls of the boat builders' small home. The other members' wounds had been cleaned before special herbs that none of you recognized were placed over them. With no spare rooms, Cirdan was left to care for the ship’s captain on his dining table.

The first rinse to clean the wounds on your palms had not been too painful. But as the elf used various instruments to take out the bits of splintered wood, broken threads of rope, and shattered glass, you began to think that he was torturing you instead of healing.

At another flinch, Cirdan’s focus shifted to take in your exhausted face. The grimacing expression telling how much you were ready to be done with the tedious task before you both. “Almost done. I am pleased to say you will still have full use of your hands.” He whispered.

As everyone else slept, only a few candles lit the small area needed to see as he worked. In search of distraction from the sensitive and tender discomfort, attention shifted to the papers scattered around the table he had you perched on. The first few were just lists and notes, but something caught your eye.

It was beautiful.

Triple-masted, square-cut sales, the hull was designed in such detail that it felt like, with one good shake, it would drop out of the page into the water.

As you became further engrossed with the drawing, you unknowingly leaned further and further. Cirdan looked up, ready to ask you to sit still again. But when he followed where your attention had gone, he smiled softly before gently guiding your palms back into the position needed. Focusing back on digging out a particularly stubborn glass shard, he egged on your curiosity. “If you enjoy that one, you should see the one you are sitting on.”

When a deep blush of embarrassment spread across your face, he chuckled. “Here, let me help.” With the boat master’s aid to lean to the opposite side now, he pulled free the design to lay the now crinkled paper on the table for easier viewing.

Just like the previous design, this, too, was stunning. Were such ships possible to build? Once back to work on your hands, you took the opportunity to shift your attention from the design to begin admiring the unique features of the elf's home.

Intricate hand-carved details were everywhere. Spiraled door handles, doorway arches with such delicate flowers and vines it was a wonder they didn’t break, and the wall next to the dining table was carved from ceiling to floor, detailing a flock of cranes surrounded by tall standing trees.

“Did you design them?” Attention back to the page that had previously been sat on. An idea began to form in your mind at his nod and smile. “They’re beautiful; building something as grand as those must take a lifetime.”

“They are, though I am not sure if they will ever be brought into existence.” The tone of his voice tells of the pride in his creations and the enjoyment of such praise.

Allowing your voice to soften, your head tilting, and your lips turning up at the corners as you spoke, “They’re unique. It's so clear in everything you touch that this is what you were meant to do.”

As you continued, the tips of pointed ears peeking out from silver hair tinged in a faint blush. “Every detail thought through so clearly,” Cirdan gulped as he nervously tried to focus on the task before him.

But the poor boat builder struggled even more when you teasingly smiled while praising his work. “Even your door handles and chairs adorn your touches.” Your eyes locked for a moment, just long enough to see the faint tinge of a flustered blush topping the apples of his cheeks. A single fluter of your lashes and you glanced at his lips for a moment before returning to the pages laid out.

“Um, Y-yes. Yes, I feel such joy and fulfillment in what I do and what it means for my people.” He placed the metal instruments down on the woven cloth that held other items, ones that looked sharper and more intimidating the longer you looked. The response was a murmured thank you as he began placing crushed herbs over the now clean wounds. As the gauze was wrapped around each finger delicately, it was Cirdan’s turn to ask a question.

“I am curious about your ship; it saddens me that I did not have a chance to see its beauty.” The fingers he still wrapped tensed in his hands; at looking up, he saw how the color left your face, eyes turned down; it was clear you weren't there with him at that moment. “Oh, I am sorry,” turning, he brought a warm cup of tea to your lips, your hands still unable to hold anything. “In my curiosity, I did not think of your pain and loss.”

The elves' eyes watched subtly as your lips curled and then relaxed to part, observing how your throat swallowed the warm liquid he had provided. Patiently waiting until you had your fill before putting the cup down and turning back to finish bandaging up to your wrists.

Cirdan finished the bandaging with the last wrap around your wrist. In the time it took to stand, gather the instruments, and look between you and his designs on the table, an idea began to form at the front of his mind. “Is it difficult to ascertain a new vessel in your homelands?” His back faced you as he cleaned the blood from the metal objects in the sink.

His shoulders dropped as your voice broke. “My home is very far from here.” For the second time in the night, the boat master felt his heartbreak at such sadness.

That settles it, then. He had to do something. There was only so long and so little room that Grey Haven’s harbor could offer hospitality, not to mention there being no clear path ahead for you. “What I say next, you must know, is not meant to push you out.” He watches the way you curl into yourself, preparing in resignation already.

“My home is small, not suited to provide the proper healing your crew needs. I will send a message to my king-,” Your eyes widen, shaking your head as you tell him no. But he will hear none of it. Raising a hand to stop your protests, the elf continues, “I will write to my king and ask that he finds it in his heart to show compassion, especially to those that deserve it.”

You tell him you don't know how to repay his kindness; he scoffs and drinks the now-cold tea to hide the blush dusting the apple of his cheeks. The rest of the night is spent playing a few games of chess. It would have just been one, but with your hands being as they are, you kept accidentally bumping multiple pieces around. With each game, the conversation turned back to ships, elven ships.

As the darkness of night began to give way to the first glow of dawn on the horizon, Cirdan excused himself to write the letter that would be sent ahead to Lindon’s Capital. At that same time, you went to Sal. Gently, you slinked into the bedroom so as not to wake the rest of the crew before sitting on the edge of the bed that was so graciously granted to your first mate.

“Sal, Sal!” You voiced louder than planned at the shorter man’s deep sleep, which refused to release him. Finally, the rough shake to his shoulder roused him. “Wha-Whats going on?” With a quick hand over his mouth to quiet him down, you pressed a finger to your lips before whispering. “I have just spent the last few hours speaking with our new friend. He has been very kind.”

You couldn't help but chuckle at the responding wiggling eyebrows, his single eye wide in excitement. “How kind?” You leaned in to reply with a whisper, a wicked smile its companion. “Kind enough to ask if his king would help us.” Sal’s jaw dropped in shock before punching your shoulder. “How in the hell did you pull that off?”

Sitting straight, the back of your hand pressed to your forehead, sighing dramatically before speaking, “Who will take pity on little ole me, a female captain with no ship to call home? My poor crew, so ill, that even elven healers struggle to help them.”

Shaking his head while chuckling, Sal crossed his arms while wiggling more comfortably into the bed’s soft feather pillows. “So what’s the plan?”

Your smirk grew at the question.

———————

With the first rays of morning light, a plan in motion, and rules set in place, you met with Cirdan and the escort outside his home, where a hiccup had already appeared.

You nervously approached the giant beast, flinching back when its large nostrils grunted out a rush of breath. “I’ve never ridden a horse before. Can I not just walk behind?” A sympathetic smile graced the boat master’s lips as the other elf mounted their steed. “Walking would take extra days that your crew may not have. If you are unsure of riding alone, ride with the escort; they will ensure your safe arrival.”

Anxiously, you nodded in agreement, unable to see a different path around the logic presented. A few awkward jumps and one petrified yelp later saw you and the expert rider heading up the road to the capital—the poor elf at the mercy of your fearfully white-knuckled grip in their ribs. The pain in your hands be damned.

Lindon’s Palace

My Dear King,

I write to you earnestly, asking that aid be offered to someone deserving of such compassion. A pirate attack has left my new friend without a ship or home, and a crew suffering from ailments beyond my healing capabilities. The ship's Captain will arrive with an escort so that you yourself can make sound judgments of their character.

Gil-Galad re-read the letter. In his years of friendship with the Lord of Grey Haven, only a handful of times had the elder asked for royal assistance, unlike some of the other stewards of his kingdom, who seemed to lack such abstention.

He sighed when sid-eyeing the pile of letters and scrolls stacked high upon the oak desk, still awaiting answers. Fiddling with the paper’s edge, unrolling it further as he sat in thought, a previously unseen line of penmanship caught his attention.

I suggest conversing over a game of chess; you may be pleasantly surprised as I was in their company.

Your Faithful Friend, Cirdan

With a scoff, he flicked the paper back to its place on the desk's clutter. It had been hours, and barely a dent had been made in the mountain of documents that had arrived the day before.

With his kingdom settling into a gentle rhythm after so many years of war, the High King started feeling something unexpected- boredom. Gone were the days of extreme stress, battle planning, and mourning for his people. Now, they were filled with small pleasantries, mastering crafts, and, unfortunately, paperwork.

Leaning back into the hand-carved chair, fingers rubbed along the pulsing ache of his forehead, pain caused by the hours of eyes straining on documents.

A groan left his chest when an unfortunately familiar warmth spread across the top of a kneecap. The morning’s rays had started to inch into his room, their gentle cares on his vestige announcing that another sleepless night had passed.

Muscles ached and throbbed as he stood to stretch before walking to the window to watch the sunrise. His attention to the sunrise over the horizon was shifted down from his room in the tower at the arrival of a horse carrying two persons.

One was an elf, and the other a human woman. It was hard not to chuckle while watching as her arms shakily reached out to the escort to assist in the dismount from their horse, legs wobbling once on solid ground. As the escort walked off with the creature to announce their arrival, she stayed in place, observing the entry area's flora and white-barked trees.

It was rare to see a human in his kingdom. Even in memory, it was a struggle to gleam the last one and when they came. It was not surprising, as curiosity peaked about the mortal creature that had appeared at random.

That is what he told himself, at least, as his eyes fixated on the wild wind-swept hair that glowed from the crepuscular rays of morning. And repeated internally again, when observing the silhouette outlined from the sheer fabrics she wore when bending to smell a vine of jasmine.

The voice was not repeated a third time when his eyes honed in on the gentle slopes of her bust; nipples pebbled hard by the cold morning's dew. Each movement allowed more and more to be revealed by the fabric's owner. The tall elf’s heart rate panicked at admiring rounded hips that harmonized with the tops of plush, strong thighs and a waist--

When a knock raps at the bedroom door, he jumps, placing a wide palm to his chest, letting out a breath he was unaware was being held. With a final glance back at the woman, he shakes his head and asks the attendant to come in.

“High King, a visitor has arrived from Grey Haven to speak with you. Master Cirdan has sent them.” Gil-Galad froze, and his heart rate, still yet to calm down from moments ago, increased.

A quick glance to the desk where Cirdan’s note sat, as its words read out in his mind. Certainly, she was not the captain he spoke of. What in the world was that blasted boatmaker thinking? The shorter elf’s expression made Gil-Galad realize he took longer than usual to respond.

“I will be there in but a moment. Please see that our guest is attended to until then.” Gil-Galad’s eyebrow quirked as his attendant paused awkwardly, a tilt of his head letting the shorter elf know to speak. “Sire, your meeting with the human may need to wait a few days so that-“ Gil-Galad held up his hand as the memory of sheer fabric flashed away just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Master Cirdan has informed me that the aid needed for the human stands on the direness of time. I will meet with them first during my morning meal; that should allow a better inclusion of my schedule.”

With a swift nod, the shorter elf leaves to inform the morning staff of the changes. In the reflection across from where he stood, exhausted eyes and a stern expression looked back. In a singular sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Just when it seems a moment to himself has appeared, the morning maids come in to prepare a bath and lay out the royal robes.

In toe behind them, the royal retainer began listing the days itinerary, explaining how every minute of the hours were filled with meetings, agreements, and document signatures. With a singular sigh and torpid blink, he turns to take the prepared bath and begrudgingly get the day started.

When an attendant had come to gather you and usher the way to an empty grand dining room to wait, it felt like a small gift.

Palpations had been occurring every few minutes since the moment your feet touched the ground after riding for hours. Hopefully, this would give time to help calm them. Chalking the rapid heart rate up to nerves and still feeling so tired, you reminded yourself that rest, food, and sleep would come eventually. But the plan took precedence over everything, no matter the cost.

The first few minutes were spent sitting at the opposite end of the room’s expansive stone table, until those nerves raised back up—skin itching, and not just on the slowly scabbing wounds of your hands. Legs crossed only to un-cross and then cross again. The liquid in the glass of wine on the table rippled from how hard your knee bounced. When all this did nothing to aid in the growing feeling of unease, you resorted to pacing back and forth, back and forth, until the feeling of dizziness came on.

At the sound of your stomach echoing into the quiet room, you side-eyed the table. The temptation was hard to resist at the site of the varying fruits, cheeses, bread, and dishes for breakfast. While subtle, the aromas still had made their way to your nose.

With a head shake, you continued pacing; by now, you were sure that a grove had been worked into the floor. Glancing back to the chair at the opposite end of the table, a small tremor corded its way from where the palpations started to both of your poor, still wobbling legs. One misstep, one accidental insult, and the plan would be over before it could be put into motion.

With a deep breath, you hoped to calm your heart’s racing; nervousness would not be an ally. Another breath, followed by many more in succession. Still, the beating thrummed with such intensity it felt as if the betraying organ was in your throat, determined to expel itself and do a jig at your feet to taunt you.

Distraction.

Distraction would help, you hoped. Turning around, you desperately tried to focus now on the grandiose tapestry that hung twenty feet in the air. Its textured masterpiece taking so much space that the raw threadbare edges touched the flooring and side walls.

Red, look for something red. Rose bushes came into clarity on the lower section. A breath, this one a little easier- but still, your chest held tight. Animals, find the animals. Swans were flying in the open sky of the fibers- was that a unicorn?

Each detail of the textile artwork helped to distract from the sensation that rattled against your ribs. In a further attempt to add comfort, you wrapped your arms around yourself, desperately hoping to soothe the nerves that struggled to dissipate.

____

Even after the warmth of a bath and fresh clothes, Gil-Galad found his heart rate had yet to slow since looking out the window. Surely it was just another sleepless night of work that made it hard to calm such a tempestuous beating? Obviously, this peculiar feeling was not brought on by how his mind's eye sought to wave the memory of curves, backlit in a warm glow—always right when mental clarity was needed.

When reaching the dining hall, Gil-Galad held up a hand to let his attendant know he would be entering the room alone, unannounced. Cirdan had made it clear that he should make a sound and solid judgment of the Captain's character before making any decisions in the offer of aid. A wisdom he would heed. Speaking would also be better without extra eyes watching. However, it would have been better if his mind had been allowed to think of questions to ask before this moment.

Quietly, the private royal entrance opened, its door only opening for him and him alone. Stone that once lay flat and blended into the wall shifted back, then slid just enough for his size to squeeze into the room—unnoticed. The internal expectation from past interactions with mortals was that his guest would be gorging themselves on the food laid before them. But once inside, surprise met that expectation. The only other chair besides his sat empty, the dishes untouched.

There, at the other end of the room, unaware of his presence, you stood. Elven ears picked up the sounds of deep breathing, eyes watching as your heavily bandaged hands rubbed your arms while swaying gently from side to side. Gil-Galad’s eyes trailed once more to the clothes draped on your figure. Cirdan had dressed you in something so sheer?

Perhaps the boat builder had not realized that the gift offered to you had been- No. Cirdan was too bright and observant to have missed something like this. That old perverted- at the memory of this morning, the realization he had no hill to stand on and judge hit him.

Yet, he could not look away. The tension came back to his chest, and just as it began to crawl its way down, inch by inch, to an area of his body that he refused to acknowledge, panic set in and forced the moment to break.

“You have yet to eat.”

With a yelp of shock, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Turning with wide eyes and a hand to your poor, overworked, thumping heart. Finding the voice’s owner standing at the opposite end of the room.

When first trying to picture what an elven king might have looked like, your imagination pulled from what was known of your own kind. Rulers that were repugnant, rotund, and gangrenous from a life of riches and idleness.

What you did not anticipate was to be greeted with the amused expression of a very tall elf, whose attractiveness you pretended not to feel any way about. It took a moment for the shock to pass before finding yourself. “N-no.” A breath. “No, I felt it would be rude to eat before my host arrived.”

It was as if time had frozen for a moment, two statues unmoving as they visually memorized what was in front of them. Sheer fabric clashed with the opulent, almost excessive layers of gold on the opposite side. Warm brown eyes, unblinking in their seriousness, scrutinized the shocked hesitancy in your own.

When you both tried to speak simultaneously, a polite smile graced his lips as he motioned for you to go first. A thanks would be the best choice, grateful that such a renowned, elven king would spare an hour to hear a poor human captain’s woes. Pleasantries to be embellished so prettily in their bestowment.

Sadly, that option would be ruined by a comically loud growl from your stomach, no doubt retaliation at being teased for so long by such appetizing smells. Gil-Galad watched as your eyes shut laggardly before opening again, now refusing to meet his own from embarrassment.

He gave you a gift of mercy in finding the strength to choke back a laugh. “It would appear that, as a host, I have been discourteous to test the patience of such a considerate guest.” Motioning for you to sit, he continued, “Please, eat. I would ask if you are hungry, but I believe that answer has already been given.”

Unlike the High King, you did not find the strength to choke back a laugh from the jest. When your eyes met again, an expression of mirth greeted the faint blush of your cheeks. Gods have mercy; this was going to be a challenge. The elf barely said two sentences, and already, you were struggling.

Gil-Galad gulped as you pulled up your chair to sit more comfortably; he could not understand the reasons for his nerves. His gaze trailed once more to the unexpected guest across the table, unknowingly unaware of the detail being taken in of your personage.

In the earnings that dangled down to the tops of your collar bones, polished beads of sea glass glowed, backlit by the candles behind you. Indigo-dyed whalebone and sea urchin spines brandished with petrified beads of amber hung on uneven lengths of fishing wire.

Rough and raw cut jewels adorned roughly smithed mental bands, assorted in the widths of rings that hung from your neck while your fingers healed. He would admit that such ornaments are much more maximal and eclectic than is commonly seen of his own kind.

His heart rate, which had just calmed, began racing again as he watched your lips part, tongue welcoming a bite of food. His vision tunneled to take in greater detail when your brows knit together in pleasure as the flavors danced across your palate.

Blinking, he pulled himself out of the hyper-focus when reaching forward to grip the golden handle of a wine glass. Trying to calm the returning tension he had felt when watching you from when he first entered the room. This was going to be a problem.

Light filtered off your fork, hand tremoring in hunger as the choices become overwhelming. It felt as if the room was getting darker and hazy around its edges. Cirdan had offered food when playing chess, but between the pain in your hands and the nausea from still coming down from the adrenalin of survival, any thought of eating was quickly turned down.

On top of that, the ship had floated for two days into the fjord without a bite of food or water. To say you were starving was an understatement. It took every ounce of self-control not to gorge like a wild animal after the first bite into a roasted pear with salted honey, its juices bursting in your mouth.

“Lord Cirdan wrote that your ship and crew were attacked by pirates and are in further need of aid.” The question caught you off guard, cheeks chipmunk-ed out at trying to fit as many roasted butter beans into your mouth as physically possible. Peeking up, it was obvious the elf knew exactly what he had done from the smirk that pulled from the edges of his lips.

As desperate as you were to swallow your way out of this, chewing was the only option. Could you simply spit out the beans? Yes, but that would only cause further humiliation for him to watch the act. Quickly grabbing the napkin laid under the other silverware, you covered your lips and cheeks as you chewed quickly, jaw clicking from the strain.

When finally able to get the last bit down to respond, another question was put forth. “What exactly happened to your ship, the- what was its name?”

Cirdan had been correct in knowing his king would hold no punches in the judgment of your character. Gil-Galad knew that his questioning was starting to get under your skin. And what better way to begin seeing someone for who they are than by seeing how they handle their frustration?

As the minutes passed and no response was given, his eyebrow raised expectantly. Were you trying to formulate a lie? At the tilt of his head, his eyes hardened. “Are you alright?”

You chuckled hollowly, feeling a spark of enjoyment in watching Gil-Galad’s expression change to irritation as you spoke. Two could play at that game. “Only waiting to see if there are other questions, Your Majesty. I do not wish to offend such a curious mind by interrupting its thoughts.”

Gil-Galad knew that if he were here, Elrond would snort out his wine. It appears that the High King would also be judged on how his temper would be handled. Raising his palm, he gave the motion to speak.

With a deep sigh, you tried to calm the frustration that had been brought forth. “My crew and I were set upon by pirates three days ago; their cannons tore holes into the hull of my ship. By some miracle, we escaped from being boarded, but in our escape, I had steered us into a waterway that none of us recognized.”

When no interruption came, you continued. “Lord Cirdan had seen my ship just as it began taking on more water than we could bucket out.” It was unnerving being watched so intensely, warm eyes unblinking in their judgment of every word uttered into the air. “He was kind enough to offer aid. But he realized we have no way of getting home, at least not any way that would not take years on foot.”

Still not a blink from the scrutinizing gaze, you gulped to wet your now cotton-dry throat as sweat dripped down your neck. “Asking for help is not something I have any practice in. But for the people that depend on me, I will do anything in my capabilities to see that they survive.”

Silence stretched between you both. Gil-Galad contemplated your tale, sight now set on the wine glass before him. When speaking of your crew and their care, he could sense no lies, but why was his gut tightening, waiting, and expecting? It felt as if something was missing. Perhaps speaking of such a harrowing escape was not something you wished to delve into further detail.

Or -gods forgive him- the tightening that was felt had nothing to do with your words, and more to do with the internal befuddlement trying to be ignored since your arrival.

You watched as golden fibers wrapped around the barrel waist in front of you strained against expanding ribs. A deep, belly-filled breath was exhaled slowly and quietly in contemplation. As his lips parted to speak, the dining room’s doors opened. The shorter elf that first guided you in giving a small bow.

“High King, I apologize for the interruption, but the lords are gathered and waiting for you.” Whatever tension that had been building was broken instantly. Fresh air from the outside corridor wafted in, and both of you took the opportunity to breathe.

The sound of chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood, an air of equanimity held in his stance as he stared down at where you still sat, slouched back into your seat. “Please forgive my sudden departure. I would like to continue this discussion later this evening if you are amenable to the offer.” He continued at the single nod you gave while walking over to his attendant.

“Please see that our guest is given a room and fed.” At the bow of the shorter elf, the two of them slowly walked out into the hall, leaving you to watch as the door closed behind them. Once Gil-Galad was certain that you could not hear, he leaned down to whisper one last order. “And see to it that she has…warmer attire prepared. I would not wish for our guest to take a chill from the temperature tonight.” At the hesitant bow given before the shorter elf left, Gil-Galad realized he was not the only one struggling whenever what you were wearing was seen.

Once alone, he sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. It had only been a singular hour of the morning, and already, it was obvious that the day would be as long as it was stressful.

I have this idea that Gil-Galad is never truly content. War? -Hate it. Calm and tranquil? - Bored out of his mind. So when this Captain comes around he both loves and hates how hes feeling. I'm working on outlining the next chapter but it may take a bit before its edited and posted. So please be patient. Love you all and hope you enjoy and are surviging my friends!

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alastorssimpforever · 2 months ago

Text

Part 1: My Take on Hazbin Hotel Ships

I am a multishipper at heart.

A very long post btw

Spoilers for Hazbin Hotel Season One!

HOWEVER NO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 IN HERE AT ALL!

Chaggie:

They supported each other through the roughest of times and while they doubted each other, they got through it together. Vaggie never fails to show how much she loves Charlie in each episode and she's Charlie's rock. Charlie loves Vaggie dearly and even when she was revealed to be an angel, her love won out for her. Relationships are hard and secrets like that, even rougher but they've grown stronger together.

Vaggie is always tough on everyone else but always treats Charlie with a gentleness that shows her tender side. The two will never hesitate to fight for their loves one, especially when the other is in danger.

It's a perfect trope of Forbidden Love and honestly, just a sweet sapphic ship.

Huskerdust:

Two broken people who find the good in each other. They're duet in Loser Baby bonds them together. And right off the bat, Angel Dust starts flirting with him and Husk starts rolling his eyes. But despite all this, Angel Dust being high energy and sexual...Husk perfectly pairs him with his nonchalant attitude.

They're banter is seeming less. Husk can see right through Angel Dust's facade and he can see the person behind the big old porn star persona.

They're a perfect trope for opposite attracts and somewhat sunny x grumpy.

CherriSnake:

Pentious was always an adorable stuttering mess in front of Cherri Bomb and honestly this one-sided love was endearing. And hilarious. Cherri Bomb is the super hot girl next to the awkward nerd. It's a cute pairing. Even Cherri Bomb admitted after the kiss that it was hot.

it's personally not my cup of tea but I'm sure its delightful for other people!

Charlastor:

Right in the pilot, we see this charming pair have a dance and a duet together. The two also have a lot of similarities in that they both have matching outfit and love to sing and dance. Alastor always appears to be intimate and gentle towards Charlie, even encouraging her in her singing.

And come on, in the pilot, he called her a demon belle. And in Episode 8 of Season 1...you gotta admit that was a treat for Charlastor shippers. Kicking his feet on her bed and getting close to her.

The appeal for me is that the two have very different views of the world with Charlie being more optimistic contrasted with Alastor's cynicism. In a platonic match, Alastor could help Charlie become more assertive and Charlie help Alastor become more kinder or at least, less murderous.

Cherrimoth:

Did they interact for like two seconds in canon? Yes. Do I care? No. Their outfits do have eerily similar qualities, the two sport X's on their outfits as well and both have a singular eye. And honestly, the pink and purple complexations look great together!

Now in personality, they would drive each other crazy in a good way. Cherri Bomb would help Vaggie grow in being less conservative while Vaggie would help Cherri Bomb be less chaotic. The two could really help each other grow better as people.

I personally think it's a cute pairing with flecks of a 80s rock star romance for some reason. I can already hear Vaggie calling Cherri a "diabolita" in an adoring way.

Radiodust:

Angel Dust is the only one that can make Alastor truly flustered. The dynamic is also hilarious. The idea that the efficient porn star can pull off the crazy murderer is cute and yes, comedical in a good way. Also the conservatively dressed Radio Star compared with Angel's Dust lack of humbleness makes the odd couple very interesting.

Two very opposing world views crashing together and choosing to be together is fascinating. Also those two would kill at a ballroom dance. The ship has so much potential for some unhingeness.

Also radiodust is such a pretty ship name!

Guitarspear:

Two smug asshole in love? I LOVE IT! And yes, it's sad but also bittersweet that Lute was the only one that mourned Adam's death. The two are ride or die for each other. And while Adam is still a huge jackass, he still does respect Lute's opinion.

They're banter is seeming less. She always plays off his jokes. Whenever the two are together, they seem to steal the stage. They're humor matches. Do they help each other grow? No. Do they still encourage each other? Sure.

And the nickname "Dangertits" while its a little insane, is kind of cute. They're relationship is unique. A bromance you could say.

Staticmoth:

Another assholes in love pair. These two are no good for each other and I'm sure only encourage each other. They're terrible people but they're terrible together. A fire evil power couple if I've ever seen one.

Vox is the only one that can calm down Val. And you know, Val is a crazy son of a bitch and Vox is the only one that can handle him. They both have a flair for drama and killed it with their dancing in that one scene. And the two of them both have it out for two of the guests at the hotel.

They're both crazy and they can be crazy with each other. Also both of them have a damaged part of their bodies. Val with his antenna and Vox with his...antenna too??? They must have been through something together.

Radiostatic:

They hate each other. Guys, the chemistry is already there. Buckle up for some toxic and doomed yaoi. We got a down bad Vox who will not admit his feelings and Alastor, who continuously taunts him. And they had a history where they were friends (or maybe more)??? Hell yeah! sign me up! The angst and drama is doing its job!

It's a perfect Lovers to Enemies (to Lovers?) trope. They're relationship is tumultuous and they want to kill each other. It's perfect! Say less! And they both match each other and rival each other through their different entertainment medias? Yas!

And "Stayed Gone" was an amazing duet! It's the song that absolutely sold me on Hazbin Hotel.

Radiohusk:

I am all for Alastor's spontaneity compared to Husk's gruffness. These two are dapper gentlemen with similar outfits. And hell, they both have been overlords. One didn't turn out to be so lucky. Also Alastor annoys the hell out of Husk which can have some appeal. And I also wonder how that card game went between them? Speaking of which...

I do want to be positive about this ship but the one thing I have against it is that Alastor owns Husk's soul. That's the one thing. But I'm sure some people are into that.

RadioApple:

Old man toxic yaoi. What's not to like? Enemies to lovers fits this pairing well. Right off the bat, they despised each other. They drive each other crazy. They were both competing for Charlie's attention. And does Alastor see Charlie as a daughter probably not?

The best part? He was only doing it to tick Lucifer off. The pettiness of it all was absolutely wonderful!

And "Hell's Greatest Dad"? One of the best songs on the track list. It was an upbeat, mind blowing duet that swept me off my feet. In all honesty, it was an endearing argumentative encounter over Charlie which makes it so appealing.

And yes, who doesn't want a splash of Enemies to Lovers? It's intense and it's a whirlwind of emotions. And between the two most dramatic and over the top characters in the show? SAY LESS!

Lucilith:

It's honestly an adorable couple. The first two people driven to sin? Willingly to deny Heaven and Earth just for the sake of their love? Two people driven to change the world for the better? These two stayed true to themselves and raised an adoring daughter.

If Lucifer and Lilith ever cross paths again, I do hope they can solve whatever happen. I just got to say I love the tragedy of it all. Falling together into the abyss of sin they had created, the first two dreamers of a new world.

I just know those two are attracted to each other as fuck. It goes beyond anything. Even though, they may have grown apart it's clear that Lucifer may still have feelings for Lilith (he still has his wedding ring). Hell, he was devasted when she left.

I hope we get a second chance romance with those two. It would be sweet for Charlie to have her parents get back together.

Radiorose:

An old timey platonic romance? AAAAAAAAAH! And they both have immaculate style and wonderful dancing skills. It's a perfect couple from the 1920s with a vibe of Mary Poppins and Jack. I find them to be very charming and cute together.

In this gif the also almost, just barely kiss! EEEEE! I can totally see these two gossiping over some tea and flavored pinkies. I love the domestic, comfortable feel to this relationship. While, it may not be a whirlwind romance, it's adorable. They dance, the sing, and they laugh together. Hell, Rosie is the only one that truly seems to evoke a true smile from Alastor.

Alzy:

Mimzy got a bad rap due to interrupting "Dad Beats Dad". And if they may not ever get together again, I like the idea of them formerly dating in life. Alastor also seems to very fond of Mimzy and they both seem to go way back.

Also fun fact: Mimzy and Alastor were supposed to be dating in the show but in the end, it didn't happen. Also the idea of a Radio Star and a Southern Belle is very endearing to me. They grew up in the same city I suppose and they've been through a lot together. It's cute. Alastor is also very gentle and kind with her. Although, I'm not a fan of Mimzy playing the damsel in distress and have Alastor deal with her problems.

Another note is that it refreshing to see a woman in this show with more variation in her proportions.

Zestmilla:

I love their dynamic. They both defend each other. And you cannot tell me that Zestial acts like a father figure to Carmilla Carmine's two kids. It's adorable. And I'm all for a power couple!

I wish I could say more but we got so little of them that I really can't. Maybe we'll see more of them in further seasons!

Adamsapple:

Lucifer accidentally saying he was going to FUCK Adam was the best thing ever. And Adam shoving Lucifer into a wall a second later? EEE! Yes, it a crack ship? Yeah, kinda. Do I care? Also the history between these two is priceless. Yes, has Lucifer stolen all of Adam's wives? Yes.

But whose heart has he not stolen yet? ADAM! All the fics I've read about them either have these two in Eden or when Adam reincarnates as a sinner. Are they crazy and wonderful? YES! I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT! I'm all for the unhingeness of the relationship.

And the angst? God, don't get me started on the angst! It's delicious.

Angelicradio:

A good old Enemies to Lovers pair! I love it! It's definitely not that popular but I'm all for it. Also their fight was lit. I do have to explore more about this duo but I'm afraid there's very little of it out there.

FallenWings (Lute x Vaggie):

Hell yeah, toxic and doomed yuri. They've got history, they hate each other. And Lute may be a lesbian/woman lover in denial. If Lute ever had a relationship with Vaggie, Hell, she still has a lot of religious guilt packages to unpack.

The thing that really draws me to this pair is yes, it's toxic. But the angst, the drama, and the betrayal. The forbidden love must have been insane.

The idea of them being exes is probable and spicy. But honestly the trope of Friends to Lovers to Enemies is not used enough. AND I'M HERE FOR IT!

RoyalHalo (Charlie x Emily):

Emily and Charlie got along so well right off the bat! I mean they matched each other's extorted festiveness and they even have similar personalities. The hand touching on Emily's hand got my attention.

They're pretty cute together. And they're outfits look amazing together! They're a pretty fluffy couple that probably wouldn't have many issues. Although Vaggie was explicitly glaring at Emily when Charlie and Emily were holding hands, possibly alluding to a future love triangle. Big maybe though!

And these two teamed up together going against Heaven! AAAAHHH! They're duet was amazing!

Guitarprincess:

Alright, here goes a controversial ship. Is it the ultimate form of toxic? Yes. Is it the best kind of crack? Yes. Is he a big asshole and she's the sweetest thing ever, yeah? Did he try to destroy her Hotel and kill her? Yeah.

The fact that he kept calling her babe was cute. Yes, was it meant to be condescending. Yepppp. But still interesting.

I DON'T KNOW I'M OBSESSED WITH ENEMIES TO LOVERS! IT'S AMAZING! And ngl, they give a Hades and Persephone kinda vibe (the good kind). And to add on, the fics I have read about them were AMAZING!

Baxty:

Nope, Baxterhas not appeared in Hazbin yet but I love him already! He's gonna be that moody scientist and Niffty is gonna annoy the Hell out of him. I just hope the dynamic is that he is the only one that puts up with Niffty.

We also need more short Kings out here apart from Lucifer. AAAAH! I THINK THEY'RE GOING TO BE SO CUTE! And Baxter is going to be her (cute) bad boy.

Roo x Charlie:

I'm here to spread some Roo x Charlie propaganda! I'm sure I'm like the only one that ships it but HEAR ME OUT! Toxic yuri at its finest. Roo is the Root of All Evil while she represents all the sins, the Sin of Lust is what drives Roo towards Charlie. Roo becomes obsessed with corrupting Charlie's almost incorruptible persona. And would it be fire to see Roo tempt Charlie to the dark side a little bit, let that devil in Charlie come out just a tad?

The angst would be absolutely amazing. And my idea is that Vaggie is the only one that can see through Roo's lies and she knows she's bad for Charlie. Vaggie knows Alastor is no good, but my, Roo is double the danger.

Also do I want to see an epic hero x villain thing? Yes. And TWO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN? HELL YEAH!

Striker x Alastor:

Two badass asexuals together? WHEW! And they're both delightfully terrifying? LETS GOOO! Another fire, power couple.

GuitarMaid:

Yet another wonderful crack ship! Another instance of Niffty scaring the shit out of someone. And honestly, if Adam came back as a sinner it would be interesting to see the pair reconcile. Adam would surely HATE Niffty at first.

But maybe, just maybe something more and weird may bloom.

Lovebug:

I think this ship is hilarious. And even Niffty, is the only that can freak Valentino out or should I say overdo his freak. It would honestly be kind of satisfying to see Valentino be terrorized by Niffty.

It's a beautiful crack couple.

Chaggistor:

Why fight over Chaggie and Charlastor when you can just combine them? And there would always be that spice of tension between Alastor and Vaggie that keeps the poly fresh. And honestly, it would be great! All the people invovled in the hotel in a polycule! AMAZING!

Chaggily:

It's a wholesome poly ship. And honestly they'd be a killer throuple. Absolutely unstoppable.

Maybe I'll do a part 2. Shoot me an ask if you want me to add a ship I didn't add here in a part 2!

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luna0713hunter · 1 year ago

Note

"you'll have to teach me " with zoro please and with

neck kisses / kitchen counter kisses

Kisses to keep your lover quiet but zoro kisses the reader

Lazy make-up

Thank btw I love your work

Author's note : its currently 3:30 am that im writing this request and gosh so many cute kisses with Zoro! And thank you for your nice compliments!!i hope you enjoy it 💕

"you'll have to teach me"

"neck kisses"

"kitchen counter kisses"

"kisses to keep your lover quiet"

"lazy makeout"

Based on this prompt

Zoro Roronoa x reader

Warnings : none,lots of fluff and kisses,cute couple

*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘

Getting some privacy in a ship is nearly impossible.

You cant really blame anyone;its a public space that all the crewmates share,and no one has the actual time to relax and spend time in their lover's company.

But there are also mornings like this: where everything's soft in the glow of the rising sun;the ocean calm and the sky so blue with few clouds, it has you closing your eyes and wishing for that moment to last forever.

As you lean back on the kitchen counter after you've made yourself a cup of tea,you enjoy the rare moments of loneliness. You close your eyes and take a sip of the sweet honey flavor liquid and let the rays of the sunlight warm your face.

When you hear the sound of someone stepping inside the kitchen,you open your eyes;ready to greet Sanji, assuming he's going to make breakfast since he's always the first one to wake up. But what greets you is the sight of a very drowsy Zoro making his way toward you. You pour him a cup of tea as well and offer it to him;and eye him as he accepts it with a grunt. You grin and bump your shoulder to his,making him grunt again.

"not awake yet,sleepy head?"

"not my fault. Usopp snores. And Luffy talks about food in his sleep."

You snort around your own cup of tea, "what about Sanji?"

Zoro takes a moment to consider your question,a when he speaks next,he seems genuinely surprised by his answer.

"he... actually isnt so bothersome when he sleeps. Which is weird, considering how annoying he is when he's awake."

You throw your head back and laugh;the sound so refreshing in the silence of the morning. Zoro takes a sip of his tea,and leans on his forearms next to where you're currently sitting on the counter.

"why are you up so early?"

You shrug and tilt your head toward the window.

"the weather was too nice to sleep in."

"is that so?"

You close your eyes when the skies clears again and the rays of the sunshine warm your face.

"yeah."

You two bask in each others' presence;no need for any words,just enjoying the silence. The tea finishes soon,and with warm belly,you eyelids start to droop again.

"sleepy?"

When you open your eyes,you see Zoro's face inches away from yours;having you caged between his arms. You lean forward and rest your forehead against his, smiling when he lowers his head and presses his lips to your neck. You shiver,and wrap your arms around Zoro's neck.

"you know,i always dreamed of kissing my boyfriend on a kitchen counter."

An amused chuckle escapes his lips,and he tilts his head to one side while eyeing your lips; pretending to be confused.

"oh?then I'm afraid you'll have to teach me how to do it."

You giggle and pull him closer

"that,can be arranged."

When your lips meet,the morning feels even better. Zoro's lips are soft and move slowly against your own. Its everything you've ever wanted,and even more.

Because of mornings like this,you try to wake up earlier than usual every now and then;so you can have a small alone time with the man you love before everyone else wake up.

When a small sound escapes your lips as he bites your lower lip lightly,Zoro pulls back slightly and rests his forehead against yours.

"you have to keep it down,babe. Don't want other to wake up now,do we?"

And one shake of your head is enough answer for him to dive back in,and capture your lips again.

And you pray to every god you know,that mornings like this last forever.

#opla zoro roronoa x reader #opla zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #one piece live action x reader #one piece x reader

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ineffable-opinions · 9 months ago

Text

MAME & BL Literacy Part 1

Another MAME show is airing and I thought it was good time to discuss what makes that author controversial.

As usual, critiques and corrections are welcome.

For those who don’t know MAME is a unique Thai BL creator. I have discussed in a previous post (that can be found here and here) how Thai BL is lacking in BL literacies. MAME is one of the exceptions. This is because:

she is a BL author & hence, one of the creators of BL literacies

she studied BL and its production academically [you can find her research output by searching her name: อรวรรณ วิชญวรรณกุล]

then she started producing live action BL.

In an industry which is lacking in BL literacies, what she brings to the table is fu-culture (BL fan culture) in all its glory. Unfortunately, the live action audience who are fans of sweet BL, have a hard time adjusting.

This is an exploration of response to her works, starting with the review of Love by Chance @waitmyturtles discussing all the ships in that series: AePete, TinCan, TarTum and KengklaTechno. This pretty much ties up what I identify as the first issue with BL literacies deficiency and MAME’s knowledge.

Here are some typical narrative progressions for a (Japanese) BL:

あまあま – sweet

ユニーク – unique

シリアス – serious

邪道 – evil road (Jadō)

王道 - royal road (odo)

Any theme/one-line plot can choose to take any of these narrative progressions. Moreover, Thai BL usually originates online which allows for innovation in narrative progression.

AePete

In Love by Chance AePete follows the typical sweet BL narrative progression. Sweet BL is characterised by an overall sweet flavor (characters, mainly the pairing, would be sweet in behaviour and motivation) and relationship progression is pretty smooth. This is the narrative progression that GMMTV sticks to. I have discussed their reasons as well as why it might not be a good thing in the long run here.

KengklaTechno

Their story follows jado narrative progression.

Quick note about Jado BL & Kengkla as a kichiku seme

One or more characters in a ship being emotional aggressors, physical abusers, sexual predators or outright villains is a very common trope in BL genre. These are popular sub-types (most notable: brute kichiku 鬼畜) of seme/uke/riba with these specific attributes and they have dedicated fans who thoroughly enjoy such characterizations. But these are clearly not everyone’s cup of tea. Some BL fans find these themes unbearable. That is why GMMTV and other BL live-action producers who don’t want to upset any of their audience members usually:

avoid such characterizations all together especially with sweet narrative progression

tries to soften such characters into more universally palatable forms

tries to redeem those characters by getting rid of those with odo – this is what currently airing My Stand-In would do.

make them villains – never making them the protagonists who gets any kind of happy ending

This is done not to trouble the average audience’s worldview (世界観) and is clearly a low effort and low skill (in terms of BL literacies) approach. But since a lot of audience don’t appreciate villain-like characterization, it is clearly low risk, no chance of a backlash from angry audience and the best method for assured money making.

Occasionally BL live-action producers venture into the risky terrains, especially with jado. The Japanese does it a lot, usually in movie format. China and Taiwan also delve into jado fairly regularly. But live action Thai BL seldom does anything commercially dangerous.

In a jado BL, a character might do terrible things and manipulate the other character(s) in the ship. But won’t feel remorse, apologize and improve for better. This is a violation of the expectation placed on characters on sweet narrative progression. Sweet BL audience do not expect characters in a ship to be anything but good to each other, especially after they have become a couple. While audience don’t mind characters making mistakes, in this narrative progression audience also expect characters to learn from their mistakes and to grow closer by earning and giving forgiveness.

In jado BL that focuses on characters being villains, there are no such expectations. These BL work within the confines of their own worldview which don’t necessarily match with our IRL worldview. Characters are allowed to act in ways that goes against our everyday perception of what is right and what is wrong. Neither the characters nor the audience expect the characters to right their wrong, to apologize or to get punished, through judicial procedure or otherwise. Happy endings are not after reparations and resolution of issues, it would be in spite of those. Bad endings aren’t necessarily punishments for bad actions committed throughout the narrative, that’s just the ending of that story. Unlike with the BL with sweet narrative progression, these BL are not necessarily stories of two or more guys falling in love. Neither is their love (if at all there is love) expected to be healthy and wholesome. (It can be wholesome but it is just as well if it is not.) There are expectations from such narrative progressions too and resolution to most issues aren’t among those expectations. Clearly not everyone’s cup of tea, especially if they expect BL to be didactic like fables.

Problem getting papered over is the expected approach in jado. When characters get together/get back together with “problems” never really dealt with, it is proper meriba (merry bad ending). Plain bad ending where there is no resolution is also typical in jado BL.

Moreover, it is difficult to sell BL with jado and other narrative progressions. It becomes even more difficult to sell branded pairings when the characters they play are not impeccable. It is unlikely that actors playing bad guys can sell products for advertisers. (Imagine the characters from The Effect being in ads together!) It is even more unlikely that fans would go broke behind wicked characters and would want to attend fan-meetings and concerts featuring them in some way.

Kengkla is two-faced and an excellent yandere. He appears to be a cute and innocent junior in front of Techno. Audience also gets to see him in Machiavellian mode. This is something that Techno doesn’t have access to, at least in Love by Chance. Techno’s brother is his facilitator in the narrative, which in turn makes him two-faced too. Techno is not omniscient and Kengkla manages to trap him. And that’s where Love by Chance ends.

TarTum

There pairing is an excellent example of MAME’s skilled employment of BL literacies. TarTum is a sweet BL, complicated by them being step-brothers. While their pairing is barely odo, Tum as a character has a complicated odo progression. Horrors from his past haunts him. The journey is going to be complicated. It won’t be linear. There would be slip up on his part and that of others. But there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Those who love odo do so because of the pleasurable pay off, much more than sweet BL. It is a rollercoaster, and that’s why fans like it.

TinCan

This is another pairing with sweet narrative progression but with a rare dynamic: weak seme x weak uke, i.e., neither of them is strong in their pursuit. This is a notoriously tough dynamic to write, so much so that there are relatively few BL with this dynamic.

Multiple Pairings in a Piece

This is something I personally appreciate a lot. It is not often that we get a piece with different pairing with different types of narrative progressions. Authors choose this method and build universes so that they can reach the biggest audience.

A lot of people enjoyed Love by Chance because they could enjoy AePete. While I understand, I don’t relate to that. AePete was my least favourite pairing among them all. I enjoy dangerous characterizations over subdued ones and prefer a meriba over a happy ending. While there are plenty of BL media with those, they are rare in live action. In my first watch, I was constantly tempted to find fan-edits of every couple other than AePete. So, what is time wasted for some is actually really enjoyable moments for another. MAME gets that and I appreciate her for that.

Queerness, heterosexism and ‘Asian’ culture

@waitmyturtles also discusses “a kind of macro cishet perspective on AePete relationship” in relation to “Ae’s randiness and jealous tendencies” and Pete’s response or lack thereof as well as “Ae not being able to take Pete’s help, and Ae’s tendency towards stereotypically masculine POVs and behaviors” tied to “MAME’s story structure here is based in Asian cultural homophobia, in stereotypes of how the queer community should act by way of societal expectations in Asia.”

To unravel that:

I don’t know what “cishet perspective” means in relation to AePete, a pairing consisting of two androphilic male characters. I also don’t know what were the expectations on Ae and Pete in terms of randiness and jealousy.

More interesting I think is the question underlying the statement about Ae’s performance of “stereotypically masculine POVs and behaviors”. Now, what does that mean? In order to understand that it is important to figure out which type(s) of masculinity Ae would subscribe to based on his class, ethnicity and where he comes from (Thai masculinities show considerable variation with location). It will be meaningful to evaluate Ae’s behaviour with respect to: a) what he thinks is the “manly” thing to do b) what Pete does

Take “Ae not being able to take Pete’s help” for example. In their 2021 paper ภาพแทนชายรักชายในนวนิยายยาโออิ เรื่อง รักนี้บังเอิญคือคุณ [The Representation of Homosexual Men in the Yaoi Novel: My Accidental Love Is You] Phuwadech Doungmanee, Panunda Lerlertyuttitham & Natthanai Prasannam goes deep into this:

MAME employs four typical prejudices against male homosexuality perpetuated within the Thai society to create conflicts within the plot: 1) male homosexuality unacceptably deviates from the social norms 2) male homosexuality must not be “out” 3) male homosexuality brings disappointment and shame to the family, and 4) male homosexuality cannot earn true love; love must be purchased instead.

Pete trying to purchase Ae’s love is implied when he is offering ‘help’. This is a stereotypically masculine behaviour and an elitist one at that. As with other stereotypes listed above, this one too gets treated well (with Ae’s refusal to accept) even thought it might not seem so from a Western heterosexist lens.

Along with discursive clashes challenging earlier beliefs, those who hold the prejudices tend to be judged by poetic justice. The author thus educates the society and reading public on alternatives views in relation to male homosexuality. (source: The Representation of Homosexual Men in the Yaoi Novel: My Accidental Love Is You)

There is no one Asian culture. Here are the three popular types of masculinities in Thailand (these are very different from Malayali and Tamil masculinities I am personally familiar with):

Monk

secular male - chaai chatri (ชายชาตรี): embodies typical masculine features such as ‘authority, courage, self-assurance, physical and emotional strength, and sexual prowess’ as well as someone who ‘would under normal circumstances control his sexuality as much as possible and be loyal to his family.’

lower-middle-class - nak leng (นักเลง): ‘a man who is brave, daring, risk-taking but also fair.’ In more recent decade: ‘a man who is tough, loyal to allies and a playboy with numerous sexual affairs.’

Both Ae and Pete are very masculine in very different forms. MAME is not only familiar with different forms of masculinities and femininities, and their region-specific variations, but also plays around with it a lot. The male femininity is also achieved in both the characters in a similar manner. All of this might easily escape the audience members who have limited understanding of Thai masculinities and femininities.

Pete isn’t shown to be unsettled by Ae’s randiness because it is an interplay of two different masculinities done with grace. Pete not only plays the polished, prince-role to a kunlasatree (กุลสต กุ รี; a stereotypical good woman, defined as ‘proficient and sophisticated in household duties; graceful, pleasant, yet unassuming in her appearance and social manners; and conservative in her sexuality’), he is also an out-and-out chaai chatri.

Physical Relationships and Explicit Content

One of MAME’s contributions to BL is in the toppling of certain beliefs, guided by sexism, BL live action creators were operating under prior to her.

Sathaporn Panichraksapong, an MD of GMMTV, a major producer of BL series, claimed that audience members who are mainly heterosexual women look for romantic relationships among the characters rather than sexual relationships.

We know that our audience are [sic] women. Women want to see only two boys having romantic moments together. They don’t want to see sex. Sexual relationships in BL are for a gay audience. That’s why in SOTUS the Series we have only two kissing scenes. With only these, audiences were already screaming. This is enough for them. (Interview with Sathaporn, GMMTV, 10 Aug. 2017)

Jirattikorn, Amporn. “Heterosexual Reading vs. Queering Thai Boys’ Love Dramas among Chinese and Filipino Audiences.” (2023).

As Jirattikorn goes on to highlight, this [wrong] perception about the audience (“women”) have changed ever since.

While early BL series tend to portray pure love without showing many sexual relationships, later BL series started to show more sex scenes between the two male lead characters.

Jirattikorn (2023)

Trauma & Porn

Itai Itai Itai (if you know, you know)

To claim that it is Asian cultural homophobia that MAME leveraged in Love by Chance through the inclusion of gang rape, incest, and unhappy ending is doing a disservice to BL and other queer genres including gei comi, all of which are well known for both trauma and porn. Aof Noppharnach and Cheewin’s lack of BL literacies is evident in their works. The way Aof Noppharnach shamed the use of the term เมีย ‘wife’ in Bad Buddy in spite of its usage by queer people, especially the little people among them, is evidence enough of the contempt and disregard he can bring in through his positionality as an “auteur”. To compare him to MAME is a little callous, especially when MAME constantly questions positionality and power through the stories she tells.

MAME’s trauma or lack thereof is none of anyone’s concern. So is what she does with it.

But the assumption that trauma in BL is a product of an author who themselves went through it is ludicrous and ignorant because BL from the days of tanbi (and its predecessors) have been engaging with it. There is already half a century’s history of BL with trauma and taboo themes.

you can find the review discussed in this post here:

This is Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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imagines--galore · 2 years ago

Note

Hey I was wondering if you could write a zuko x reader? Y/n is a water bender working for zuko while he travels(set in the first or second season) thank you !!!

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Mentions of injuries and such but nothing too extensive.

A/N: This is a separate entry from my other Zukoxoc fic The Thread of Fate. So please do not confuse them to be the same. Also you have to read between the lines to sense the romance. Like really between the lines. Thank you! Hope you enjoy!

You may have be on the ship because of a debt you owed General Iroh, but it didn't mean you had to like any of the occupants.

And by occupants you meant resident Prince Pouty - Zuko.

You had kept your distance at first, keeping your head down and going about your job, but it didn't take long for your patience to snap and you began to talk back to the Prince. All because he just had to be rude to you and everyone else on the ship.

Sure General Iroh had explained the reason behind his behavior, it still didn't excuse him from being so rude all the time. Not to mention brash.

Your skills as a waterbender came in handy whenever he or any of the other soldiers aboard the ship would return with injuries. The soldiers had been wary of your at first, and you them, but in time they had accepted you as one of their own, and would often joke around with you, or seek out your help with an injury or a bruise.

Prince Zuko, on the other hand, had been entirely too stubborn to allow the enemy, his words, to see to his injuries. It wasn't until he had very nearly collapsed from ignoring his injuries, after several run-ins with the Avatar, that he had allowed you to come close and heal him.

Afterwards he had been somewhat civil towards you, and you him. Though there were times when you would berate him for putting himself in unnecessary danger and only coming to you when the pain would be too much for him to handle. He would justify his actions, saying he could handle it. Iroh was usually the mediator between the two of you, always there to make sure neither of you accidentally harmed the other. You had threatened to toss the Prince overboard on more then one occasion.

Funnily enough, he had never ever mentioned hurting you with his firebending.

Your transition from hostile shipmates, to hostile companions was slow-going and took months for the both of you to actually admit that perhaps you both could get along.

Of course, when you had just come to that realization, Zhao had commandeered Zuko's soldiers and ship, to be used to take over the Northern Water Tribe. Iroh had instantly dismissed you from your post, saying your debt had been paid. He had no desire to see you in the hands of the evil man.

Which was why you were now staying at the small inn where Zuko's ship had made its final port. You had no idea where to go from there. You didn't have any family to go back to. You had been saved by General Iroh out of the goodness of his heart. Which was the reason you had stuck to him with the claim that you owned him a debt.

Truthfully you had just felt safe with him, and now?

Where would you go now?

You were so lost in your thoughts, staring at the small cup of tea in your hand that you very nearly jumped out of your skin when the door to your small room slammed open and General Iroh stumbled in, supporting an unconscious and injured figure at his side.

Your eyes widened at who it was. "Zuko!" Your cup clattered to the floor as you ran to help the General lay the Prince down on your bed. A sharp gasp left your lips as you assessed the damage to his body. Burns, cuts, scraps, bruises, gashes. There were so many of them.

"What happened?" You demanded, even as you quickly began to gather supplies. A bucket of water, an old blanket to rip up for bandages and the bag that contained your own salves and pastes to help with the bruising.

"The pirates. They were in league with Zhao and they blew up the ship with Zuko onboard." The man explained, worry for his nephew evident in his gaze as he watched you do you work. Taking a small knife, you quickly cut open the shirt Zuko wore to assess the damage there.

You worked the entire night.

The more serious injuries were healed with your healing abilities and once you had tired yourself out from that, you began to apply the healing salves to whatever small burns and cuts you could find. You were almost out when your patient began to stir.

"Wh-" You reached out to gently grasp his shoulder to keep him from getting up lest he aggravate his injuries.

"Shh....just lie still. You're alright. You're safe." You told him. Pouring the concoction you had steamed a few moments ago, you held the cup to his lips. "Drink this. It'll help with the pain."

For once Zuko made no complaint, as he raised his head just enough to drink the warm liquid. His face grimaced at the taste but you made sure he drank every last drop.

"Your Uncle has gone to get some food. It's nearly afternoon." Outside the sun was high in the sky. Sleep hung heavy in your eyes as your gaze ran over his face. "Does anything hurt? I was able to cure most of the injuries, but I don't know if I missed something." Worry laced your tone as you fussed over the bandages that were wrapped around his forearm.

He pulled back his arm, only to grasp her hand tightly with his own. You were surprised at the strength behind the grip but you met his gaze with your own as he stared at you with an intensity that had never been there before. At least not the kind where you felt your face growing hot and had you averting your gaze after awhile and clearing your throat. His grip softened, allowing you to slip your fingers from his grasp.

"Thank you Y/N." Well that came as a shock. He had never once thanked you for when you treated him. He must've hit his head really hard on something.

Still you didn't say anything, the blush along your cheeks only intensifying as you nodded and cleared your throat. "It was nothing." But it seemed to mean something to him.

Thankfully Iroh returned just then, with food and provisions, and with the way your stomach had been growling, you all but wolfed down the soup and dumplings.

Of course you couldn't ignore the feeling that someone was watching your every move.

You simply focused on the food, too afraid to meet those intense golden eyes again.

#zuko x reader #zuko x oc #zuko x y/n #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender imagine

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the-kr8tor · 1 year ago

Text

Batten Down the Hatches

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW panic attack, CW Injury, CW food mentions.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 6 >>> CHAPTER 7

With Pavitr’s arm slung over your shoulder and James handing you a glass that smells incredibly strong, your heart has never felt this content in years. You laugh as Yuri wins an arm wrestle round for the third time that day. Everyone cheers, Yuri flexes with a rare wide smile.

It's been a few hours since your daring jump, you can still feel Hobie's hands on yours and the crew clasping your shoulders happily once they finally lifted you up. With their warm welcome and after the whole debacle, Hobie insisted that there should be a celebration for a mission accomplished.

“Someone rum me up!” she yells and you immediately give her your untouched glass. “Oh hell yeah, thank you, wifey!” Yuri winks, already drunk.

“I'm not your wife, Yuri!” You happily yell above the noise.

She gasps dramatically, “oh you wound me!” You shake your head with a smile.

“Yeah, Yuri, she's already taken!” Pav pipes up from your side, shaking your shoulders.

You clasp your hand over his chattering mouth, the crowd guffaws, asking you numerous questions.

“Oi! Who's got you all smitten then?” Two fingers asks.

“Oh look at her smile!” Ned joins in with the teasing.

“Alright, who do I have to fight for your hand?” Yuri has her hands on her hips, a teasing smile on her painted lips.

“No one! Pav's being a little shit!” you wrangle Pav while he tries to wiggle out.

He manages to get out, acting like he's deprived of air. “Isn't it obvious, it's the ca–”

Finn huffs loudly, his large frame casting a shadow over the small table. You sigh, relieved that Finn unintentionally saved you from all the teasing.

Yuri looks him up and down, the alcohol in her veins inflates her ego. With a smug smile on her lips, she sits back down on the stool, laying her elbow down on the table, flexing her hand towards Finn, challenging him for a match.

Everyone quiets down, flicking their eyes between the two.

You never thought you'd see the day, Finn grins, sitting across Yuri. With a loud thump, he copies his opponent’s movement, his large hand dwarfing Yuri's.

A loud cheer erupts, overflowing cups sloshing out, some even jump for joy. You blame the alcohol.

Pav leaves your side, going around to collect bets. The crew coughs up coins, you watch, beaming, nodding along to the light strumming of Ned's well loved guitar.

Backing away from the crowd, you leave everyone to get some air. The throbbing ache in your ankle protests so you lean on the ship's bannister, watching the vast sea waving to you. The afternoon sun bearing down, its warmth a welcome one from the cool sea breeze.

A steaming cup suddenly appears, balancing on the wooden railing. A lithe hand pushes it towards you wordlessly.

“Another olive branch?” You tease, side eyeing Hobie.

“No, I figured you'd want something to drink when you didn't drink the rum.” With his back against the bannister, elbows propped over it, he leans casually, face upwards, basking in the sun. His silver piercings glint in the light, a familiar pendant around his neck.

“Were you watching me? You stalker” taking the cup, you raise it to your smiling lips. Turmeric, you surmise based on the taste. You let the herbal tea soothe your aching ankle.

“I was watching my crew.” Hobie faces you, muscles relaxed, content. “How's the injury?”

“Getting better,” you twist your foot around, testing the pain. There's a dull ache now, the ice from Nellie's helped. “How'd you know about turmeric?” looking at him, you watch as his smile turns into a grin.

“‘m full of surprises I guess.” he throws your own words at you.

You roll your eyes, “You're insufferable, captain.”

“And I, you.” His eyes are soft. Before you know it, Hobie's already walking away.

The roaring laughter gets your attention. Yuri stands on the rickety table, arms up in glee with a look that screams ‘I'm a winner!’ Meanwhile, Finn is standing next to her, visibly worried, holding onto a very drunk Yuri who keeps riling up the crowd with her triumphant yells.

You guess the rum has special properties if Yuri can beat the large Finn at his own game.

The crew parts for Hobie, you'd think he would put a stop to Yuri's rambunctious celebration. Instead, he hops up on the wobbly table, sharing the already small space with Yuri who guffaws loudly, clapping rhythmically.

“Scoundrels!” She yells at the top of her lungs, the crew cheers, matching her energy.

Gwen sidles up next to you wordlessly, shoving you lightly. Giving her a smile, you watch the carriage wreck in front of you.

“May I introduce, Hobie motherfuckin’ Brown!” Yuri drops backwards, making you flinch towards her general direction. Good thing Finn's got her in his strong arms.

Yep, she's properly drunk off her ass.

Hobie takes a glass from someone, raising it up, the crew quiets down. A hush fills the ship, the sound of wood rocking against waves can only be heard above the silence.

“Rapscallions” They urge him on. “ne'er-do-wells!” The cheering gets louder. “Fuckin’ rascals!” He paused, the yells are ear drum bursting. “We finally got the king's swine!” You hear glasses breaking.

Hobie continues, quieting down the entire ship with one clear of his throat. “With the papers we have we finally know where the son of a bitch is sailing to.” His voice shakes from sheer anger and determination. “This time we get the upper hand.” His men hoot and cheer. “We will fight until we get our hands on the bastard that cut half of our crew. This time we get our bloody revenge!”

He downs the entire glass of rum in one drink, swallowing it like water. Meanwhile the rest of the crew follow his lead, gulping their own drinks fervently.

The cheering got so loud your ears started ringing.

You really hope they get the navy captain so that you can find your family who may or may not be up north. Until then, you'll stay with the crew and hope for the best that there'll be minimal injuries incurred during the fight.

—

You can't seem to find sleep despite how tired you were of yesterday’s events. Tossing and rolling in your bed, with a huff, you fling away the blanket. Lacing up your well worn shoes, you open the creaking door quietly.

With only the moonlight as your guide, you walk the familiar hallways, feet carefully avoiding the noisy floorboards.

Entering the library, lighting the oil lamp left on the table, you roam the bookshelves. With the help of the lamp, it illuminates the old spines. But nothing has piqued your interest, finding the titles too dull to keep your attention or too engrossing that you might not fall asleep when you inevitably drown in its pages.

Yawning, you think of another way to help you sleep. Maybe a glass of water might help? Or better yet, a cup of warm tea and biscuits might satiate you.

So you traverse the hallways once again, passing by cabins. Careful not to make any noise or you might face the wrath of a sleep deprived pirate. You know what they say, it's better to tease a drunk pirate rather than wake one from their slumber.

With silent footfalls, you almost jump in your skin when you see the captain himself brewing a pot of something that smells incredibly sweet.

With his back turned away from the door, you're sure you can slink away without him noticing.

“Scuttlebutt,” he half chuckles as the floorboards under you creak while you try to escape. “Want some hot chocolate?”

You groan, defeated. Turning around, he greets you with a smug smile, his eyes showing how fatigued he is but the light is still there, saying otherwise.

“What the hell is hot chocolate?” crossing the space, you lean on the kitchen island, facing Hobie on the other side. “I thought chocolate was supposed to be cold.”

“You're in for a treat then. ‘m guessing you've never had chocolate before?” he takes a clean mug for you, laying it next to his.

“Nope,” you pop the letter p, trying your best not to wipe your heavy eyes. “Chocolate is a luxury few can afford.”

Hobie hums, pouring the hot liquid in each cup.

This is what ambrosia might've smelt like, you thought.

“It's chocolate melted down with hot water or milk. Lucky for you, we got a few bottles of ‘em from one of the families. But we need to consume it fast or it'll go bad quickly.”

He hands you the cup, taking it tentatively, you don't flinch back when he suddenly grabs your hand to hold it when he gets impatient from your apprehensiveness.

“Don't worry, I already gave Pav and the first shift their share so you can drink to your heart's content.”

You look into the swirling brown liquid, the warmth from the cup soothes your nerves. Taking a sip, Hobie watches with crinkling eyes and a smile hidden behind his own mug.

“Holy fuck! Sweet nectar of the Gods!” You say before you take a big gulp, the heat searing your tongue. “Ack!” Spluttering out, Hobie lets out a loud laugh.

“Be careful it's hot” he says in between laughs.

“I know, but it's so good though!” You exclaim, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Hobie chuckles, watching you swallow the liquid down to the last drop.

You sigh, full and happy. “If solid chocolates taste like this then I'm more than ready to raid a merchant ship carrying crates of it.”

Hobie shakes his head. “I've never thought chocolate could make someone a pirate.”

“Not a pirate.” You move to pour yourself a cup. Hobie beats you to it, the sweet drink sloshing inside, filling it to the brim.

“Hmm” he watches you through his lashes.

“You're thinking, that's bad.” You take your cup but Hobie holds it hostage with his hand over the ceramic.

“What are you really doing back here?”

“I couldn't sleep, I just wanted some water.” you move to try and take the mug from him but he moves it further from you.

“There's some outside.”

“Fuck off.” Your hips hit the corner of the kitchen counter harshly as you try to grab your cup sneakily. The mug of precious chocolate scrapes on the counter, making you glare at Hobie when a few drops of it spills. “What do you really mean by that, Hobie?”

He scoffs, “You being here is suspicious—”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not navy.” You say with gritted teeth. You're not sure if he's just messing with you or he's truly being genuine.

“Not that. Not after O’Hara ran a bloody marathon for you, I know you're not one of ‘em. Or at least not anymore.”

You glare at him, getting angrier the second he uttered that name.

“Are you a deserter? Hmm? Are you his runaway bride? If so I don't blame you, I'd run away too.”

You grimace. “Fuck no, I'm neither of those things! Now can you please give me my chocolate?”

“No.” He blinks like he just got some revelation. “Fuck, are you his kid?”

“No! What? How'd you even get that conclusion? Do I look like—?”

“For all I know you could be an aristocrat.” He raises a brow.

“Oh come on!” You're properly annoyed. “I've been scrounging up food and coins for years. If I was a runaway noble lady then I would've come home to my mansion the second I was starving!”

“Why did the retired admiral run after you then? He looked like he wanted your bloody arse.”

“It's none of your business.” The fire in your eyes tries to convey your emotions. “I don't want to talk about him.” your voice turns shaky.

“It's my business because you're on my ship. If Miguel O'Hara's after you I need to know if the rest of my crew is in danger.” a few weeks ago his infuriated face would've scared you but now you're equally as mad as him.

You exhale, knuckles closed tightly on your side. “Fine, I'm here on your ship because you're heading north and I need to go north. You don't need to know about me and that man because I'm leaving when we get there. He won't come after the crew, I won't let him.”

His anger dissipates, eyes avoiding your own. “Here,” he stretches his arm, sliding the cup to you. Hobie winces from the movement, grabbing onto his chest instinctively.

“What is it?” You look at his pained expression. Walking around the counter, you step towards him, not too close but not too far that you wouldn't notice how his brows are knitted together, sweat dripping on his forehead.

Carefully reaching for him, you turn him gently towards you, not missing how hot his skin is under his shirt. “Hobie, look at me.” You say softly, hand squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

After a beat he looks at you with his stormy eyes, rain clouds dancing around his vision. “‘m fine, just need to sit down.”

“Let me see please” He freezes in front of you. “I'm here to help, aren't I? Now can I?” With a nod, he unbuttons his shirt slowly. Now open, a bandage is taped across his chest, dark blood seeping through it, clearly needing to be changed. “Fuck.”

“That bad?” He rasps.

“Yes, sit down.” You guide him towards a chair, surprisingly, he lets you. “I need to take it off to see the wound.” Hobie nods.

You kneel down in front of him, he sucks in his teeth with every tug and pull you do. The wound looks almost infected because of the careless bandaging and half hearted cleaning.

“Stay here, I'll get the things I need.”

He stops you with his hand bracelet around your wrist. “Tell me why you need to head north. There's nothing there but pompous politicians and leeching royals.”

“I think–” you start but you have no idea how to continue. Hobie looks up at you, hand sliding down to fit your own. “I think my family's there.” Without sparing any detail, you slip your hand out, turning away to head towards the infirmary.

—

His skin is hot against your hands, too warm for your liking. Sitting in between his legs, cotton shirt fully opened to reveal his wound and scarred chest. His newly bandaged knuckles rested on his thighs, they didn't need much cleaning but the skin was still open so you still did it just in case. The bottles of herbs rattle as the boat rocks from side to side.

Hobie's legs bounce up and down, the silence and tension is thick enough that your needle couldn't even poke through it. The ointment you're gently rubbing on him makes him wince, trouser leg bundled up in his shaking knuckles.

“Sorry, if there's any consolation, I hate this stuff too.” you quietly say. The strong smell from the mixture makes your nose itch.

“Were you a clumsy kid?” Hobie says, sucking in his teeth.

“Mm-hmm, I was climbing everywhere.” Chuckling softly. “Up in trees, roofs, got into so much trouble that she–” You stop, swallowing thickly. “I got a few scars to prove it.”

“We could compare–” he winces again when you press a little too hard on his wound but not too hard for it to bleed again. “Fuck…”

You hide your smile with a clear of your throat. “Sorry.”

“Fuck off, I know you're not sorry.” He laughs while you stifle yours.

Packing the mixture on his wound to combat any further infection, you make your hands extra gentle with every press and swipe.

“You should've told me about this.” Chastising him, you feel his eyes burn into your skull. “I could've prevented this, you know.”

“I've been told ‘m a stubborn bastard.”

“Oh I know. You did a shitty job at cleaning it by the way.”

“That's why you're here now, right?” His idle hands play with a hanging thread by your sleeves. He's not tugging at it so you don't mind, anything to keep his mind off the pain.

“So how'd you know about the turmeric for swelling?” You don't answer his question.

His smile falters before a small fond smile appears. “From someone a long time ago.”

Finishing up with cleaning his gash, you take a clean bandage from the table to cover and protect it. “They must be good then. Not a lot of people know about it.”

“Yes, she was.”

You pause, staring directly at his sad eyes. Hobie continues, “She was like you, brazen and full of fire.” He stares off into the distance, “A bloody force to be reckoned with.”

“A jack of all trades, she was. Always tryin’ to learn shit she didn't have to know.” Hobie flicks his eyes to you. “She knew how to swim, so that's a plus.”

You chuckle as he stares at your soft smile.

“Yours?” He asks tentatively, hand twitching to get closer to you.

“Does she know about ginger and honey?” Like a switch flicking, you stand up abruptly. “It's gonna help with your fever.”

Hobie doesn't press you for any information, instead, he lays back on the chair, letting you pamper him while your hot chocolate gets cold on the counter.

Preparing his tea, you can't help but feel bad for Hobie. Without him ever saying her name you know it's her, and you know he cared about her so much that whatever happened to MJ drove him to this state; a constant agony and hunger for revenge that if not satiated might consume him. He doesn't deserve it you think, he might be a pirate but during the time you've known him you found kindness in his frozen heart that's just waiting to be thawed out the moment he gets his revenge.

For his sake and the crew, you hope he gets what he always wanted.

“Here,” handing him the hot concoction, you're careful not to spill a single drop on him.

Hobie takes it, calloused fingers brushing yours. Taking a whiff of it, he makes a face that makes you scoff with a smile.

“If you can drink an entire glass of rum without choking then you can handle a simple tea.”

He side eyes you, shaking his head like a petulant child rejecting his medicine.

“Down the hatch, Hobie.” Bringing your hand under the cup, you guide it towards his tightly closed mouth. “It's sweet!”

“Nuh-uh” he shuts his lips closed the second he says it before you could shove the tea down his gullet.

Laughing, you can't believe the big bad captain of the bloodsail pirates is refusing to drink a simple ginger tea. “Do you need me to plug your nose, you big baby?” You say in between giggles.

“No, fine, I'll bloody drink it. I don't want your grimey hands all over my face.”

“These grimey hands were all over your chest treating your wound, you absolute child.” You regret your words the second you realize.

“Oh you were all over me, huh?” He smirks. You're glad that he can still smile after everything.

“Fuck off, drink it or don't, I don't care. Go die in a corner or something” you shrug, playing him like a fiddle.

“You really do care about me, Scuttlebutt.” With a deep breath, Hobie drinks the contents without any fuss.

You pat yourself on the back mentally. He coughs, scrunching his nose.

“I need to check your wound and clean it every eight hours. Got it?” You face him directly, hand on the side of his chair, looking down at him sternly.

“So you're finally askin' me out then? Pav was right, you're smitten.” Hobie has the brightest smile of a feverish man you've ever seen.

“Shithead.” You say, snatching the empty cup from his hands.

“You really do care about me. You've even given me a nickname”

You shake your head, taking your cold chocolate, flipping him the bird on the way out of the door.

“Lookin' forward to my next doctor's appointment, Trouble!” Hobie yells after you, his loud guffaw can be heard echoing out in the hallways.

—

You fall back into a comfortable routine. Helping the crew with their tasks and learning their ways throughout the time spent. You finally learn that the murky bucket of water doesn't have lye in it after seeing James dunk his entire arm in it. It's safe to say that he was covered in soapy water from head to toe after almost giving you a heart attack.

Ned's been teaching you how to mend the sails when you're not in the galley with Finn. He tells you tales of the time he was a traveling bard before the war. His stories were very colourful and sometimes not for the faint of heart. Who knew he had so many fans?

You've never smelt like gunpowder before, finding the powder tucked into the cloth of your clothes and sticking to your skin. The main culprit of the almost daily gunpowder bath is no other than Yuri and two fingers who took it upon themselves to teach you how to load a cannon and a musket. Under all the flirting, Yuri's a great teacher, your aim could do some work but at least now a gun isn't worthless in your hands.

At night, Miles and Pavitr would teach you about the stars and how to read maps, using it to navigate just in case you get lost. Which you hope will never happen to you. It would be a great skill to master if only you three would stop gossiping and giggling throughout the night, bellies full of tea and biscuits that Finn hides in the galley.

You find Gwen reading in the library alone from time to time. At first, you kept your distance, reading further away from her. But after a while, you notice that her favourite chair gets closer to yours until you sit side by side with her, reading quietly under a single oil lamp.

There's never a dull moment on the ship, everyone does their share of the work, and everyone gets to eat and be left to their own devices during the night. It's great, you think. You don't worry about your next meal or where you need to sleep anymore.

Your mind has never been this quiet since you left home.

Surprisingly, Hobie's been diligent at keeping your regularly scheduled injury maintenance on time. Even if you forget, he would appear out of nowhere, clutching your bag of supplies in his hands with a shit eating grin that makes you want to rip his bandage off harshly.

The brightness of the sun filtering through the large window hinders your vision a bit as you carefully take Hobie's stitches off. Your brows are knitted together, eyes full of concentration as sweat drips on your forehead. You could've done this in the infirmary but Hobie had to do a bunch of work in his cabin so you're currently doing your best at managing while he walks around the large table sat in the middle of the room. You follow him with your sutures and scissors. The sight must have been hilarious because half of the crew were chuckling and stifling a laugh.

But the moment you were finished, you threw them the nastiest glare you could muster. Shutting them all up immediately, looking away from you nonchalantly. You pretend you don't see them hiding their smiles.

Sitting down on a free chair, huffing and with your arms aching, you twist your wrists around, massaging the tired muscles with your fingers.

Miles sits next to you, a piece of paper landing right on top of your hands. Your own face stares back at you, a pencil sketch of you, face full of concentration.

“Did you draw this?” You say, surprised and with a bright grin on your face.

“No, Hobie did.” He says sarcastically but you believed him for a second. “Of course I did, it was a bit hard when you were following Hobie around like a duckling.”

“That's a compliment, ducklings are cute, Miles.” He rolls his eyes, “this is amazing though, thank you. I haven't had my likeness drawn in…never actually.”

Miles smiles, taking out a small leather bound sketchbook from his back pocket. “Prepare to be surprised then.”

He flips through it, you get glimpses of drawings from far flung sceneries, animals that you don't know the names of and faces of the crew; some familiar, some are strangers to you. But you see more of Gwen's face amidst the pages. You fight the urge to tease him, maybe you'll do that when half of the crew isn't discussing battle plans in front of you. Their faces are serious and intense as Hobie lays out figures on a map.

“You're this bored, huh?” With your elbow resting on your thigh, you watch him stop on a page.

“Look at this one” he proudly says, eyes twinkling. Showing you the pages, his hand still holding it just in case you had the audacity to flip through it yourself.

You can't believe it's your own face staring back at you.

Your eyes smile in the drawing, the unmistakable shine of happiness in them. Face turned to side, clearly looking at something. Your lips are curled up into a grin like someone just told you the funniest joke ever. The shading is expertly done by Miles, *it's like staring into a mirror, you thought. You've never seen yourself this happy.

“I'm guessing I did a good job?” He smugly says, “you're staring at it way too long, narcissus is that you?” Miles jokes, but his smile fades when he sees your eyes glistening in the sun. “Oh shit, please don't cry. Hobie's gonna kill me if I made you cry.”

You sniff, casually hiding the heat behind your eyes. “It's really good.” Chuckling, you feel a pair of eyes on your form. “Thank you, I–” exhaling, you have no idea how to properly thank him. Settling on a fist bump on his arm, you awkwardly do just that. “Thanks, you made me look prettier.”

He laughs, sighing in relief. “Nah, it was no problem. Making you look good was the hardest part.”

“You ruined it,” you scrunch up your nose, feigning annoyance. Pushing the notebook, shoving it to his chest he laughs loudly, too loud apparently when someone from the room shushes you two.

Miles winces before turning back to you. “You know what helped though? In getting your expression right?”

“No?”

“Hobie,” he says with a quick gesture towards the man. A mischievous smirk on his face. “You were talking to Hobie while I was drawing this.” Lifting the page back up, “look how happy you were!” You close the book with his fingers still inside.

Yelping, he glares at you. “I made you a portrait and this is how you thank me?”

“Shut it” your eyes roam the room, looking for someone who's eavesdropping on the conversation. Thankfully no one is. “Don't act like Gwen isn't on every page of your book.” you whisper shout at him.

“Oh so you're saying that the same feelings I have for Gwen can be translated to your feelings towards Hobie?” He teases you right back, whispering quieter. “I owe Pav a coin.”

“You little–!” He rockets away from his seat, weaving through the crew. “Come back here, Miles!” Chasing him, careful not to shove anyone, your fast footsteps echo in the hallways.

Miles yells back, gaining speed ahead of you. “I have Hobie's version too if you'd like to see it!”

“No! Fuck you! I'll tell Gwen!”

He turns heel, now running after you. Cursing, you turn around, back to where you came from. Sprinting, you both pass by Hobie's cabin lightning fast. The crew's laughter echoes out while you try to escape Miles.

Hobie can't help but crack a smile even when the topic at hand is serious and dire.

—

With a book in front of you, hands smelling of ink and paper, you glance at Gwen who's leaning on your side comfortably, using you as her personal backrest. You don't mind it since she snuck in hot chocolate for you.

“I've been thinking—”

“That's dangerous, don't hurt yourself.” She murmurs.

“Funny, ha ha” you laugh sarcastically. She snorts, eyes still glued on the page. “Seriously though, what's on the bow of the ship? I've only seen mermaids and the occasional angel carved on it but I've never seen one like the one here. Where in the world did Hobie even get it?”

“It's a dragon.” Gwen says without looking back at you.

“A dragon? But it doesn't have any wings though?”

She sits up, gently laying the book on her lap, looking prim and proper. “A version of it, I guess? It's popular in the east.” You listen intently so she continues. “In their stories, the dragons symbolize luck and strength, which we need now more than ever.” stretching her neck, she continues. “And Hobie traded it in exchange for our boring old siren.”

You chuckle, “What's the difference between the ones in our mythology and theirs? Other than the lack of wings and looking way cooler.”

“They say they have the power to control the weather and are big enough to swallow the moon.” you whistle out, intrigued. “Maybe after the fight we can sail over there and show you around the place?” she asks, grinning.

“I'd love that.”

You should tell her that you're not staying after the fight, but you don't want to ruin the moment or her mood. You'll tell her when you get the chance, for now, you let them focus on what's coming.

“We named him Terrence by the way.”

You giggle. “I'll be sure to greet him every morning.”

—

The clean water splashed on your head is a nice reprieve from the searing heat. Being the so-called ‘doctor’ on the ship, Hobie thought it would be a great idea for you to also be their designated water girl to combat heat stroke. It's easy work, reminding them to drink water and also just dumping a splash of water on the crew's head using a soup ladle. You're having fun actually, just randomly (and sneakily) pouring water over their heads whenever they complain about the heat while toiling under the sun, watching them shriek and jump from the sudden gush of water. Now they rarely complain anymore, that just means you've done a good job at keeping them all alive under the heat.

But there's one person who you haven't dumped water on yet, which with the help of Finn and his strength, you're about to remedy that.

Hobie stands near the helm, observing Pavitr sailing the ship with ease. You and Finn carry the entire barrel of half full water, (it's mostly Finn doing the work) carefully sneaking behind Hobie to dump the entire contents on him.

Before you could signal Finn to pour it on Hobie, he turns around, hands placed on his hips and a face that says: I dare you.

You freeze mid step, darting your eyes towards your little helper. Finn shrugs, subtly pointing his head towards Hobie.

“Well—?” With one strong heave of the barrel, pointing it directly towards Hobie, the water hits him with a splash, completely drenching him.

The sound gets everyone's attention, seeing their captain wet as a freshly caught fish, the roaring laughter fills the ship, pointing, hollering and whistling at their captain.

The smile on your lips fades, eyes widening when you flick your eyes downward, you've never thought a harmless prank could make your heart beat faster and for heat to rise to your cheeks. And it's not the sun that's causing that or a symptom of heat exhaustion, no, it's Hobie and his unfortunate white cotton shirt that's completely soaked through, sticking to his skin, showing off his chiseled torso. You don't dare look further down, you might not recover from what you could possibly get a glimpse of.

Hobie splutters, wiping at his wet face, water dripping from his entire body. You swallow thickly, Finn notices your sudden silence. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, head tilted like he caught your hand in the cookie jar.

You blink rapidly, “W-what?” Side eyeing Finn. He raises a brow, “What? I may not like him but I still have eyes, you know.”

“Liar.” He says in a deep voice, making you do a double take.

“Did you just—?”

“Y/N,” Hobie addresses you, eyes telling you to run. “You better not let me catch you.”

You squeak, bolting immediately. The crew guffaws loudly like they're watching the best entertainment the sea could offer. Sprinting down the stairs, hearing footsteps behind you, your old injury flares up, almost tripping you.

Hobie catches you before you could fall flat on your face. His drenched arms around your middle, his clothes squelching on your back, the water seeping through your own clothes.

“Time to walk the plank again, Scuttlebutt!” He jokes but the way he carries you towards the plank has you wiggling out, hitting his arms.

“It was a joke!” You scream. He walks closer, “a jape!” Hobie stops near the edge. “A jest!”

His laugh reverberates, you feel his chest vibrating. He cranes his neck down, whispering close to the shell of your ear. “Did you really think I'll throw you overboard?” Goosebumps rise on your skin as he blows hot air. “I'll let Finn do it instead.”

Biting your lip, hands gripping his wrists, you decide to rag him on after knowing he won't actually throw you into the shark infested waters. “yeah? Why don't you do it yourself? Be a man, captain”

Behind you, the crew continues to cheer. Pav even lets out a ‘lets go!’

Hobie chuckles deeply, squeezing you once. “You cheeky—”

The alarm bells from the crow’s nest rings out, James yells from above. “Vessel approaching! Starboard!”

Hobie lets you go, taking a telescope from a serious looking Gwen.

The blood in your veins turn into ice, holding on to the railing, you grip it as you feel your knees give out.

You can't hear what anyone is saying with blood rushing in your ears, frantic voices indistinct, igniting your nerves. Your breathing turns shallow, you try to count backwards in your head but it's no use when your hands start shaking.

“Oi,” Hobie notices your distressed expression. Rushing to your side, his voice starts getting clearer when he places his hands on your cheeks, holding you gently like you're about to break from the slight pressure from his touch.

“Breathe, yeah?” He inhales and exhales, encouraging you to do the same. You copy him, staring only at Hobie. “There, good, just breathe.” His thumbs wipe at the tears you haven't noticed letting out.

After a beat of breathing in sync, Hobie nods. “It's alright, they're allies. You don't have to be scared.” He turns you around carefully, “see? They're waving.”

Pointing at a man clad in red, white and blue, Hobie squeezes your shoulder. “That's Captain Anarchy and right next to him is his first mate, Robbie Banner. They're here to help us win the fight.”

You calm down a little once you see the crew of the other ship smile and wave at you. Trusting Hobie, you look over your shoulder, his face too close to you, breath mixing in together. Flinching, you take a step back from his hold.

He lets you go, hands sliding away from your elbows, giving you space. You look uncharacteristically small in front of him, shoulders hunched, eyes looking down at your feet.

“You're alright, Y/N.” His reassuring and soft voice echoes amidst the rowdy crew behind him.

You could only nod.

—

It's been chaotic since the sons of the sea arrived. They have been welcoming and kind to you, too kind, in fact that you sometimes forget that they're pirates. Especially Robbie, he always goes out of his way to help your uneasiness. He once told you during dinner with the crew that he knows how it feels to be new; and for some reason he thought that you're Hobie's lover, saying that loving a pirate captain is pretty hard work. You shut down the conversation immediately.

Finally finding a time for yourself, you stretch your aching hands, gunpowder stuck in your nostrils. Hemp and pine tar sticking under your fingernails. You've never thought that you'd be preparing for war but here you are.

After the incident, you've made yourself scarce. With preparation and between meetings, you hadn't had a chance to speak with him. Or for Hobie to even try to approach you. His wounds have healed so you don't have any reason to keep seeing each other. But you find yourself holding on to two mugs of hot chocolate, trudging the cold hallways to his cabin.

The mugs are warm in your hands, the familiarity helping with your nerves. You have no idea what to say to him, maybe a simple thank you perhaps? You didn't intend to become that vulnerable in front of him, so maybe an apology? Whatever you end up saying to him, it all has to start with a simple knock on his door which you're currently standing stiffly in front of.

Juggling two mugs in one hand, you place your knuckles on the wood. Your ears perk up at the muffled voices inside. Against better judgment, you place your ear above the door, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“—She’s not her, Hobie. I've seen how you act around her, how you look at her.” You strain your ears to hear better. “It's the same with MJ.” You blink in surprise.

“Gwen,” Hobie sighs, there's rustling on his end. “I don't like what you're insinuating.”

“I'm not insinuating anything. I'm saying this as a friend to you and to her. Don't. Just…don't” there's footsteps, “She's good for the crew, Hobie. We can't lose her.”

“I know she is.”

Gwen scoffs. “You just proved my point.”

“She's not her, I get it. Can you please go back to preparin’?”

“No, not until you get it in your thick skull.” she pauses. “She's her own person. I see it too, the similarities in their personalities. But Y/N’s not MJ.”

You almost drop the mugs.

“I know she's not MJ. I don't fancy her, I tolerate her.”

“Are you sure? Because you keep–”

His voice shakes. “MJ is gone and Y/N is Y/N. I know she's not MJ.”

Backing away from the door, emotions swirling into a dangerous concoction, face flat and lips downturned. You slowly bend down to place the mug on the side of his cabin door.

You have no idea how to react or confront it, so you just walked away. Throwing the information in the back of your mind, hoping it doesn't seep into your bones. Hope that it doesn't rot and spoil inside.

—

The sky is heavy with dark clouds, thunder booming like drum beats, lightning peeking out in the night. A storm is coming, you can feel it in your tendons, the smell of petrichor looming overhead, temperature dropping significantly. The fog obscuring the way doesn't help with your icy nerves. The rest of the crew battens down the windows, preparing to weather out the storm. You're not even that close to the destination and yet the sky is already preventing the ship from going further.

The sea is unusually calm despite the storm brewing ahead. A possible omen to what's to come next. You pray that you're wrong.

Shutting your window, locking it in place, you take your medical bag that's hanging from the cabin's doorknob. Making sure the door is properly closed, you head over to the deck.

You almost collide into a body, their hands holding on to your elbows.

“Woah there!” He holds you at arm's length. “You alright, doc?” His genuine smile makes the day a tad brighter.

“Captain Anarchy, hello and please don't call me that. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually a doctor.” You chuckle lightly.

“I won't call you doc if you don't call me captain anarchy.”

“Alright, what should I call you then?”

“Karl's fine. I'm not your captain anyway so why bother calling me captain y’know?”

You nod, “Yeah, I get it. Are you lost? These are the cabins.”

“Shit, yeah.” He scratches his head. “I swear this place is built like a maze. I'm looking for the galley actually, Finn said I can borrow some ingredients. I'm planning on cooking for everyone tonight.”

“That's really nice of you, thanks. I'll show it to you if you want?”

“That would be fantastic, thank you!”

Gesturing behind him, you lead him while he laughs at his own blunder. “Wait, Finn talked to you?”

“Mm-hmm, I've known him for a while. The secret is to talk about produce and spices then you won't be able to get him to shut up.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” You chuckle, shaking your head. Deciding to make small talk while weaving around hallways, you ask him. “How long have you been a pirate?”

He sighs, “Too fucking long.”

“Looking to retire?” you look over your shoulder, his face says it all.

“Absolutely, we're all just saving up so we could settle comfortably somewhere. Unfortunately taxes are really fucking high these days thanks to the asshole in the big chair.”

“You got that right. All these wars and sponsoring explorations got the people's coffers dry and empty.”

“Exactly! Man, Hobie really knows how to pick them, huh?” He shakes your shoulder like you're old friends. You don't flinch away, in case you offend the only ally Hobie has.

“We're not together.” you say flatly.

“That right? Sorry. Well, he did pick the right crew member then.”

“More like he fished me out of the sea.”

He laughs, the sound reminding you of a bird chirping. Karl looks at your humorless face. “Wait, seriously.”

“Yep, that's a story for another day because we're here.” you open the doors for him, showing him the galley.

“Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.” he shoots you a friendly wink.

“Of course, just give me extra portions later.” you joke.

He chortles, “I'll save the bigger bowl for you”

Before you leave, there's a question that's unfortunately gnawing in your head.

“Can I ask you something?”

He peeks over the counter, blue eyes staring back at you. “Shoot.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, it just means go ahead.”

“Right, uh…Did you know Hobie three years ago?” You cross your arms on your chest.

“I've known him far longer than that.”

“How was he back then?”

Karl thinks for a moment. He smiles, “Best damn pirate I've ever seen, next to me of course. He was younger, wide eyed, hungry for adventure, more than ready to take down the crown itself. Safe to say he's ambitious, he still is but—” he shakes his head. “For a different reason now.”

“Do you not think he can take down Matthias?”

“I have faith that he can and he will eventually. But I'm afraid that I'll never see that wide eyed Hobie ever again. He's gotten used to the flames, feeding it, letting it consume him. I don't think he'll be able to fight that fire after he gets what he wants.”

You clench your jaw. “What happened to MJ?”

“I don't think I'm the right person to tell you that.”

Nodding, you wordlessly thank him with a small smile.

“Wait, Y/N.” he calls for you.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, help him douse the fire? For everyone's sake.”

“I— I'll do my best.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Promise me, please. I owe MJ that much.”

You exhale shakily. “I promise.”

Turning to leave, you fight with yourself. How could you make that promise when you plan to leave after Hobie wins? How do you keep that promise when you can't even look him in the eye? How do you tell Gwen and the others when their hearts are set to you staying on board?

Will it be worth it for you to leave what you currently have for someone who may not even exist?

You pause in the middle of the barren hallway, hand clutching tightly at the straps of your bag. Breathing heavily, you feel it rearing its ugly head again.

Your thoughts get interrupted by the alarm bells ringing, this time instead of curling around yourself, you decide to face it head on despite the shaking in your legs. The crew needs you, and you need them.

Crash!

The ship lunges harshly to the side, flinging you to the wall, head pounding on the hardwood.

Your vision blurs, white dots dancing, ears ringing and your head stinging from the impact.

“Fuck…” you crawl, doing your best to get up on the deck.

“They need you. Get up, lazybones.”

Hearing her voice whisper into your ear, makes you laugh coldly. You're probably concussed.

With a groan, you lift yourself up, using the wall as leverage.

With every heavy step, you straighten up, ignoring the pain in the back of your head. Walking up the steps makes you dizzy but you continue on.

Holding on to the door frame triumphantly, you reach the deck.

The fog has reached the ship, covering the entire deck in its thick mist. You notice the quiet, and the lack of movement from the crew. They all just stand stiffly, spaced away from each other. holding their weapons in their hands in a tight grip, the only indication that they're alright.

You spot Hobie in the middle of the crowd, eyes staring into the sea.

“Hobie?” You softly say. Grabbing his arm, you jump when he takes your wrist without taking his eyes off from what he's staring at.

His hand shakes, you're afraid to look.

“Y/N,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I'm sorry.”

His apology makes you follow his gaze.

The thick fog makes way for a dozen ships sailing towards you at incredible speeds, they open the lamps on their bows one by one. Like a hunter's gaze, they petrify you.

With your heart trying to escape your chest, you turn starboard, hopeful for a way out. But the sight alone would make you weep.

A larger ship looms over the revenge, its bow crashed on the side of the now splintered wood of the ship. The navy ship is Gilded and pristine, decorated with carvings of asphodels. The crowned angel with her wings spread out on the bow looks down at you through her wooden eyes.

Hobie clutches on to you tighter, scowling, shaking in sheer anger.

A menacing laugh echoes into the eerie silence.

You're surrounded.

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perseephoneee · 5 months ago

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𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓥𝓘𝓘

In which, you, a lady of the ton, are forced to participate in courting season. Except that courting season comes with one particularly silver tongued Prince who is making it his mission to drive you absolutely insane.

↳ fic masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist

a/n: the penultimate chapter, everyone. I can't believe we've made it so far. i hope this story kinda works...it was my first time doing longform and one day i will rewrite all of this to make more sense, but for now its as it is. I love you all.

Loki knew it was improper of him to have met you without a chaperone-like that, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He wanted, no need, to see you. Damn the consequences. Still, guilt gnawed at him. You were innocent in these games, merely appeasing a figure bigger than yourself. He could relate to that.

On Sundays, he had breakfast with his mother. Thor was usually in meetings with the Allfather, but Loki was never truly wanted there and preferred to spend time with the lady of the house anyway. Their usual tea and assortment of pastries didn’t improve wasn't his mood, though, and he still felt contemplative. Frigga noticed.

"My son, what is wrong?" She questioned, putting her teacup down. She always drank jasmine, a delicacy they got from Odin's dealings with China. She preferred the lighter floral flavor to the Queen's English breakfast tea.

"Nothing is wrong, Mother," Loki lied, the words rolling off his tongue with ease. He was always good with lies. Unfortunately, his mother was even better at seeing through them.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the Chilton girl, would it? The one your brother didn't marry?" Frigga delicately grabbed a scone as if she were discussing the weather. She was trained to gather information without making it seem like she was. Another thing Loki learned from her.

"The mamas of the ton gathered for tea the other day, and her Grandmother was discussing it," Frigga continued on. "Dreadful woman, truly, I don't envy those two girls."

Loki hid a laugh behind his hand, coughing instead and taking another sip of tea.

"She was very loudly complaining about her youngest granddaughter's willful spirit and how it would give her a heart attack one of these days," Frigga chuckled. Loki got the sense she remembered the many times he and Thor had given her a scare.

"Some of the other mamas made comments about how you and she seemed to spend more time together than she and Thor," Frigga spooned some sugar into her tea. "So, my son, I will ask you again if anything is wrong."

Loki took a pause at that, holding his tongue. He drummed his fingers on the table.

"I won't answer things you already know."

"Did something happen?" His mother raised a brow, a challenge in her gaze. His stubbornness was less from his father and more from his mother. She could will any man into submission.

"Nothing happened, mama," Loki sighed. Not a lie. Nothing happened. Although he wanted it to happen. He wanted to press his lips to yours, breathe in your scent, hold you so you could never fall away from him. Instead, he let go. He wouldn't be the stain on your life that he is on his fathers.

Frigga pursed her lips, observing him. She set down her tea cup and rested her hands on the table, something she only did when she was about to say something of importance. Loki braced himself for a lecture.

"Your brother is not a jealous man, and your father is a hard one to please," Frigga stated. "The only thing in the way of your happiness is yourself. I did not raise a fool." With that, Frigga excused herself from tea, leaving her son alone at the table. The only sound left in the room was the clicking of the grandfather clock, the minute hand matching the pace of his thoughts.

Loki liked you. He might even love you. That was the only logical explanation for his delusions. He rubbed his eyes, hating the tension building up behind them as he thought of the chaos he had caused by even getting involved in the life of you.

"Mother said I might find you here," Thor said from the doorway, walking over to the now vacant seat. Loki glanced up as Thor poured himself some tea. Or attempted to. He spilled some creamer and burned his fingers, picking up the cup from the body, not the handle.

"You need to wait for it to cool," Loki sighed, wiping up the spilled creamer. It's appalling to Loki that his oaf of a brother is the one expected to take over the Odinson household.

"I don't often drink tea."

"Clearly."

"But that's not why I'm here, brother," Thor ignores his jab, gingerly sipping his tea and visibly relaxing when it doesn't burn his tongue.

"Oh joy," Loki leaves the table, strolling towards one of the setees. He, of course, does this quite dramatically.

"I always thought you be clever, but I am shocked to find you acting so idiotic," Thor puts his tea down, standing up and heading Loki's way.

"How dare you–"

"Lady Y/N is obviously enamored with you, and you with her. I don't understand why you aren't doing anything about it," Thor sighs. "Is it your own stubbornness? A sense of pride? Please explain it to me."

"I am not enamored with her, and it is not stubbornness," Loki hisses. "She can do better than me, a second son, anyway."

"Is that what you truly believe? That you are really just a second son?"

Loki doesn't respond to that. He just stares out of the window overlooking the room. His mother was inspired by Greek architecture and, therefore, put arched pillars as separators for the open windows. They overlooked the veranda, which was starting to transition into autumn. Oh, how time has passed.

"I will be leaving for France in the coming months."

Loki turned to his brother, hiding a shock that otherwise would have covered his face.

"Leaving? For what?"

"For war," Thor said. "Napolean is out of exile, and his troops are approaching Waterloo. I intend to be there alongside my brothers."

"You must be mad."

"Perhaps," Thor laughed. "But I have always wanted to fight, not to sit behind a desk and manage the affairs of a household. You have always been a better diplomat. I much prefer being a soldier." His brother took a seat on the settee, running a hand through his hair and waiting for Loki to sit down. "Allfather will be declaring you the heir as soon as you are wed. So, no, Loki, you are not the second son. You are the better one."

"I don't deserve you," Loki frowned, finally sitting down next to Thor. "You are a better brother than I could ever be."

"Life has not always been kind to you; that is alright; you are learning," Thor said, placing a hand on Loki's shoulder, demanding his attention. "You deserve peace, and you are allowed to have it."

It is not often that Loki becomes emotional. He is used to putting aside his own wants for the needs of the crown. He is used to enduring verbal backlash from his father over every little thing. He is used to being ignored when his brother enters a room. So often, he felt like a tablepiece in his own home. But truly, he was an idiot. His brother saw him the whole time.

Without another word, Loki embraced his brother, shocking them both. He was done being a tablepiece. He wanted to be seen.

"Letter!" Ivy screamed from the bottom of the stairs, immediately being shushed by one of the housekeepers. Immediately after your rendezvous with Loki, you had told Ivy everything. All of your fears, wants, and concerns. You had actively been courted by Thor; you couldn't pursue Loki. But he put you in a compromising position that could have gotten you in trouble in society. Did you like Loki? Or did you convince yourself you did? These were the questions swirling around your brain all week. Ivy was in favor of you running off and eloping if only to annoy Grandmother. You hit her with a pillow for that statement.

"Why would I be receiving a letter?" You ask, descending the stairs as you glared at the offending item.

"No clue, but I think you should look at it," Ivy said coyly. You got the distinct impression she knew exactly what this letter was about. You took it out of her grasp, peeling off the wax seal and reading the inked words.

Meet me at the ball by midnight tonight when we first conversed.

Loki

"So?" Ivy peered over your shoulder. "What did he say?"

"Poetic things," you drawled. "He has such a way with words."

"You're lucky the man likes your sharp tongue; otherwise, you'd scare off all the suitors," Ivy sighed. You suppressed a small smile. "So? Are you going?"

"Did you write this?" You ask her, turning around and crossing your arms.

"Of course I didn't!"

"Really?"

"I am not one to lie, sister," Ivy grabbed your hands, pulling you closer. "I am only the messenger. A messenger that is urging you to listen for once in your life." You only glared at your sister.

"I have nothing to wear."

"I already bought you a dress."

"You've been planning this, haven't you?"

"Perhaps," Ivy shrugged. "Now, c'mon! I want enough time to transform you."

You indeed didn't have a choice. Ivy was persistent when she set her mind to something. She yanked your hair left and right to transform it into a perfectly curled and pinned high bun. The dress she chose was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and you had no clue where she could've possibly afforded something like it. It was a deep green with a traditional empire waist, but the bodice was covered in a lacy emerald green fabric and decorated with a glimmery trim. The skirt faded to a lighter emerald green at the bottom, giving the appearance of a forest being lit up by the sunrise. You wore your mother's necklace to match, something that grounded the outfit into something wholesome yet romantic.

"You look ethereal," Ivy looked at you in the vanity mirror. "You look like Mom."

You smiled, turning around to envelop your sister in a hug. "I love you, Ivy." She just squeezed you tighter. "I never want to go to another ball again; this is ridiculously tiresome." Ivy laughed at that and let you go, smoothing down the parts of your dress that got scrunched up.

This event took place outside, a last-ditch effort to enjoy the weather before winter set in. The ball was set on the lake, with a variety of lanterns floating through the waters and hanging around the pavilion where guests danced. It looked like a twinkling city, and it was one of the few times when your breath was taken away.

You were already getting more stares than usual from other people, perhaps because it was the first time you dressed up. Or perhaps because everyone knew that Thor didn't propose to you. You ignored their stares and found the first drink you could. It was a long way till midnight, and your nerves were already getting the better of you. You hiked up your skirts and found your way to the water's edge, where workers were helping guests set out lanterns of their own. You asked one of them if the lights were just for decoration or if there was a specific meaning.

"To drive out the darkness of winter and hope for a longer spring, m'lady," he bowed, offering you a lantern of your own. You accepted graciously, finding a quiet place farther down the shore to push your lantern out.

"Making a wish?" a familiar voice said. You turned to see Loki, arms crossed and looking every bit the prince he was meant to be.

"Driving away the darkness, at least that's what they told me," you gestured towards where most of the partygoers were.

"I believe in some traditions; it is also to honor the dead."

"What a somber occasion for a party."

"I surmise they didn't truly know the reason; they thought it would be pretty." Loki shrugged, earning a chuckle from you. You closed up again, remembering that awkward encounter all those nights ago. Turning to your lantern, you looked at the water before returning to the prince.

"We need more lanterns," you declared, marching back to the initial servant who gave you yours. Loki followed behind, not saying anything, but you could tell he wanted to ask. You got three more lanterns and passed two to Loki, returning to the spot you scoped out before.

"Do I dare ask what you're doing?"

"Honoring the deceased," you crouched down, taking one of the lanterns from Loki so you had three. He joined you on the ground, letting you have a moment with your three lanterns. Taking a breath, you pushed them all out on the water. He waited for a second to let his drift away as well.

"To your sister," you said, bowing your head slightly.

"To your family, may they find brighter shores," Loki breathed, eyes softening as he looked at you.

You both continued sitting on the shores, not making a move to get up. If anyone caught you in this position, it would be trouble, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

"We can't go back, can we?" you whispered, looking out at the lanterns getting farther and farther from shore.

"No, we can't."

"Then, why haven't you asked me?" your voice cracked slightly, your eyes finding Loki's.

"Because I'm worried I don't deserve you."

"That isn't up to you to decide, is it?" you inquired, raising a brow. Loki's mouth tilted up in a smile as if trying his best to suppress it but failing miserably.

"I should probably ask then."

"Most likely, before the fireworks start and I am unable to hear you stumble through your speech," you jested, sliding back into your old routine so easily. Loki sat up, offering you a hand, which you took gratefully as you smoothed out, your dress.

"Such a sharp tongue on you; will that ever change?" Loki questioned.

"Most likely not."

"Good," Loki grinned. "I wouldn't want anything else."

"You're stalling."

"I might be a wordsmith, but being vulnerable is not something I particularly enjoy," Loki responded. "But with you, I am forced to be vulnerable, and it rather terrifies me. Except, I keep coming back despite that fear because a day without you is a day without the sun." Loki let out a breath, brows furrowed. He looked so serious, and you thought you had never seen him so handsome. "Y/N…marry me."

"Yes," you responded, grinning. "Now, I think I am owed something."

"Yes, yes you are."

Loki wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours, gentle yet strong in a way that had you yearning for more. The fireworks erupted in the background, the party cheering for the colorful display of lights and excitement. You yourself felt like a firework, quickly bursting into a million specks coating the sky. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

taglist: @eleniblue @iwrite-things @youneedanap @huntress-artemiss @linaax @pisces-celeste @marygoddessofmischief @gruftiela @saay-karani @foxherder @lover-of-books-and-tea @lilaclaufeyson @gardasngan @evasmlp @swampespresso

#of vices and men #loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #marvel #marvel fics #my writing

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 6 months ago

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okay so I have a friend and she got the inheritance games and finished it yesterday so OBVIOUSLY I asked her what she thought…

please read more at your own risk this might anger you :)

*sigh*

here we go…

she said she felt detached from the characters… I personally have never felt more attached to a set of characters and I don’t understand how she couldn’t be attached but I rolled with it because yk it might not be everyone’s cup of tea

intense deep breaths in an out

she said book was okay (HUH? OKAY? YOU’RE CALLING A MASTERPIECE OKAY?! THATS LIKE GOING TO A MICHELIN STAR RESTAURANT AND BEING LIKE… HMMMM IT WAS OKAY) and she said it was not obsession worthy (I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW MUCH I DISAGREE WITH THIS STATEMENT, LIKE THIS BOOK IS PART OF MY PERSONALITY)

I’m not mad I’m not mad I’m not mad

and she then said didn’t like any of the Hawthorne brothers, she couldn’t find at least one of them to be her new book boyfriend. HOW? ARE WE READING THE SAME BOOK? ARE WE ACTUALLY READING THE SAME WORDS OR WHAT!?? LIKE COME ON THESE ARE THE FREAKING HAWTHORNE BROTHERS. YOYVE GOT A SEXY COWBOY WITH A SOFT SPOT FOR CUPCAKES, A BLONDE MAN SO MORALLY GREY HE’S PRACTICALLY A VICTORIAN PHOTOGRAPH, AN ADRENALINE JUNKIE WHO IS A SUCKER FOR A GOOD MYSTERY AND A FUNNY, TALL, SMART, ROBOT-MAKING, SCONE-LOVING LITTLE CINNAMON ROLL… AND ALL OF THEM HAVE EMOTIONAL TRAUMA. WHAT IS THERE NOT TO LOVE?! IS SHE OKAY!?

ahem… anyways…

she said Avery was OKAY. OKAY. HOW? WHAT? WHEN? LIKE JUST OKAY. BREAD IS JUST OKAY. A ROCK IS JUST OKAY. BUT AVERY KYLIE GRAMBS IS MUCH MORE THE JUST OKAY. SHE IS INCREDIBLY INTELLIGENT NOT JUST CONVENTIONALLY BUT EMOTIONALLY, SHE HAS MADE IT THROUGH TRAUMA AND DEALS WITH IS SO WELL, SHE CARES SO MUCH ABOUT EVERYONE ELSE, SHE’S A GENUINE GOOD PERSON, SHES SO FREAKING AMAZING I CANT PUT IT INTO WORDS, CALLING HER OKAY IS A FAT INSULT.

but I love my friend 😔😔 so I didn’t tell her that

she thinks Avery and Grayson will eventually get together… I’m praying she doesn’t become one of those toxic Grayson and Avery shippers (but she didn’t say she shipped them she just thinks they’ll end up together)… luckily she is wrong 🤭🤭 like most of her other points about this book

but the thing she kept complaining about was apparently there was no description… like atp I was kind of convinced we were reading different books because I can envisage all the tiny details of this book. I think she said it lacked physical description for the brothers but there’s only so many times you can describe hair and eye colour in my personal ops…

she said the Hawthorne brothers are ‘too damaged’… telling myslef to take a deep breath ITS NOT THEIR FAULT THEIR GRANDFATHER WAS A LITERAL PSYCHOPATH AND TWO OF THEM LIKED A REALLY DODGY REDHEAD LIKE GOSHHH

but she hated Em*ly so we love her for that, that was a good move, good decision, very good judgment that I do agree with and she says wants to live in hawthorne house which again, I agree…

BUT THEN I LITERALLY WANTED TO CRY WHEN…

she explained how Grayson (MY HUSABND, LOML, ABSOLUTE BB) is a wannabe Aaron Warner. Honey, respectfully no… just no. that is all I have to say (bc I could go on an essay rant but I don’t want to bore people)

IT IS NOT OKAY. I AM NOT OKAY.

I do love my friend to pieces and of course everyone is entitled to an opinion but I have to severely disagree with here

#bella blabs 🤍#the inheritance games #tig #grayson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne

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bloodstainedsaint · 1 year ago

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loose lips sink ships (lewis nixon x medic! reader)

summary: lewis nixon's alcoholism has been getting worse. you, a medic of easy company, are responsible for the well-being of the men, so you're sent to babysit look after an inebriated lew.

word count: 2100+

warnings: pathetic attempts (multiple) at comedy, drinking, alcoholism, drunken love confessions, lil pining, lil angst, nixon being a lil shit and a cheater??? but his wife divorces him so idk

notes: sorry if this is sloppy 😭 writing dialogue is hard

Your first time speaking to Captain (actually, you weren't sure of his rank anymore— you'd heard he'd gotten demoted to Battalion S3 by Colonel Sink recently) Lewis Nixon was after Operation Market Garden, where he got lightly burned by a stray shot to his helmet. You recalled it going something like this:

“You’re lucky to be alive, sir,” you said at the aid station where the then Lieutenant Winters had sent Nixon to get his graze checked, though there was really no use for it.

“I sure feel lucky,” he responded with a weird, almost dazed stare at you, as if you were some kind of angel sent from heaven to save him from his minor injury.

You met his eyes with a slightly raised eyebrow and assumed that he was just coming to terms with his brush with death. “You'll be fine, sir. Just try not to be in the trajectory of any other stray bullets, and you'll stay that way.”

He nodded and procured a flask from his pocket. “You drink?”

You narrowed your eyes at the container. “I try not to on the job.”

“Well, cheers to being alive, then,” he said, taking a swig.

“...Cheers.”

Following that encounter, you found yourself worrying about the officer more than you thought was normal— if a medic being especially troubled over one soldier was normal at all. Your eyes would search for him in a sea of people to see how tired or hungover he appeared. Whenever you got a chance to talk to him, you would brew him coffee or tea to help with his hangovers, seeing as medicine was always scarce and never spare enough to freely hand out.

You weren't sure where your worry for his well-being came from, but whatever it was, it wasn't quelled by the way he would ask you to stay and chat while he finished his cup— if you weren't busy, of course. The wry grin he would occasionally flash at you was burned into your mind, and his sardonic wit along with his competence as an officer, regardless of his love for alcohol, was impressed upon you. In these fleeting moments of peace, you learned of his rather privileged upbringing, his military background, and that he had a family waiting for him back home. Despite not even knowing what your own intentions were getting close to him, when he told you that last fact, your heart sank a little in your chest.

Your concern for him grew with the recent news that his alcoholism had reared its head again while the company was sent to idly occupy Germany. Someone had broken into a drugstore earlier that week; you'd suspected it was Lew scrounging around for booze. Though the war was coming to an end, he’d been looking more exhausted and ill-tempered as of late. You had yet to really talk to him about how he was holding up; in the meantime, you had been eyeing him from afar, trying to gauge where he was physically and mentally, your heart breaking at how you rarely saw him smile or laugh anymore. Everyone in the company had changed after Bastogne, but you suspected it was his disastrous third combat jump that prompted him to hit the bottle this time.

Now in Landsberg, you were in the middle of playing cards with some of the men in your billet’s living room when Major Winters knocked on the doorway.

“(Y/N),” he called. “Could I speak with you?”

You placed your cards on the table face up, presenting your good hand to the men who groaned in unison at the sight. “Coming, sir.”

As Winters brought you down the hall, you pondered what could be so important that the Major would come personally to speak to you, of all people.

He stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to you, seeming to have read your mind. “It's about Nixon.”

Your eyebrows creased slightly in concern. “Oh. Nixon.”

“Yeah, you know him?” Winters offered a dry smile that you returned.

“What happened?”

“I'm worried about him. Ever since his jump with the 17th Airborne, he’s been drinking more than usual.”

You sighed and cast your eyes downward. “I've heard.”

“I’d like you to look after him for a while. For tonight, at least. Make sure he doesn't drink himself into a coma.”

“Me?” You looked back up at him. “Why not Doc Roe?”

“You’ve been taking care of him for a while, (Y/N). I've noticed.” He didn't sound accusing in the slightest, yet you felt your cheeks warm from embarrassment. Winters continued in a slightly more conspiratorial voice, “And Nix asked for you specifically.”

You fought the blush creeping up to your ears. “Is that right…I'll, uh, have to lord that over Eugene.”

The corner of Winters’ lips quirked up knowingly. “Of course.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder. “Good luck, Doc. He's in his room. You know how to get there.”

Winters turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway. It was true that you knew which house he was quartered in; you made it a point to know ever since you began treating his hangovers. However, the thought of being alone with Lew was always nerve-wracking and had been from the start, for reasons you didn't have the courage to explore.

With a glass of water and a book in hand, anticipating him to be knocked out from all the liquor in his system, you knocked on the door to his room. As you expected, there was no response save for the soft snoring coming from within. You opened the door a sliver and found the floral-wallpapered room lit up with a bedside lamp and the moonlight pouring in from the open window as the day spanned into night. You spotted a messy-haired head poking out from under the strewn blankets and smelled whiskey in the air. Upon fully opening the door and entering the room, the snoring abruptly stopped. He slurred, half-muffled by the pillow his face was buried in, “Who's there?”

“It’s (Y/N),” you replied, turning on some more lamps around the space.

“Oh. Hey, (Y/N).” Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. It wasn’t the first time you'd seen him in just a tanktop and shorts, his dog tags dangling around his neck, but he had always been half-conscious from a hangover when you saw him like this. Not awake and actively drunk like he was now. “How're you?”

“You're on your way to liver failure, Lewis,” you said sternly as you pulled up a chair next to his bed. “As for me, I'm doing better than you right now.”

He pouted petulantly. “You only call me Lewis when you're mad at me.”

You shot him a look. “And why would I be mad at you?”

“I dunno, you tell me.” Nixon gave you a lazy smile.

You sighed, directing your glare to the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, which you observed was not even his favorite brand of Vat 69. You handed him the glass of water. “Here, drink up.”

Squinting, he sniffed it. “It's not more liquor, is it?”

“No, it's motor fuel, now drink.”

“Oh no, not more ethanol,” he joked, raising the glass in a cheers motion before downing it and clumsily setting the empty glass on the nightstand. He kept his gaze on you as you sat down, opened up your book, and attempted to read, avoiding his stare.

Crossing his arms behind his neck at your efforts to ignore him, he leaned on the headboard. “What is that? Twain? Poe? Ah, Shakespeare? ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’”

You spared a glance at him. “Sometimes I forget you're a scholar, Lew.”

“Ohoho. Try to play some Beethoven and tell me it's Mozart. I’ll figure it out”—he snaps—“like that.”

“Not in this state you will,” you glowered. Nix retained his expectant countenance, so you answered, “It's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Some of the guys got done reading it, so now it's my turn.”

He hummed. “What’s it about then, Miss (Y/N)? Enlighten me.”

“If you’d let me read it, then I could tell you,” you said, continuing in a lower voice, "How are you an intelligence officer if you're this mouthy when drunk...and you're drunk most of the time."

“You say somethin’?”

“Nothing, Lew.” You tried to take in the words on the page, but the way he was looking at you made your skin feel hot. Exhaling and setting down your book, you turned your focus to him.

“You still hiding Vat 69 in Winters’ footlocker?” you asked, silently cursing the satisfied expression that spread over his face at your attention.

“Wha, hey, how'd you know about that?”

“You told me. While half-asleep and hungover.”

His lips stretched into a smile as he seemed to recall. “That I did. See, the real shame is that there’s not a single drop of the thing in the whole damn country. So no, there’s no booze in Dick’s footlocker.”

You glanced again at the unfamiliar bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. “And that’s why you've been drinking alternatives?”

“Beggars can't be choosers.” He shrugged with a sluggish wave of the hand. “I'm half-convinced you and Dick are hiding some from me!”

You chuckled. “That's not a half-bad idea. It wouldn't stop you from getting drunk off other kinds of hooch, though. Speaking of… why'd you start drinking this time?”

“Oh, you know.” He gestured vaguely. “I got divorced. She sent me a letter in the mail. Real sweet of her.”

Your face fell, the mood suddenly not so lighthearted. “...I’m sorry to hear that, Nix.”

“It’s alright. Didn’t like her much anyway. She took the dog.” A beat of silence passed, and he gave you an unreadable look. “Was kinda waitin' for it anyhow.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Waiting for it? But before you could question it, you noticed his eyelids drooping as he uncrossed his arms from behind his neck to cover a yawn with his hands. You figured it was better to let him rest before pressing him on it.

“You settling down now?” you asked, getting up to brush his unkempt hair from his face and check his temperature with the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he murmured. He settled into his bed before tiredly swatting your hand away, complaining, “I’m not hungover yet!”

A slight smile graced your face. “Not gonna piss into a cup this time, are you?”

“Maybe next time,” he said with a smirk before blearily staring at you for a while, like the same way he did all those months ago in Holland. Your heart felt strangled in your chest.

Clearing your throat, you turned and grabbed your book and the glass. “Goodnight, Lew.”

He blinked up at you. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ve got people who need me,” you said, a small laugh bubbling up from your throat.

“What if I need you?”

“Beside a hangover, you'll be fine,” you smiled, believing he was joking until you looked at him and found his face dead serious, almost pleading. Your eyes had to be deceiving you, right? Or maybe your mind was spinning things the wrong way.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “Before you leave," he started, breaking his gaze for a second before meeting yours. "You're really beautiful, you know that?”

You were stunned into silence with widened eyes, floundering for words. “Lew, I…”

“And don't say, ‘You’re drunk, Lewis, you don't know what you're talking about.’ I’ve liked you for months now, (Y/N). Sometimes it feels like I'm fighting this war for you, so we could be together after.” Somehow his voice was the steadiest it’s been the entire night, and that scared you.

You suddenly felt bashful, afraid he could hear your heart pounding loud in your chest. “I…like you, too, Lew.”

A soft beam adorned his flushed face. “And if I forget in the morning, I’ll just tell you again. I’ll tell you over and over until it's the only thing I can remember piss-drunk.”

“I’ll be making sure you're never piss-drunk again, but… I’ll remind you. Keep your word.” You leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“That you will,” he said impishly, grabbing you from around the waist and pulling you next to him in the sheets, his arms encircling your body.

“Hey!” you giggled, struggling against his bear-like grasp. “Can I at least get my boots off?”

He snickered into your hair and held you close.

“Nope.”

Bonus:

A couple of hours had passed, and there was no sign of Doc (Y/N). Figuring she was still with Nix, Dick decided to check in on them.

Knocking on the door and receiving no response, he let himself in, saying while surveying the room, “Doc, you still there— Oh.”

taglist: @mads-weasley

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #hbo war #easy company #101st airborne #ron livingston #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war fanfic #dick winters #richard winters #band of brothers imagine

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saintsenara · 1 year ago

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thoughts on ron weasley/tom riddle?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

guess it's time to out myself as a ronmort girly...

obviously, as far as fandom stats go, this is the niche crack pairing when it comes to lord voldemort getting into the funky way with a member of the golden trio. both tomarrymort and tomione/volmione have thousands upon thousands of works and stans prepared to fight to the death over insignificant things.

ronmort has... three fans in a trench coat and immaculate vibes.

i am genuinely shocked that it isn't bigger as a pairing - surely we're all agreed that "i have seen your heart, and it is mine" is an outrageously romantic thing for the locket-horcrux to say to ron? surely we've all deeped that the locket makes its bid to save itself by showing ron softcore pornography? - but not, i think it's worth saying, because i think there's any merit in the tedious fanon [particularly prevalent in ships which pair hermione with other men] that ron is a closet blood-supremacist who'd make an amazing death eater. he's not - he's principled and loyal and, even in a world where voldemort wins and he's the only member of the trio left alive, he's not going over to the dark side. it sounds too much like hard work.

instead, i back ronmort as a pairing because ron is... kind of mother. and we all know lord v's very much in want of one of those.

he likes to look after people and he channels his negative emotions into doing so [he wouldn’t have left the tent if harry and hermione had learned how to shoplift properly and he could be settled in front of a nice pot, and i’ll die on that hill]. just imagine little captive ron - maybe the snatchers recognised him, maybe voldemort’s won and everyone else is dead - bustling around his gilded prison in malfoy manor making the dark lord a cup of tea when he turns up to psychologically torture him. voldemort would - as i am - be intrigued.

i have two recs for the pairing - wind tunnels by @mrmxlemons and ghouls in the attic by speechwriter - and i also have a statement of fact which I know many of the girlies [gender neutral] won't like to hear...

ronmort is less of a crack ship than tomione, sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #ronmort #tom riddle #lord voldemort #ron weasley

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valyrfia · 10 months ago

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I mean this the nicest way possible but have you considered the fact that you just .. hate RPF? Wich is fine, like you said it's a gray area. It's not everyone's cup of tea, actually! It's not even mine because I actually came across those trailers you said! And I instantly went "ew wtf" and I clicked not interested, and then I another showed up, and clicked not interested, and then the algorithm went ok got it, and it's been a while thankfully, that hasn't showed up. So, what I mean is, there is content in the internet that is weird, that's for sure, but there's like... Ways to avoid it? And the way that this has been a persistent subject in your blog in such a deep way makes me think that you suffer it more than anyone, wich is fine but just, don't look at it anymore? I don't know what to say honestly because, again no to be rude but youre making the MOST out of it. And it's like you're treating fandom culture like this deep dark secret when its as public as it can be and I promise you the most a person can do is feel weirded out and mute that content, and hope it doesn't show up.! But for example, I hate povs content, and that has to be the most persistent content I've seen so far on F1, full of "you're the wife/girl/sister" blah blah and I'm a lesbian, I've clicked not interested so many times I lost count and IT KEPT showing up (until i figured muting y/n, driver x reader helps) so if it keeps you more calm there are ways to avoid content you dont like!

I get where you’re going with this but also, nah. I’ve always loved RPF and will keep consuming it whenever I can. I just make a big stink out of seeing it outside of tumblr and ao3 because of algorithms and the way I was taught to interact with RPF about fifteen years ago in which….these things have to stay within their intended circles at all costs. This is back when fandom content was not cool and mainstream and unless you kept your fandom life and your actual life very separate you get bullied to hell for it. Now, I often feel like the pendulum has swung a little too far the other way and there’s such a massive influx of new people because fandom culture is trendy that fandom etiquette is starting to collapse. The treatment of RPF being one of them.

RPF differs from POV content in two ways. The first is that POV content is a little more accepted than RPF in the general consciousness, usually because it’s het but also because it’s very obvious this is a self insert fantasy which while I imagine is awkward for drivers to see, can be easily laughed off as being so obviously just a fantasy. RPF on the other hand builds off of pre-existing relationships and lore and is usually slash, which already introduces an awkward element (and you can say the men shouldn’t have toxic masculinity all you like, it’s not just them that’s the issue it’s everyone who perceives them and the content), also it’s more difficult because people DO talk about these pairings platonically. In order to not experience Lestappen on my tiktok FYP, I can’t interact with any video that mentions those two in the same breath ever because the algorithm will eventually push me ship content even if I don’t want to see it and I click not interested. This happens over and over again.

I love RPF which am just on super high alert about RPF safe spaces being breached because I know from lived experience that it doesn’t bode well. This is also just personally not the way I was taught to interact with fandom, and again I’ve seen enough shit in my time to understand why that etiquette had to be enforced.

#anon #asks #keep RPF on tumblr discourse #there’s generally a breakdown of fandom etiquette and RPF popping up everywhere is a symptom of that I could talk for hours but

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 2 years ago

Text

Breakfast in Margate (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: A grumpy Papa Solomons (yes, that is a warning) and a whole lot of tooth-rotting domestic fluff

Summary:

Mornings aren’t always easy. For example, it’s terribly difficult to not be caught making breakfast for your fiancé, a workaholic who always takes the task upon himself.

However, what makes it harder today is the fact he loathes food made with recipes found online. Fortunately for you, though, Alfie isn’t the only one who’s good at playing games when he wants to push his own agenda.

Especially those that concern a sweet reward.

Author’s note: I've kept Alfie's adherence to his Jewish heritage quite loose. Nevertheless, I hope that the aspects I did incorporate in this work have been done so properly. If not, let me know and please don't hesitate to educate me (in a polite and respectful manner) because I love learning about different cultures and religions.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @zablife @wandawiccan60 @dreamlandcreations @liliac-dreamer @buttercupsandboys @vir-tual @rose-like-the-phoenix @hoodeddreams13 @mollybegger-blog @solomons-finest-rum @hecatemoon87 @babaohhhriley

TH Masterlist

Mornings like this are rare, these quiet moments unbroken by the usual ruckus in the kitchen. Now, it’s solely my bare feet on the wooden floor and the waves crashing onto the shore. No clanging of metal, no muttered curses in Yiddish or Russian, nor the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

In the living room, Cyril lays in front of the hearth. The first rays of sunshine fall over him like a warm natural blanket, highlighting the ginger undertone in his fur. One of the many features he shares with his owner.

As soon as I pass by, he lifts his head, tilts it in wonder, and lets out a low bark. After all, it’s Alfie who’s more often than not the first one to wander around the house at the crack of dawn. That is, if he’s slept at all. However, recently he’s started properly adhering to the Shabbat. Although, as much as he allows himself to because if Alfie Solomons is one thing, it’s mighty stubborn. Moreover, he’s an incurable workaholic. As hard as he works at The Old Rum House Bakery to let the business flourish and maintain his position as the fearsome Mad Baker of Camden, just as much effort does he put into our relationship. In fact, it’s not only towards Cyril and I his attention goes, but also to the house.

Our home.

Alfie has become a lot more domestic since we started dating, shortly after meeting one another on a train to London. Disregarding his tendency to walk around naked, he cooks and cleans, assuring me time and again I don’t have to help. When we go out for our weekly grocery trip, no matter how tired he is, he carries the bags to the car so that I don’t have to. Neither do I have to put away what we got, more often than not shipped off to the luxurious red sofa in the living room with a cup of coffee or tea to pair with whatever he’s baked at night.

Nevertheless, regardless of the otherwise very loose relationship with his heritage, Ollie and I are glad he’s at least taking a day off in the week to rest up. The bakery has recently started taking its toll thanks to an influx in customers, which means extra stock as well as staff is needed. In turn, this means more part-timers to train and more admin work. In other words, everyone has to pick up the pace to meet the current demand. Such is the power of marketing, especially on social media. Alfie is loath to admit it, but Ollie and I can tell he’s secretly grateful we managed to convince him to let us handle the bakery’s socials.

We don’t get cinnamon buns on Monday anymore, though.

I stop in my tracks, turn to Cyril, and put a finger to my lips. “I know, love, but Papa is still sleeping. It’s finally Mama’s turn to make breakfast again.”

Seldom do I get the chance to experiment in the kitchen, let alone try a recipe I’ve found online. Or worse, via Youtube or Instagram. Now, that’s usually enough to make Alfie bristle. Nevertheless, mention the word ‘viral’ and a scowl will twist his lips.

Sometimes I wonder whether or not Alfie and Cyril are the same person because he lowers his head onto his paws and lets out a deep sigh that sounds like sarcastic resignation.

Thanks for the faith, buddy.

“It’s gonna be okay. No fire in the pan this time, I promise. How about we go stretch our legs after brekkie, hm? That sound good?”

Cyril huffs in agreement and closes his eyes, back to enjoying his luxurious pillow.

We bought it for him when we went antique shop hopping in London last week. Although, perhaps it’s better to say I bought it after convincing my grumpy companion we should occasionally pamper our adopted four-legged child and I couldn’t fix his old pillow anymore. Of course I could, but I was more than done with constantly needing to fix the seams and re-stuff the thing.

Borough Market has become a regular stop on our weekly grocery trip, mostly because I used the splendidly efficient strategy of batting my lashes and pouting. Artisan goods and fresh produce can be luxuries, something to only occasionally splurge on. After all, why spend a fortune when there is a cheaper alternative that’s just as good?

Nonetheless, Alfie developed a taste for supporting local businesses soon after our first visit. To some he has proposed contracts, offering them a position as a supplier to his bakery. Granted their goods are kosher, of course.

Yesterday, we got some wonderful fresh bright yellow bananas, eggs from a local farm, and oat flour from a mill a little ways away from London. Alfie thought little of it when I plonked them triumphantly in our grocery bag, having occupied himself with the fresh stock one of the florists was setting out. I glance at the colourful bouquet of wildflowers on the table and for a moment I’m back to him holding out to me, face full of the warm tenderness that stands in stark contrast to the stern and unpredictable persona he portrays when I’m not there.

Right then and there, he wasn’t The Mad Baker of Camden, the fearsome King who rules the borough.

He was a sweet and caring gentleman.

Simply Alfie Solomons.

Nevertheless, in spite of these small moments of tenderness, he can still be awfully grumpy.

Especially if he hasn’t had his coffee.

“Mornin’, dove.” Two big warm hands glide over my hips towards my lower stomach. Those very same palms pull me flush against a naked chest grown soft with neglected muscle, slightly clammy with the remainder of last night’s late summer heat. Alfie presses his lips to the side of my neck and hums, tightening the embrace as he does so. The sonorous trill in his voice sends a shiver down my spine and rekindles a familiar heat. Nonetheless, the way he leans on me betrays he isn’t entirely awake yet. The slight slur in his words serve to confirm the lingering drowsiness, sounding like they’ve been pulled out of bed only moments before too. “That shirt looks good on you.”

“I’m glad you think so because you’re not getting it back any time soon.” I briefly stop mixing the batter to scratch his beard. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch as a content sigh escapes him. “You slept in.”

“Still woke up to an empty spot, though. If you want me to sleep more, yeah, which you know I find a terrible waste of time, I’ll need my wife to ‘old.”

I pat his hands to placate him. The thin gold band inlaid with a modest diamond around my ring finger matches his. I had thought Alfie would pick something elaborate for himself, but instead he chose a simple thick gold ring and got it engraved. It says: Ani l’dodi, v’dodi li; I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. “Don’t get hasty. We aren’t married yet.”

“Let’s just go to the courthouse today.’’ He slips his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt I stole from him, letting them rest on my stomach after a brief caress. It’s a gesture he often makes nowadays. ‘‘Sign the paper, right, and be done with it so the desk eaters are ‘appy. We can always celebrate it later. Throw a party as big as the whole of bloody Camden, like a proper coronation ceremony to celebrate our union.”

“Tempting as it is, I’ll have to refuse. Besides, it's Shabbat today and you need to take a break. I promise I can wait a little while longer to officially become Mrs Solomons.”

“You ‘ave been from the start, Y/N. I don’t need a ring to call you my wife. ‘Sides, you well know ‘ow I am. Which reminds me, breakfast is my job, innit?” A wary tone creeps into his voice as he leans away to check what’s in the mixing bowl. “Is that edible?”

“It will be,” I say, continuing to mix the ingredients until they’re well combined.

“I’m not eatin’ that goo. Looks fucking awful, that stuff.”

“It’s healthy goo! Uses the bananas, eggs, and flour we got yesterday.”

Nose scrunched, Alfie peers at me. “Oh, so yesterday was all a little scam to get me to eat whatever this is?”

“You aren’t the only one who can lie. Although, it’s not really a lie, is it? More like a half-truth.’’ I shrug. ‘‘I simply never told you my plan. Would ruin the surprise.”

“Which is?”

“Baked oats that taste like cake. They just haven’t been baked yet.”

“Where’d you get the recipe?”

“YouTube…”

He groans, wide awake now that the conversation has taken a turn towards a point of absolute irritation. “Fucking ‘ell, dove, ‘ow many times ‘aven’t I told you not every recipe on social media-’’

“Don’t judge before you’ve tried it.” I put the spatula down, turn around in his embrace and steal a kiss off of his lips. “Said so yourself, didn’t you?”

“Don’t use my words against me.”

“Oh, I will. If only to keep things fair. Have a little faith in me. It’ll be fine.”

I hope.

A warning finger raised and pointed at me, he leans in until our faces are mere inches apart. “Fine. But I’m gonna make us coffee, right, so we’ll at least ‘ave something to get us fucking started.”

I can’t suppress a chuckle at the grumpy gesture. “Sure.”

The threat turns into tenderness when he cups my cheek. His palm has grown rough with the hours spent at the bakery, proof of his hard work. Tenderly, he presses his lips to mine. “Ikh hab dir lib.”

“I know.” To show I accept his usual indirect apology for his bad mood and avoid coming across as being cross with me, I run my fingers along his jaw. “I love you too.”

Resting his forehead against mine, he nudges my nose with his. “Mhm.”

“Why don’t you take Cyril for a brief walk, eh? The oats have to bake for twenty-five minutes anyway.”

“We can take ‘im on a walk later together. I’ll go set the table.”

“First put on a pair of knickers.”

“No.”

“You know the rules, Alfie. No buns on the chairs during summer.”

“I ain’t sweating.”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’re the one who isn’t.”

I cock an eyebrow, fighting the smug smirk threatening to break out. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, “first we’ll ‘ave coffee, right, ‘cause otherwise neither of us functions. Now, ‘ow about after we’ve started the day proper I’ll fuck you like last night, hm?”

Until I black out.

The prospect of it mixes with memories of last night. Sea blue eyes, usually so steady and full of hidden temperaments, barely able to refrain from going cross-eyed. The fight with the stutter in his hips, gradually growing closer to the edge of pleasure but also exhaustion. Big hands reminiscent of wolf paws gripping the headboard for support while I was already lost in a satisfied delirium. The absent-minded glance to the bruises on my thighs adds to the steadily growing heat between my legs, perversely longing for more.

For him.

Nevertheless, the haze clears in an instant with a single sharp thought. I take a step back, crossing my arms as I search his expression for confirmation. However, as usually is the case, Alfie keeps his true motifs to himself. And this time, behind a mask he tends to put on when he wants something from me in particular. “So you can make breakfast. That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you?”

“No,” he purrs, stealing a kiss as soon as he has bridged the distance between us, “not at all, dove. I just want my wife. I wanna make love to you.” We softly start to sway, slowly making our way out of the kitchen. “Let me make love to you.”

We come to a halt on the threshold. “Later. After you put on a pair of knickers and we’ve eaten.”

He blinks, the cheeky smile grown stiff. I can feel his muscles tense, unconsciously causing him to grip me a bit tighter than before. “But-’’

“Knickers, Alfie.”

“One round.”

“Alfred Solomons Jr, knickers. Right now.”

The use of his full name provokes a menacing snarl, the kind which is usually preserved for those who cross him. “Those oats better be fucking worth it, yeah, ‘cause otherwise you’re payin’ for lunch.”

I trace his cock, the skin hot and hardening beneath my fingertips with every sharp intake of breath. Perhaps this game won’t go on for as long as it usually does before he loses control. “Somehow I don’t think I will.”

He roughly grips my face, the thrill of every low-voiced word against my lips travelling throughout my body. “I ought to do somethin’ ‘bout that attitude of yours. Big fucks small, Y/N, always.”

Game over.

Except for the one card I have left to play.

“I know,” I wrap my hand around him, barely able to grip him properly, “but first some knickers. Please, Papa?”

“Clever bird, ain’t ya?” He growls into the kiss when I lightly squeeze him and let go. “Maybe I should carry out my own personal form of stigmata later. Add to those pretty bruises.”

Like snow in the spring sun, his attitude melts and changes. Alfie gently nudges my cheek and makes for the bedroom. A few moments later, he returns and starts setting the table while I pour the batter in the ramekins and plop them in the oven.

Despite the promise to make coffee, I reach for the cupboard to grab a mug. After all, old habits die hard.

Nevertheless, I find myself cut off by a hand that gently lowers mine, away from the handle.

“I said I’ll make us coffee,” Alfie grumbles. “Let Papa Solomons do ‘is job, yeah. Go sit in the livin’ room. I’ll be there shortly.”

I nod at the baking aftermath in the sink. “I got some washing up to do.”

“Nah, that can wait. Coffee and, ‘opefully, food first.” He places his hands on my shoulders and kindly coerces me out of the kitchen. “Go on.”

I let him guide me, feigning defiance by pouting. Yet, the act quickly falls apart with a lighthearted giggle. I suppose I still have a lot to learn from him concerning the art of masks. “Alright.”

Soon after he joins me on the porch, where I’ve settled down with Cyril to enjoy the salt air. The beach across the street is still empty, devoid of the plethora of towels. The breeze is silent, not yet filled with the chatter of tourists and locals alike.

These hours are ours.

This is our Margate.

“'Ere you go, love.” Alfie hands me a steaming mug of cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, the milk soft and foamy, before he sits down next to me. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as I take a sip. “Nice, innit?”

“Mhm.”

Thus we sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the view and each other’s company. Cyril has started to doze off, although he tries in vain to keep his eyes open. One glance to the side tells of Alfie fighting the same battle. Occasionally he pulls a face or lifts his hand to stifle a yawn. It’s strangely funny to watch him continue to take a sip afterwards, a small gesture of hope. Surely he should be readily awake before his cup is empty.

Because sleeping isn’t an option.

He’s tired of the nightmares.

The faint sound of the oven going off disturbs the domestic bliss.

Alfie groans as struggles to get up, glad to have my arm to use as support while he pulls himself to his feet. I say nothing, knowing full well how his sciatica influences his mood.

And it’s already rotten enough in the morning.

As Alfie washes his hands, I get the baked oats out of the oven and place them on the plates. Meanwhile, Alfie warms up a few slices of babka and the challah bread we made together yesterday. “Just so we ‘ave somethin’.”

He sits down while I wash my hands. From the corner of my eye, I see him poke the oats with his fork. “It’s kosher?”

“It is,” I say, drying my hands before I sit down across from him. “Shall I go first?”

“Very funny.” He scoops a bit of the oats onto his fork and puts it in his mouth. His brows knit together, contemplating the taste.

“And? Do you like it?”

Remaining silent and gaze fixed on the ramekin, he pokes his oats again.

I swallow hard, my excitement crushed under the stones of dread. A nagging voice in the back of my head feeds into the fear of his judgement. Funny how one connects their self worth to food. Then again, it was that which started our relationship. A cup of coffee, a slice of babka, and a slice of plant-based carrot cake. Back then, though, my stomach didn’t quiver this badly nor did my ribs feel like they were caged in a very tight-strung corset. “You don’t.”

“Dove,” he begins, but doesn’t continue.

Not until after he’s had another bite. “It’s good.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or simply trying to appease me.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are?”

“I am,’’ he says, raising his voice ever so slightly in spite of the effort to keep it even. Alfie finally meets my gaze and I can tell he’s being sincere regardless of the way he accusingly waves his fork at me. ‘‘But I still don’t like 'ow you got this off of the internet. ‘Ow many times ‘aven’t I told you, hm? You should know better by now.”

I chuckle as I at last taste the baked oats myself. They’re chocolatey with a subtle banana undertone, which is warmed by the cinnamon. “I gotta find new recipes somehow.”

“There are cookbooks.”

“Too limited and they take up too much space.” While nibbling on a piece of challah bread, I take a sip of coffee. “Can I make this more often?”

“It does taste like cake,” he reluctantly admits, spooning up another bite. “Yes, you can.”

“Why do you make it sound like there’s a condition?”

“You can make these oats, yeah, if I get to serve you something sweet in return.”

Something not to be had in the kitchen.

‘‘Deal,’’ I lean in, biting my lip as I play my final card, ‘‘Papa.’’

Alfie clenches his fork upon hearing his favourite nickname, the title he is secretly proud of. A dark haze clouds his eyes, the gloss in them highlighted by the morning sun. The smirk on his lips has evened out, his jaw tightened with the effort to practise self-restraint.

Game over.

I won.

And the prize is something sweet with lots of cream.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader

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