#if you can’t read my handwriting neither can I

[bloblobber-propaganda]

Shows up late to bad comics day with Starbucks

[todd-anderson-trash]

cameron has glasses and russell can’t deal with that fact :(

[hollowed-theory-hall]

your post on harry’s handwriting was an eye-opener for me! ik his writing resembled his mother some and is decent overall, but i’ve never seen pics of it!

idk where the horde of fanfic writers came up with the weird notion that harry has bad/chicken scratch handwriting, which triggers me every. time. they make out his handwriting to be messy, his eating habits sloppy, his speech behaviour bumbling, his appearance unkempt, and that he’s rather messy as a person. which boggles the mind, because he’s used to cleaning up after the dursleys and probably enjoys an orderly space, if not super spic and span??? is it only certain fandoms, cuz they make the other character(s) all elegance personified and well-mannered? like, harry already is a well-mannered boy, otherwise petunia would’ve been tutting, clucking, and dying of shame even more before the nieghbours lmaoo. idk whether to cry or laugh, and sometimes it’s such a turn-off that i choose to rage quit fics.

please, if you have the time, i would love a thorough breakdown/meta on how harry actually comes across as a person!

Okay, I have so much to say about this. And omg, Harry's chicken scratch handwriting is one of my pet peeves in fics (here's the handwriting post, btw). Harry's characterization when done wrong in general, tbh is a huge turn-off for me. Becouse I love Harry, he's my boy.

So, what we're gonna look at is how other characters in the books perceive Harry, how he comes across in universe to people who can't read his mind (like we can, as the readers).

I'll start with a general note about how most characters in the books don't really know Harry. This is mostly because Harry, contrary to fanon interpretations, is a very private person and rarely talks about himself/his feelings/his thoughts out loud. This is a habit I believe was ingrained into him by the Dursleys.

Like, I mentioned in the past Harry doesn't talk as much as other characters. Scenes of the trio usually consist of mostly Ron and Hermione talking, for example. This is not becouse he doesn't have thoughts (he's quite judgmental inside his head, and we know he has a lot to say), but becouse he's used to not voicing a lot of them thanks to the Dursleys.

This essay turned out pretty long, but here we go:

How do others see Harry?

Harry comes off as confident. Harry is a defiant and courageous person, and this often comes off as confidence to other people. It's why Snape thinks Harry is arrogant and why most students are always sure Harry meant to do what he did. They think he has shit together because he comes off like he does:

Harry stayed silent. Snape was trying to provoke him into telling the truth. He wasn’t going to do it. Snape had no proof — yet. “How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,” Snape said suddenly, his eyes glinting. “He too was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut above the rest of us too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers . . . The resemblance between you is uncanny.” “My dad didn’t strut,” said Harry, before he could stop himself. “And neither do I.”

(PoA, Ch14)

Snape sees Harry as arrogant, when in fact Harry is just defiant and intelligent.

“But you’ve been too busy saving the Wizarding world,” said Ginny, half laughing. “Well ... I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn’t be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

(HBP, Ch30)

Ginny (and other characters) believe he likes to save the wizarding world. That he is this confident hero and savior. I mean, they believe her lie about the tattoo, which says a lot:

and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it’s true you’ve got a hippogriff tattooed across your chest.” Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them. “What did you tell her?” “I told her it’s a Hungarian Horntail,” said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. “Much more macho.”

(HBP, Ch25)

Harry doesn't see himself as leader material, but it's clear everyone else does:

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” said Hermione. “Harry’s leader,” said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad, and Harry’s stomach did yet another back flip. “Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,” said Hermione, unperturbed. “It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So — everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?” Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very halfheartedly. “Er — right, thanks,” said Harry, who could feel his face burning.

(OotP, Ch18)

Neville Longbottom, who gave a roar of delight, leapt down from the mantelpiece and yelled. “I knew you’d come! I knew it, Harry!”

(DH, Ch28)

“Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?” As Harry emerged into the room beyond the passage, there were several screams and yells: “HARRY!” “It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!” “Ron!” “Hermione!” [...] “Are you all right, Harry?” Neville was saying. “Want to sit down? I expect you’re tired, aren’t—?” “No,” said Harry. He looked at Ron and Hermione, trying to tell them without words that Voldemort has just discovered the loss of one of the other Horcruxes. Time was running out fast: If Voldemort chose to visit Hogwarts next, they would miss their chance. “We need to get going,” he said, and their expression told him that they understood. “What are we going to do, then, Harry?” asked Seamus. “What’s the plan?” “Plan?” repeated Harry. He was exercising all his willpower to prevent himself succumbing again to Voldemort’s rage: His scar was still burning. “Well, there’s something we—Ron, Hermione, and I—need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.” Nobody was laughing or whooping anymore. Neville looked confused.

(DH, Ch29)

Everyone expected Harry in DH to have a plan of attack the moment he arrived because that's how he acts. Even in the above scene, he's in terrible pain from his scar, but the others don't see it. What they see is a Harry who looks exhausted but says no to rest because there's work to be done and they expect this of him. They see someone fearless and capable with a plan who could lead them, but this isn't what we see because we're inside his head.

How Harry doesn't speak much and acts overall quite distant, as in, he actively avoids the girls who fancy him:

Then he blinked and looked around: He was surrounded by mesmerized girls. “Hi, Harry!” said a familiar voice from behind him. “Neville!” said Harry in relief, turning to see a round-faced boy struggling toward him

(HBP, Ch7)

And he only has two close friends and barley knows the other students in his year. Most students only know Harry Potter from the stories, rumors, and Dumbledore's end-of-the-year speeches about his heroism. They have no clue who the real Harry is — so they expect the hero they do hear about.

He stands his ground a lot (again, defiance):

Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most unfortunately, Ron had beaten him, only to find McLaggen’s red face inches from his own. He stepped back hastily. “His sister didn’t really try,” said McLaggen menacingly. There was a vein pulsing in his temple like the one Harry had often admired in Uncle Vernon’s. “She gave him an easy save.” “Rubbish,” said Harry coldly. “That was the one he nearly missed.”

(HBP, Ch11)

And more often than not, he does so coldly and calmly. A lot of his more fiery anger is a sign of trauma with Harry, his baseline anger reaction is cold.

All of this adds to him appearing to others as controlled, confident, and like he has everything together and could never have any issues. He comes off as this bigger than life person to most people. Snape isn't the only one who reads Harry's behavior as confident. But it's actually far from the truth.

We, as the readers, see how depressed Harry is. How lowly he thinks of himself and how much he doesn't think of himself as anything special when he very clearly is. But the fact he doesn't say any of it and has mastered the skill of acting cold and like everything is fine when he literally wants to die at the age of 5, no one knows. Even Ron and Hermione didn't truly realize the full extent of Harry's low self-worth until 5th year.

The other students are shocked to see Harry as angry as he is in book 5 because he's often way more controlled and well-mannered than that. They're used to seeing him cold and quiet, not firey. Most of his fire stays inside his head unless he's really angry or emotional in general (or traumatized):

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated. “Harry, no!” Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach. “So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?” Harry asked, his voice shaking. There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night that Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge

(OotP, Ch12)

The shock of the other students, I believe, is because of what he's saying, yes, but it's also because Harry is behaving very unlike him here. He usually doesn't shout at teachers or anyone, really. He rarely speaks in classes actually.

And regarding his confidence, everyone, Ron and Hermione included, was sure Harry is super skilled and that that's how he evaded Voldemort:

“You don’t know what it’s like! You — neither of you — you’ve never had to face him, have you? You think it’s just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you’re in class or something? The whole time you know there’s nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you’re about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they’ve never taught us that in their classes, what it’s like to deal with things like that — and you two sit there acting like I’m a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don’t get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn’t needed me —” “We weren’t saying anything like that, mate,” said Ron, looking aghast. “We weren’t having a go at Diggory, we didn’t — you’ve got the wrong end of the —” He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.

(OotP, Ch15)

They didn't for a second think he wasn't confident in his own abilities because Harry acts in a way that comes off as confident and capable. It's why everyone so easily accepts him as a leader under various circumstances. He acts level-headed while he's terrified, so everyone thinks he knows what he's doing except Harry (and the reader). Ron and Hermione had zero doubts Harry's skill was a big part of why he survived book 4, it's only Harry who doesn't think that.

The fact Snape bothered to extract his own memories during his Occlumancy lessons goes to show how he thinks Harry is talented, contrary to his words. He feared Harry would reverse the connection and see into his mind, otherwise he wouldn't have taken these precautions.

Think of Voldemort’s resurrection even. Inside his mind, we know Harry's terrified. We know he has no idea what he's doing.

But imagine being a Death Eater in the crowd and you see this 14-year-old kid stand up after being Crucio-ed by their lord, and he stands up, resists the imperius, and shouts at your lord like he thinks of himself as equal to him — or, perhaps, better than him:

“I asked you whether you want me to do that again,” said Voldemort softly. “Answer me! Imperio!” [...] I WON’T!” And these words burst from Harry’s mouth; they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him — back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body — back rushed the realization of where he was, and what he was facing. . . . “You won’t?” said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now.

(GoF, Ch34)

That's pretty badass. Harry comes off like a confidant badass. And he gets more badass and confident as he matures (even if he isn't actually as confident as he appears).

Even in the DoM, Lucius Malfoy, who was in the graveyard, takes Harry seriously:

“Don’t do anything,” he [Harry] muttered. “Not yet —” The woman who had mimicked him let out a raucous scream of laughter. “You hear him? You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!” “Oh, you don’t know Potter as I do, Bellatrix,” said Malfoy softly. “He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him. Now give me the prophecy, Potter.”

(OotP, Ch35)

Bellatrix makes fun of how Harry gives the other kids orders as if they're going to fight, but Lucius knows better, he knows Harry is going to fight, and I think, he's scared of what would happen when he does. Even Bellatrix quickly starts taking Harry more seriously:

“Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter,” she said, her mad eyes staring through the slits in her hood. “Very well, then —”

(OotP, Ch35)

And she changes her tone completely after he casts a Crucio at her:

“Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?” she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now.

(OotP, Ch36)

His aura is one of competence and confidence even when he's frightened and has no idea what he's doing. Especially when he's frightened and has no idea what he's doing.

And for the most part, he doesn't come off nearly as judgmental as he actually is, because he doesn't say a lot of what he thinks. We only see him start to actually speak his mind and be more sassy out loud around 5th and 6th year. And even then, his highly judgmental physical descriptions stay part of his narration, they aren't spoken:

“That’s the bell,” said Harry listlessly, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape’s dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between Neville and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes’ conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.

(OotP, Ch12)

Ron and Hermione banter while Harry feels done with them, but he doesn't really say anything or complain. He keeps a lot of his thoughts inside his head.

If we look at how Ron, Hermione, and Sirius see Harry, they're the closest to who Harry actually is as these three know Harry best. (They're also more objective than Harry who looks down on himself)

After the book 5 conversation I mentioned above, Ron and Hermione are more aware of Harry's insecurities, but they find them silly. They see Harry as incredibly capable and skilled:

“Did he?” said Harry. Behind him he felt rather than heard Hermione passing his message to the others and he sought to keep talking, to distract the Death Eaters.

(OotP, Ch35)

“What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.” Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head. “We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry.

(DH, Ch9)

When danger comes, everyone's instantly following Harry's lead. Harry's the planner when the situation is dangerous, he calls the shots, not Hermione. Hermione and Ron look to Harry for a plan when things get tough, and Harry always figures something out. Now, we see Harry thinking he has no idea what to do:

He could not think what to do but to keep talking. Neville’s arm was pressed against his, and he could feel him shaking. He could feel one of the other’s quickened breath on the back of his head. He was hoping they were all thinking hard about ways to get out of this, because his mind was blank.

(OotP, Ch35)

But Ron and Hermione don't. No one does. They just see Harry coming up with a plan to save them. Every time. They don't see him wracking his brain for a way to keep everyone alive.

Hermione never considers Harry stupid, not even in first year:

“I’m not as good as you,” said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. “Me!” said Hermione. “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and — oh Harry — be careful!”

(PS, Ch16)

And Ron clearly doesn't expect stupid behavior from Harry. He's surprised and shocked when Harry does something he considers stupid:

“What the hell,” panted Ron, holding up the Horcrux, which swung backward and forward on its shortened chain in some parody of hypnosis, “didn’t you take this thing off before you dived?”

(DH, 19)

Both Ron and Hermione trust Harry's opinion and they trust him to know what to do when shit hits the fan. When things are dangerous, both Ron and Hermione (and everyone else) turn to Harry to know what to do becouse that's the aura he has:

“I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” said Lupin, then hesitated slightly. “And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.” Harry looked at Hermione, whose eyes were full of tears. “Nearly always right,” she repeated.

(DH, Ch22)

Hermione agrees with Lupin's assessment here. Dumbledore did too, he's the one who told Kingsley and Remus to trust Harry's instincts. Harry doesn't give the impression he's messy and bumbling, quite the opposite. Yes, Harry and Hermione have their doubts, they don't agree with Harry on everything, especially when he has no evidence for his claim except his intuition. But, it's telling Harry can make claims based on gut feeling and Ron and Hermione ask him why he thinks that instead of just instantly rejecting the claims.

Like I mentioned above, he looks like he has his shit together even when he really doesn't. He's an expert in keeping a mask on and bottling up his feelings.

Sirius, also sees Harry as mature and capable for his age. It's why he's so insistent on telling him things while Molly wants to cuddle Harry:

“I don’t intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,” said Sirius. “But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back” (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), “he has more right than most to —” “He’s not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!” said Mrs. Weasley. “He’s only fifteen and —” “— and he’s dealt with as much as most in the Order,” said Sirius, “and more than some —” “No one’s denying what he’s done!” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. “But he’s still—” “He’s not a child!” said Sirius impatiently.

(OotP, Ch5)

Between them, Sirius sees Harry more accurately. Harry is incredibly mature and capable and wants to be in the know. He'd be better off in the know. Sirius understands Harry's curiosity which Molly seems unaware of. Lupin also remarks on how Harry is going to find out things anyway, he's aware of how curious and determined Harry is. Sirius considers Harry capable even during PoA and GoF:

I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself and while you’re around Dumbledore and Moody I don’t think anyone will be able to hurt you.

(GoF, Ch18)

Molly, on the other hand, never really sees Harry's capabilities. Molly only ever sees a polite, intelligent kid. In the early years at the Weasley, Harry barely talks to Molly and Arthur because he doesn't really know how to talk to them. So they talk to him, the other Weasleys talk around him, and he's polite in turn:

“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really” (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —”

(CoS, Ch3)

Harry acts around most adults like this, especially when younger. It's clear he acted this way around his teachers too:

“You see what you expect to see, Severus,” said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. “Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.”

(DH, Ch33)

Snape got it a bit different. Because Harry is defiant and sassy — it's how he responds to the Dursleys, and this is how he responds to threats he can't do anything about in general. Sass. It's why we see Harry do this with Umbridge, Snape, and Scrimgeour:

Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice. “Hmm, let’s think . . .” said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice, “maybe Lord Voldemort?”

(OotP, Ch12)

“Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?” “Yes,” said Harry stiffly. “Yes, sir.” “There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.”

(HBP, Ch9)

“...You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!” “It’s time you earned it.” said Harry.

(DH, Ch7)

Harry appears confidant and arrogant not only to Snape but to Scrimgeour too (I think other students at Hogwarts see Harry as arrogant too. His demeanor can come off as arrogant if you don't know what he's thinking. It's why they could believe the Daily Prophet, it fit what they got to see). It's because he is rude and sassy when speaking his mind. It's because he acts more confident when he's terrified. It's because he's cold, distant, and uncaring towards most people and actively avoids talking to most.

And even that's mostly when he's older. In 4th year, he responds to Snape by glaring at him silently and wishing he could cast a Crucio at him:

Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him. . . . If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse . . . he’d have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching. . . .

(GoF, Ch18)

Harry is overall really quiet, which does create the impression of him being put together. More than he thinks of himself, for sure. It also adds to why many students feel as comfortable talking about him as they do because he feels distant to them. His quiet makes him feel mysterious, unknown, and far away. Like a symbol rather than a person.

Something I want to note, specifically with Umbridge, is this scene:

Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile. “Yes?” “Nothing,” said Harry quietly. He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into his skin, once again they healed over seconds later.

(OotP, Ch13)

Part of why Harry comes off as such a put-together badass is that he doesn't let others see his pain. He doesn't show he's in pain to others, especially when it's people he doesn't like. He acts though, constantly.

He hates crying in front of others becouse Harry does everything he can to not appear weak:

Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.

(PoA, Ch12)

And it works, people see him as confident, and capable, and heroic. Most people don't see the struggle because Harry keeps bottling it in.

Even with Hermione, he tries not to let her see how upset he actually is. We know in his head, that he is devastated by his wand breaking, that he's mourning it like it was a dead loved one, but this is what he's willing to show Hermione:

“It was an accident,” said Harry mechanically. He felt empty, stunned. “We’ll—we’ll find a way to repair it.” [...] “Well,” he said, in a falsely matter-of-fact voice, “well, I’ll just borrow yours for now, then. While I keep watch.”

(DH, Ch17)

All this means, we, as the readers , see Harry's pain, his struggles, his vulnerability — but the other characters almost never do.

The only character who is consistently aware of Harry's struggles is Sirius who Harry confides his weaknesses to more than any other character:

“Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously. “I’m —” For a second, Harry tried to say “fine” — but he couldn’t do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he’d talked in days

(GoF, Ch19)

Harry is so used to saying his fine and bearing his burdens in silence. It's what he does. It's what he did for years. Most characters think Harry is unshakable because that's how he acts.

Even when Harry tries to lie so Sirius won't worry, Sirius sees through it:

Nice try, Harry. I’m back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that’s going on at Hogwarts.

(GoF, Ch15)

As for his room and appearance, he is a little messy actually when he has the chance to be in seventh year:

Harry had spent the morning completely emptying his school trunk for the first time since he had packed it six years ago. At the start of the intervening school years, he had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or updated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom—old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, single socks that no longer fit.

(DH, Ch2)

As in, his trunk is a bit of a mess. But this makes sense, I think. He allows himself to be messy when he doesn't have the Dursleys over his head. It's like a sort of freedom he didn't have before, so he indulges in it. I think the mess in his trunk is also a result of him actually living from it for 6 years, as he couldn't really leave everything at home with the Dursleys, could he? Still, his room and belongings are nowhere near as messy as Ron's.

As for his appearance, the only thing mentioned to be messy is his hair:

His jet-black hair, however, was just as it always had been — stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it

(PoA, Ch1)

But from other characters (including Hermione) thinking Harry's hot:

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.”

(HBP, Ch11)

We can conclude Harry's messy hair comes off as cool and attractive and not like a bird's nest.

We also see from Hermione and others that Harry looks scary. He is 5'11 by book 6 with an intimidating glare and that he looks like he can throw a punch, (and can definitely throw a punch when he wants to). So he has a physical intimidation factor when older:

“Well, it’s like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves,” said Hermione impatiently, “and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn’t usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren’t they? The way some people can see them and some can’t! I wish I could.” “Do you?” Harry asked her quietly. She looked horrorstruck. “Oh Harry — I’m sorry — no, of course I don’t — that was a really stupid thing to say —”

(OotP, Ch21)

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy’s stomach — “Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!” He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until somebody in the vicinity yelled “IMPEDIMENTA!” and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .

(OotP, Ch19)

To summarise

Harry bottles up a lot of his emotions and tends to be quiet, this creates the often wrong impression he is confident and has his shit together.

He doesn't show pain and weakness to others and doesn't cry or show he's upset to basically anyone (except Sirius). This means basically no one sees his struggles or how depressed and traumatized Harry actually is. It even surprises Ron and Hermione in book 5.

He is defiant and rude to people he doesn't like, especially when scared, the result is that he appears like a very capable and confident badass especially when under pressure.

He can be intimidating with his glare alone and once he's older he is a physical presence. He's not someone who can disappear in a crowd post-book 5.

His rudeness oftentimes stays in his head except when someone really annoys him. This makes him appear defiant, but overall polite because he keeps most of his mean comments to himself.

When younger, he is very polite and quiet, especially toward adults. When he's older, he gets a little sassier (as in, he says some of his internal monologue out loud). But he is a polite, well-mannered kid for the most part.

The character who has a messy room, is a bit of a slob, has chicken scratch handwriting, and is lazy with schoolwork, is Ronald Weasley, who I love dearly, but these descriptions have nothing to do with Harry and everything to do with Ron.

The only unkempt thing about Harry's appearance is likely his Potter hair, which is more messy hot than messy bad (if all the girls' reactions are anything to go by).

[anni-legacy]

teamwork

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader | very suggestive fluff

word count: 1.8k

warnings: post timeskip Kuroo x coworker! reader, fluff nsfw-ish language, office shanennigans, corporate baddie reader

@ anni says: I’m Kuroo Tetsurou’s whore. neways, this was just another self indulgent drabble that was lost in my drafts. -> I'm actually reviewing and proofreading some of my works from my second account here to organize them and delete the other account, so. there you go.

[cover by loony, go give her some lov]

the lingering stares, the coffee excuses, the light subtle touches while exchanging papers, the gossipy chatting every lunch break,

the way you look so goddamn hot when you’re focused in your work and how that sometimes distracts him from his own work…

and also the inhuman strenght he needed to gather to divert his stare from your plump thighs when you cross your legs under the desk… the privileged view from his desk across from yours can be also a burden sometimes

and then there’s that damn high heels you use… not often, though. only when there’s important meetings. makes you feel more confident, you said once. but god, when you use it he just want to lay on the floor for you to step on him

there’s more and more and so much more about the office bond he shares with you that irks him both in the right and wrong ways.

working in the JVA marketing implied that your most strong stakeholder was the promotion division, once the areas needed each other to thrive

therefore, makes total sense that you and Kuroo were so close to each other, right?

so it’s normal when you’re training a new intern and he tags along with the excuse to help you, but spends the whole time glaring menacingly at the guy when he stares at your cleavage a little to much, isn’t it?

or when he passes by your desk, leaving a chocolate every other week, with his handwriting in a note thay says “that presentation was sick, congratulations ;]” or “you deserve a raise, but take this chocolate in the meantime >:)” or some other silly thing that makes you smile

your eyes always dart to him, flashing a playful smile

but you also can’t help but think to yourself that he wanna fuck you so bad— and the thought itself is so entertaining that you shake your head, snorting, as he eyes you puzzled

the tension is clear for you as much as it is for him… he, too, checked all your boxes. a handsome smoking hot smart and competent man that has his eyes set on you? you’d be crazy not to enjoy

so, eventually, you would throw paper balls at him while he’s focused, making him roll his eyes and smirk

but also, you bring him coffee when you go get it for you. you know how he likes, he works so close to you, why wouldn’t you bring him one too?

and the glint in his eyes makes it worth it every damn time

neither of you were making the first move so soon, but everyone in the office knows about the unspoken bond you share, gaining some attention in gossip groups around the floor

but then, one day, you were working until very late, apparently alone at the office.

and suddenly, he popped up back in the office after having left already, with a can of beer, a loosened tie, two buttons opened, walking torwards your desk, placing the beer on your desk, beside your papers

you looked at him tilting your head puzzled

“Where did you get that?”

“At the bar across the street”

you tilted your head even more

“You were at the bar across the street and came back to the office to hand me a beer?”

“Exactly”

he said matter-of-factly, making you snort. his words were subtly slured, indicating he drank enough to get at least tipsy

“Why?”

“Why not?”

he answered shrugging, and you read through his attempt to divert the topic. but you also know he’s very stubborn, so you just brush it off

“How did you even know I was still in the office? It’s late…”

you say, while opening the can and looking at the hour on your computer

“It’s the first Monday of the month, you always stay late finishing the monthly report… Besides, I saw the light on from across the street… just put two and two together”

“Damn, you’re good—”

you say, amazed at how he memorized your routine by now, while sipping your beer, sighing as the cold liquid soothes your tense muscles, feeling the last motivation to end the report today getting obliterated

he watches your every move like a hawk, walking sneakly behind your chair to rub your shoulders

you sigh, feeling a chill down your spine with his touches, humming softly with the massage

“You’re done with the report?“ he asked, his fingers rubbing circles in your back muscles, sliding to your shoulders. you lean in his touch

“No… But I think I can finish it tomorrow morning,” you reply, trying to suppress the pleasure in your voice from his magical touch.

he chuckles lightly, lowering his torso to lean closer, his breath hitting your neck, making you shiver embarrassingly

“That’s what I thought,” he says softly, his hands never ceasing their movements, the tension that’s been building between the two of you for months feels like it’s finally reaching a boiling point

before things get awkward, you start to stand up from your chair, closing your laptop on the desk, sipping your beer casually,

he took advantage of the moment to pull your chair away, leaning closer, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth on your ear

“Don’t I deserve a… reward… for the beer and the massage?”

he whispered, his words borderline suggestive, the warmth of his breath making your heart race, his arms encircling your waist in a new way… despite your supposed closeness, it’s the first time you feel him this close.

his voice is like velvet, seductive and irresistible, making you question if this was a good idea.

you pathetically place your free hand on the desk to anchor yourself, feeling the weight of the intensity that has been building between you

”Is that what you’ve been thinking about all this time? Pinning me on the desk when there’s no one around?“

you whisper back, your voice dropping to a sensual tone as you lean back in his chest, looking at him through your shoulder

the tension is palpable, your mutual attraction finally coming to a head. you put your beer down on the desk, meeting his gaze with a daring look, ready to cross the line you’ve been flirting with for so long.

"And what if I have?” he whispers back, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. “What are you going to do about it?”

his challenge hangs in the air between you, a gauntlet thrown down, waiting for you to pick it up.

and that’s exactly what you do.

you turn around to face him, raising your chin to line your mouth with his, as his hands unconsciously sneak around your waist and your hands rests on his chest

“I might just finally kiss you… would that be bad?”

his eyes darken when he realizes you’re on the same page, his hands working to pull you closer.

“That might be the best idea you’ve ever had,”

and just like that, you two give up, succumbing to the tension building for months,

he leans in, or you lean in… its indistinguishable who kissed who first, but you capture each other’s lips in a heated intense kiss, your tongues already seeking each other’s and you taste the faint malt of the beers he had earlier, sighing with the deliciousness of it all

he gives one step further, boxing you on the desk behind, making you lean back, his hand traveling down your hips

you retaliate, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting softly, making him groan

he pushes his tongue inside your mouth again, and you gladly take it, sucking on it, kissing him back with the same passion

it feels almost relieving having him like this after so much tension building. it feels right.

he parts the kiss, but keeps his lips on your jaw, leaving a trace of wet kisses down, reaching your neck

you lean your head back, giving him free reign there, which he gladly take it, switching from kisses to bites, making you moan softly

your moan unlock something primal in his brain, and one of his hand on your hips travel down your thigh, reaching the back of your knee, pushing up on his waist, while the other arm encircle your waist, pushing you flush against him

all that while assaulting your neck with languig nibbles, and you can’t help but let out a chuckled moan with a smug smile

“Fuckk… eagerrr, are we?”

you say, low and purring, and the way you draw the words from your mouth goes straight to his pants, making his cock twitch, unconsciously grinding his hips against your thigh.

he grins, groaning a little in your neck, the tone vibrating against your chest

it takes you the damn last bit of strenght to knock some sense into him

“Mmhm… Kuroo… there’s cameras in the office… ”

you say slightly breathless, threading your fingers in his hair, gripping, trying to pull him away from your neck

“Call me Tetsurou”

he say lowly and you can’t help but huff a breathy chuckle

“Tetsurou…” you say, rolling his name from your tongue, liking the sound of it “there’s cameras—”

“They’re not gonna check the cameras unless something gets stolen…”

“We’re not fucking in the office,” you say categorically, your last ethical straw working doubled against the wetness in your panties

he parts from your neck, looking straight at you with hazel hazy eyes, his lips curling in his famous lazy smirk with a hint of smugness

“Oh? So we are fucking then?”

you narrow your eyes, he got you now.

you snort, grabbing his tie and pulling him for another kiss, mumbling a quick “Shut up”

he kiss you while chuckling against your mouth, his hand on your thigh progressing further, sliding your skirt up and invading under the hem of the clothing, feeling the soft skin he drooled so many times before—

“Not here, Tetsuro—”

he grumbles, releasing your thigh and raising his hands in mocking surrender

“Okay, okay… I get it” he says, then he takes your hand, pulling you closer to him “but you’re coming to my place now, and I’m not taking no for an answer”

as you two leave the workplace giggling and holding hands, your coworkers on the bar across the street watch the scene, all ready to let the gossip spread, but also knowing it was bound to happen eventually

[starkwlkr]

so there’s this boy | cillian murphy

Y/n sat across her manager, Holly, at a restaurant. They were discussing new movie roles and promo that still needed to be done. Y/n had zoned out after Holly mentioned some movie role that she was offered. She couldn’t stop thinking about Cillian. They had messaged each other for several months now. Neither of their managers knew about their potential new relationship. Was it a relationship? Y/n didn’t know.

“You with me?” Holly questioned when she noticed the blonde was zoning out.

“Yeah, I’m good I’m here. What’s up ?” She cleared her throat and sat up straighter.

“Your schedule is full until next month, after that your sisters wedding is next and if it all goes to plan, you finally get a break. Have you decided if you’re taking a date to the wedding?” Holly asked.

“Shit . . . I forgot about the wedding,” Y/n sighed. “Does that make me a bad person? It’s my own sister’s wedding! I just have a lot going on here.”

“You’re not a bad person. That’s why I’m here to help. If you want to cancel some interviews, we can.” Holly replied.

“No, I can do it. I just can’t have any distractions.”

Then stop talking to Cillian

Y/n couldn’t help it. Cillian was on her mind a lot lately.

“Babe, you and I both know you would never call that Irish guy ‘a distraction’. Just call him your lover.”

“What?”

Holly chuckled at Y/n’s reaction. “That Irish guy? Cillian, yeah him. He’s good looking. I know that you’ve been seeing him lately.”

“Who else knows?” Y/n whispered as if it was top secret information.

“His manager probably and me as far as I know. I only found out because he asked me to give you this.” Holly pulled out an envelope from her purse and slid it towards Y/n.

Y/n grabbed it and saw her name written in pen in Cillian’s handwriting. “Be right back, I have to make a call.” Holly said as she stood up from her seat with her phone in hand.

Y/n opened the envelope and saw a letter from Cillian. She unfolded the letter and saw a smaller piece of paper fall onto her lap. She picked it up and read it. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was. It was a concert ticket to see Stevie Nicks, her favorite musician.

She set the ticket down and finally read the letter that Cillian had written her.

You haven’t left my mind, not for one second. I can still hear your laughter and I never want it to end. You have my heart and if you let me, I could have yours. My heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own. You are kind, gentle, beautiful and full of love. I always hoped I would find someone that loves so deeply and I have finally found them.

C.M

i’ll see you soon

BARBENHEIMER TAGLIST

@leclercloml @butterfly-skinnylegend @rockerchick05 @agustdpeach @celesteblack08 @probablypossesedbysatan @kittyrumbl3r @electrobutterfly @knpgituloh @butlersluvbot @captainwans @bellstwd @theekyliepage @marti-su @multifans-things @ceruleanrainblues @litterallnobody @barnes70stark @astheni-a @jackierose902109 @sinarainbows @cosniffee @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

[lightlycareless]

And finally, here is the other xmas oneshot I had prepared for this year :> something a bit more chill, I believe. Or so I hope that's the way it's interpreted hahaha don't take it too seriously, it's just you, naoya and your kids being silly 🤣

warnings: none too big. domestic fluff. there is a hint of you and naoya being somewhat nasty (as usual) and naomi curses the moment she became aware of her surroundings.

Happy reading!

It took you years to finally convince Naoya to do it. For him to go above and beyond what’s usually done during Christmas time.

But after your swaying, insisting, and borderline exhausting persuasion, Naoya finally decides to bite and dress up as Santa this year.

“Our babies are going to love it!” you gush, already imagining the type of adorable reaction they’ll have. “Thank you so much, honey.”

“They’re hardly babies anymore, my love. I doubt they’ll get excited.” Naoya says. But he can portray himself as indifferent all he wants, because deep within you know the truth: he too was thrilled to see his kid’s reactions. “But isn’t this going to happen during the night, though? When they’re asleep?”

You go silent.

“I guess so… but we can still do it! I read online that what parents do to keep the excitement going is leave a trail of hints implying Santa was here! You know, like the cookies with milk and such.”

“Do I still have to dress up?” he asks, you nod.

“Of course! You gotta do it at least once in their lives.” You smile, stepping on your toes to kiss him. Call it motivation. A preview of what’s to come if he goes through with your idea. “I have your costume ready too, so you can’t back out now.”

“Looks like I don’t have much of a choice anyways…”

“No, you don’t.” you giggle. “Now, if you excuse me… There are some cookies I need to bake if we want to make this even more realistic!”

“Are you sure that isn’t an excuse just to eat them yourself?” He teases.

“And what if it is?” you pout.

“Ah, no, nothing. No problem at all…” Naoya chuckles, and you know there’s so much more that he’s holding back on saying, but in favor of getting everything ready for Christmas night, which was just two days away, you let it pass.

Thankfully, your children remain as oblivious as ever, in both matters regarding their presents which were hidden away in one of the many rooms found around the estate until the very day, and your plan for Santa’s nightly visit.

Though they’ve been getting ideas of their own.

“Naomi-nee, come on! Let’s stay up to see Santa coming to our house!” Naori cheers, excitedly tugging at her arm—an accurate reflection of his and his sibling’s enthusiasm. “Please please pleaseeeeeeeeeeee.”

“It’s going to ruin the magic, little bro.” Naomi responds, barely lifting her gaze from the book she was reading. She already knew who Santa was, discovered the truth all by herself once upon a time after noticing the peculiar similarities between Santa’s handwriting and her mama’s.

Did it hurt her to uncover this mystery? Not really. If anything, it just made her job easier when asking for things—though a part of her can’t help but wonder if the mysticism surrounding Santa Claus might’ve been real a long time ago…

Either way, just because she knew the truth doesn’t mean she’d be the one to ruin the fantasy to her younger siblings. They’ll simply have to find out that on their own, if they ever…

“You have to be asleep for Santa to deliver your toys, or you won’t get any.”

“That’s not true.” Naoko pouted. “He gives toys to all kids who are good kids!”

“You probably don’t even notice because mom tucks you to bed early, you know? Besides, even if she didn’t, none of you would be able to stay up late anyways.” Naomi snickers, enjoying how easily provoked her baby siblings are.

“I can!” Naoyuki retorts. “I can stay up late!”

“No, you can’t.” Naomi smirks. “You three will fall asleep the moment it turns 10.”

“Wanna bet?” Naoko frowns.

“Mama will want you to do so, anyways.” The oldest reminds. “Neither she or dad like it when you guys stay up too late.”

“But it’s just going to be one night.” Naori persists. “But we’ll still do it! Whether you join us or not!!”

Naomi ultimately ends up conceding, but not because she was thrilled to see a man dressed up as Santa in the middle of the night at her home, but rather, because she didn’t want any of them getting into trouble, or danger, while you and Naoya weren’t there to intervene. Or more like weren’t supposed to be there…

So, after everyone supposedly goes to bed, Naomi, Naori, Naoko, and Naoyuki stealthily sneak out of the bedroom chambers and head towards the living room, where the Christmas tree was extravagantly set up with all kinds of colorful lights and ornaments Naomi swears they get bigger and more dramatical with each passing year.

Because she was the oldest, Naomi oversaw the effectiveness of this operation, as they’d innocently call it. She had some initial doubts regarding their compliance, they’re eager kids after all—but she’d soon find out that when it comes to working for the same goal, they were nothing but obedient, yet small, cute little soldiers that took all her words to heart and diligently executing their orders!

Might come useful for another occasion, but for now, she’ll be the reliable older sister they need.

“Wait, quiet.” Naomi suddenly says, placing her arm before her eager siblings and stopping them on their tracks.

“What is it Naomi-nee??” Naoko breathes, peeking over her arm. Naori doing the same with her, Naoyuki following suit, so on and so forth.

“What do you see?” Other asks.

“I hear… something.” She frowns, leaning closer and getting a clearer… picture.

“—you’re not thinking of keeping it like that, are you?” it’s you, she immediately discerns. And the lone thought of being caught by her mother is enough to send chills through her spine. More so since it’s clear that you’re setting up the gifts for tomorrow, naturally, no one is supposed to be there.

Certainly not to hear what followed.

“What? You don’t like it?” the other voice teases, muffled enough so Naomi couldn’t figure out who it was, but clear enough to know it was a man. “I thought you did.”

“When have I ever liked beards?” you tease back with a giggle, a gesture that denotes familiarity, uncomfortably so. Naomi frowns. “But I’m sure it would feel nice.”

The curse of understanding innuendos—Naomi scowls. She’s only glad that her siblings were too innocent to understand any better.

“Ah, is that so?”

“Well, you know me—I’m always looking for ways to make things more… interesting.”

“What a naughty wife you are.” The other responds. “I wonder what you’ll husband think of this.”

«Husband?! That means—» Naomi frets, tossing aside her embarrassment and quickly growing disturbed at the implications.

“Oh, but you’re not going to tell him, are you? I can be a very good girl when I need to.”

“I can’t believe you—unless you convince me.”

“I think I know exactly what to do.”

There’s only one person she could imagine you’d share those godawful interactions with. However, given the unmatching description of the other man, and unfamiliar voice…

Naomi could only imagine the worst.

The most absolute dreadful thing she now needed to protect her siblings from before it was too late.

“Naomi-nee…! It’s Santa!” Naoyuki exclaims, happy to see that his theory was right and yet to understand what Naomi was sadly interpreting. He was just a kid, after all. An innocent kid who just had to get overtly excited… “See? I told you! I told you Santa would come tonight! And with our gifts too!”

But he wasn’t just there to leave behind some gifts, eat cookies, drink milk, and leave through the same way he came in.

In fact, everyone would come to see what he was truly there for once you cheekily wrapped your arms around Santa’s shoulders, pulling him very close to you, and finally—

Kissing him.

Making each and every one of your children gasp, shaken to see that their mother’s kisses were no longer exclusively theirs or their fathers, but also a strange man’s whom they couldn’t help but feel resentful of soon afterwards—jealous, even, enough so for the shyest of the bunch to take a stand and get this whole fiasco done with!

“Why are you kissing mama?!” Naori cries, and though you were the one to initiate, he still heads straight for Santa’s arm and harshly pulls at it, as if trying to get this terrible man away from their innocent mom and defend his parent’s happiness. “Hey, I’m talking to you!!”

“Leave mama alone!” Naoko followed, alongside Naoyuki and Naomi, the latter being there to prevent her siblings from causing any more havoc, while the former placed his little hands on your back, tightly holding onto your clothes as he and his twin try to get you to safety. “Get away from her!”

“Wait, kids—!” you gasp, swiftly clinging onto Santa the moment one of your babies tugged at you a bit too roughly—his hands wrapped around your waist soon after to prevent any more damage, which far from helping his cause, just caused their anger to grow even stronger. “Stop it! I’m going to fall!”

“You’re hurting your mom, Nao—” Santa exclaims, but Naori quickly shuts him up.

“Shut up, ugly old man!” he breathes back. “We already have a papa, so get lost!!”

You and Naoya would’ve found it unbearably amusing if their antics weren’t alarmingly approaching the concerning; it was only a matter of time before one of them got too agitated and hurt themselves, thus, necessary to act now.

But thankfully, Naomi would be the voice of reason the moment she takes a better look at Santa’s familiar eyes, quickly realizing who it was underneath the silly costume and stopping her siblings from antagonizing their poor father any longer, who was being punished by the simple crime of getting a kiss from his own dear wife.

“Let me go, nee-san! We have to protect mama!” Naori cries as soon as he’s peeled from your side. “I won’t let him be our papa! We can’t”

“Well, I got something to say regarding that.” Naomi begins, but before she could say anything else, you and Naoya stop her, shaking your head and letting her know that you’d much rather take the fall than destroy the magic of Christmas. As if this hadn’t so already… “I—I mean—”

“He was only kissing me because that was my Christmas present!” You quickly come to the rescue, directing all their scrutinizing attention onto you. You just hoped they’d believe you. “This year the only thing I wanted was a kiss from papa, but since he’s going to be away for a few days… I decided to ask Santa to give it to me! Really! Nothing more, nothing less!”

Such is what you wished them to believe, because your prior heated exchange easily implied otherwise.

However, even if they were unaware of your inappropriate words, they still wouldn’t take the bait—and not because they still harbored anger towards Santa, but rather…

“Papa isn’t going to be here…?” Naoko laments, causing you to immediately regret your choice of words.

“But… he promised.” Naoyuki adds. “He said we were going to play together!”

“N—no, that’s not it… what I meant to say is—” you stammer. “It’s actually—”

“Your papa is going to be away for just a few moments, but only because he’s helping me with the presents.” Santa Claus interjects. Their cute, round angry eyes quickly snap into his direction—their disappointment is strong as ever, but they still give him the right to defend himself. “You see, I must travel around the world delivering gifts to every single kid. It sounds like a big job, and it is. However, if I consider there’s a child that has been incredibly well-behaved this year, I go out of my way to reward them even more.

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to deliver the rest of your toys personally since I have a lot of work this time around, but thankfully, because your papa loves you all very much, he offered to help me! But he will still be there for you during Christmas, regardless of what happens.”

“Really? I don’t want another Christmas without papa…” Naori murmurs, Santa’s heart tightens a bit.

“I promise.”

Was it a bit too on the nose? A mouthful of an excuse that could easily be debunked upon further questioning?

Maybe. Yes.

But that didn’t seem to matter, in fact, everything stopped being relevant the moment Santa implied the existence of more gifts, as if the mountains of presents lined up around the Christmas tree weren’t enough, but most importantly, the presence of their beloved father after having gone through agonizing days of absence (all done with the intention of spending the holidays without the elders or HQ bothering him; yet they always manage somehow).

A prompt solution that gave way to another issue: now Naoya only had a few hours to get all the new gifts he promised before Christmas, though dealing with their disappointment was always an option…

To never consider.

Well, at least their kid’s innocence during the festivities was maintained, though their excitement regarding Santa dwindled a bit, growing skeptic whenever the enigmatic figure approached them and subsequently standing before you whenever he got too close—as if trying to protect you from being whisked away from them, ready to put their life on the line if need be!—or demanding their papa to do so as well, still yet to uncover who was the one underneath that itchy beard and uncomfortable red suit he immediately threw away after that night.

Their undying animosity towards the enigmatic man led to some awkward seasonal photoshoots too, alongside some unwanted meetings with other parents once their kids began an anti-Santa Claus propaganda at school... but you and Naoya knew it was only a matter of time before they outgrew their childish beliefs, and so, the two continued to enjoy their time together as a family.

Eventually looking back to these moments and remembering them as nothing but silly, and somewhat embarrassing to them, anecdotes when they finally know the truth—

Until Naohime came along, that is; surpassing all expectations in such way that no number of gifts or siblings would be able to help you out this time.

I think Naomi is technically around 18 at this point? So you can imagine how goofy all of this was lol either way, we can all see some of the traits they got from Naoya 🤣 their quickness to call Santa ugly and old, alongside their protectiveness over you 🥹❤️ they all love you, they really do. 🥺

Also, I love the fact that every one of your kids adores Naomi. She is the de facto cool older sister that is actually cool and not embarassing. I think. All siblings have that silly side to them, one way or the other...

As for Naohime... I guess we'll have to wait next year to see what happens with her 🥴 but I can give you a hint: it has to do with Naobito and his imprudent nature.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading this small piece of mind!! I had so much fun writing something inspired on that famous song we've all heard about by now 🤣 I just knew y/n wouldn't be able to go on another year without forcing Naoya into dressing up as Santa lol. It's tradition!!!!

Well, once again, thank you so much for your support; now take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[juuuulez]

🎧 | heartbeat, richie jerimovich.

so we're done? this the real shit? / we used to hold hands like field trips / i’m a jerk, but your dude is a real dick / i read his posts on your wall and i feel sick.

making out/mild groping, references to sex, cheating, richie is petty.

request a playlist roulette here!

“I’m working, Richie.”

“Then fuckin’ stop. Tryn’a have a conversation here.”

You simply huff and continue to ignore him, though the small space of the office feels impossibly closed off. It’s like all the air has been sucked out, filled with a sticky warmth that settles in your veins, where you can’t possibly ignore his presence behind you.

It’s been years. Whatever happened between you and Richie was over, it ended right before you went off to college. So, yeah, fucking ages ago. What gave him the right to whine about it now? You were knee-deep in paperwork, having been called up by Carmen to help balance some accounts for the restaurant renovations. With a business degree under your belt, you’d happily taken the offer. It helped that you were in Chicago anyway.

“There isn’t a conversation to be had, asshole.” You quipped back, standing at the desk and flipping through contract after contract. They’re scattered around, and quite frankly, a mess. You make a mental note to ask Carmy if he ever got his pen license: because his handwriting is atrocious.

The silences stretches on for another few seconds. Sweet, soundless seconds, where you can summon an inkling of focus, before it’s brutally ripped away from you again.

“Missing my baby. #LongDistanceWarrior.”

It’s said in a delicate, mocking tone, that had you whipping around to face him. Richie has his phone in hand, scrolling through your Facebook wall and finding comments from your boyfriend.

“Do you mind?” You snap.

“Nah, babe. It’s fuckin’ pathetic, this shit,” He’s begun again, all wound up and pissed. “I mean— jesus, what a jagoff. Trust me, I know you, and I know you’re not into this garbage.”

You expel a harsh breath through your nose, turning your back to him once more. “It’s sweet.”

“No it fuckin’ isn’t. It’s disgusting.”

The hypocrisy of it all is astounding, it twists harsh in your gut, churning a dangerous mix of irritation and, maybe, a little bit of guilt. “Y’know, last time I checked, we broke up ‘cus of you, genius.”

“That’s not what happened,” Richie is quick to assert, dropping his phone in favour of waving his hands wildly, as if it would help his point. “Hey! That’s not what fuckin’ happened! You decided to go to New York, like a pretentious—

“No! No, fuck you!” You’re yelling back at him now, albeit still looking down at the desk. “I wanted to do long distance, asshole, and you threw a goddamn fit. So tough fucking luck, you missed your chance.”

It shuts him up for a moment, because it’s true: Richie didn’t want to do long distance, and you wanted to go to college in New York. Neither of you would budge, and so you broke up. But now, you’re dating some rich asshole, who apparently, has no goddamn problem with long distance. Making Richie the cuck.

“Is it his dick, or somethin?” Richie is speaking again in a lower tone, an almost playful twinge to it. “Cus it’s definitely not his face.”

He’s approached you, chest pressed firm against your face, as he drops the phone over your paperwork. It’s still open on your facebook wall, an image of you and this new boyfriend, posing for a photo: you’re kissing his cheek.

You shake your head, giving Richie a sharp nudge with your elbow. It’s supposed to get his ribs, but he catches it in his palm, warm and big over your skin. “Don’t be rude.” You scold.

“So it’s not?” He continues to pry. “It’s the money, then? Bet he’s fuckin’ loaded. Goddamn trust fund.”

“That’s none of your business.” You tell him.

The contact feels foreign and familiar all at the same time. It’s like coming home to a warm bed, still all mussed from the night before, and crawling right back between the covers. But it’s laced with something new, an intoxicating sense of temptation, because you know how wrong this is. How wrong it is to lean back against him, to not shoo him away.

Richie knows this, he knows the hold he has on you, knows that he’s getting what he wants. Because you’re not as uptight as you pretend to be: you’re that same scrappy kid who’d fuck around with him in high school: A younger girl, and her stupid older boyfriend, working weekends in a shitty restaurant and blowing the paychecks on dumb stuff like fireworks and beer.

So his hands find your waist, fingers wrapped around the meat of your body, tugging you back into him. You spare a glance downwards, past the paperwork, watching the way he grips you tight and possessive.

“Aren’t you married?” You ask, pushing through the breathless feeling in your lungs.

“Not anymore,” Richie supplies. “But you already knew that, didn’t ‘ya?”

You hum, rolling the idea around in your head for a moment. Any sense of rationale dissipated the second his breath hit your ear, so close, too close, and yet you still wanted him closer. Deeper. All around you.

So you turn around, wedged between the desk and him, Richie’s firm torso pinning you in place. His self control dwindles, taking the chance to skate his hands over your body, rough palms finding your ass and squeezing.

“Shouldn’t be doing this,” You remind him, the words whispered into hot air, a moment of consciousness that preens its way into your mind. “I have a boyfriend. He loves me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Richie will contest, voice rough and molten right near your ear. “The fuck ‘s he doin’ in New York, then?”

And it’s true. Fuck, it’s so true. Because he’s there and Richie is right here, hot and hard against you, smelling so familiar and before you can even think his mouth is on yours. It feels perfect, your hands skimming up his chest, finding his face to pull him in closer. Teeth clash and noses bump, his thigh pushing between your legs, pulling you down against him.

The paperwork is forgotten as you feverishly make out on the desk, groping and grinding like teenagers. It’s only interrupted by Carmen, who eventually comes knocking with another handful of receipts. His face twists in disgust at the sight, making a disgruntled noise before turning on his heels. Your face is red at this point, forehead making contact with Richie’s shoulder as you huff in a mix of embarrassment and guilt.

Not guilty enough, though, to stop Richie from coming back to your hotel. Not guilty enough to not sleep with him one, two… three more times. Certainly not guilty enough to not call him whenever you’re in Chicago.

[cowgurrrl]

Nobody asked but here are my headcanons for Joel as the ultimate girl dad™️

Gets Ellie into a routine as soon as possible so she knows what to expect in her day-to-day life. There’s not much he can guarantee outside of their home but he can make sure she eats, does her homework, and is off to bed at the same time every night.

Speaking of bed, he’s the dad who has a STRICT bedtime set. He can’t sleep until he knows Ellie is safe in bed and even though she’s a teenager he still makes her be in bed by 10 but he absolutely can be persuaded to let her stay up with a long game of cards, guitar lessons, or a movie.

Before Ellie, he would’ve been reckless if it meant keeping Jackson safe but now that he knows she’s relying on him he does things slower and safer.

Maria teaches him how to cut hair so he can help Ellie because he knows how hard it is for her to trust other people especially when they have something that could be used as a weapon so close to her head.

Definitely pushed her into the river while teaching her how to swim. She was pissed and didn’t talk to him until after dinner.

Ellie becomes known as “Joel’s girl” and neither of them correct anybody who says it

Slips notes into Ellie’s backpack when she’s not looking so when she gets to math class and opens her notebook, a sticky note with Joel all-caps handwriting falls out and reads, Why was the toilet paper unstoppable? And on the other side it says, because it was on a roll

He laughed about it for ten minutes before forgetting about it

Ellie secretly keeps all of his notes in a box under her bed

Teaches her how to play football in the spring when all the snow has melted and accuses her of cheating when she scores against him

“How could I cheat? It’s fucking football!” “You’re abusing an old man, you know that?”

Although Ellie never calls Joel dad, there’s an unspoken agreement between them. Joel hated Father’s Day after Sarah died but that Father’s Day they settled, two bouquets of flowers show up on the dining room table with a note from Ellie.

Saw these and thought of you, the note reads. One from me and one from her.

He cries the first time he gets them. He can’t remember the last time anyone gave him flowers.

Lord help the teacher who has to call Joel in for his first parent-teacher conference in twenty years. Everyone is Jackson knows how protective he is over Ellie and her teacher is only slightly terrified of him.

Ellie constantly steals Joel’s shirts and he pretends not to notice

He’s always looking for new tapes for her Walkman and asks every group that comes through Jackson if they have anything

Ellie ends up with three new tapes to listen to by the end of their first year of being settled

Joel knows he’s probably doing a million things wrong and danger is always lurking and the time they have together is fleeting but he does his best to be good for her. He apologizes when he yells, he shows up to her first guitar recital, and constantly reminds her how loved she is even if there aren’t always words exchanged

Sometimes it’s a hug, the squeeze of a hand, or a ruffle of hair but they both know it means so much more. Giving and receiving affection would’ve been seen as a show of weakness in Boston, a vulnerability that others can play into. Here, love doesn’t have to hide or be shunned to the dark corners of their lives. They can just be.

Who knew Ellie tripping Joel while playing football in the spring meadow meant so much more than anyone else thought?

Tumblr if you delete my last paragraph one more time I’m going to gnaw my arm off

[scribes-of-valar]

unexpected loyalties

Bilbo Baggins x fem!dwarf!reader (no beard)

a/n: based off the movie, not the books, just to clear that up if there is any book inconsistencies. First time writing for this fandom, and posting on this blog, let me know if I got anything wildly incorrect

Summary: Neither of you ever expected to like each other, let alone anything more. But you find yourself drawn to one another, despite the boundaries between you.

Another knock, he wasn’t sure he could handle many more visitors. Four dwarves were enough for him to want to run out of his home screaming. He tightened the ties of his robe, took a deep breath, and quietly prepared himself to turn down whoever waited outside his door. 

Yet, when it swung open his chest deflated and he found himself completely underwhelmed. He should be thankful that his doorstep was empty and that there were no more unwelcome guests to turn away. But he found himself incredibly confused. “Hm,” he pokes his head out slightly, looking around for stragglers. “Hello?” He calls out hesitantly. 

He jumps back as a woman leaps out of his rose bushes. “Oh!” You smile widely at him, shoving your hand out for a strong handshake. “Sorry about that, I thought I had the wrong hobbit.”

He gives your hand a brief shake, never one to forgo his manners. “I believe you do. In fact, you all do.”

Your face screws up in distaste and you look so forlorn he almost feels bad. Almost. “You are Mr. Bobbins aren’t you?”

He shakes his head with a scoff, “I am most certainly not. My name is Bilbo Baggins-”

You interrupt him with a relieved laugh. “Oh, apologies, then you are the hobbit I’m looking for. I’m afraid my cousin’s handwriting is nearly impossible to read. So the meeting is here, then?” You look at him expectantly, eyes wide and eager. 

Bilbo has to suppress the urge to stomp his foot and slam the door. He’s too old to be behaving like a child, but bebother and confusticate these dwarves he can take no more visitors! “There is no meeting here!” He snaps, nearly shouting in your face. 

Your brows furrow and you shake your head stubbornly. “They cannot have canceled it.” You seemed nearly as stubborn as him. You plant your feet, crossing your arms and glaring at him. “I would have been informed.”

Bilbo opens his mouth to inform you that no, nothing has been canceled because nothing has been scheduled. At least nothing he has been informed of. He knows this is all that blasted wizard’s fault. If only he’d stuck to his fireworks and simply left Bilbo alone, he would be having the peaceful evening he’d wished for. 

You narrow your eyes suspiciously, peering over his shoulder as something that sounds very old and sentimental breaks behind him. “Sorry about that!” A voice calls from his kitchen. Bilbo clenches his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath, and leans so you can’t see further into his home. 

“I do believe that was Balin’s voice,” you tell him, your voice low with an unspoken threat. “Mr. Bobbins-”

“Baggins.”

“Mr. Baggins,” you correct, “are my kin in there?” 

He shrugs, playing dumb and giving you a confused look. “And who,” he draws slowly, “would your kin be?”

You let out a heavy sigh. He doesn’t have any time to stop you as you nudge him to the side and shove your way into his home. “Thank you for the hospitality,” you mutter sarcastically. Your face lights up as you catch sight of an unruly blonde head of hair. “Fili! Kili!”

They call your name in return, rushing over to greet you. “Any trouble on the journey?” Kili asks as he takes your sword from you. He absentmindedly tosses it towards Bilbo who has to rush to catch it before it breaks something. 

“None at all, you know I’m a lot better at subtlety than the two of you are,” you tease. 

Bilbo’s eyes narrow as he takes you and the other dwarves in. You said your cousin sent you a letter. There was no possible way you could be their cousin. You didn’t look like any dwarf he had ever seen. Not that he had seen many, of course. There wasn’t enough gold or adventure in Hobbiton to bring many through. 

But he had heard the stories of dwarven women. How they were a dying breed, far more men than there were women. He also knew that it was incredibly hard to tell a wife apart from her husband, mainly because of the great big beards. 

You were taller than the others, far less hair, and simply not what he thinks when he pictures a dwarvish woman. “I see you met our host,” Fili nods towards Bilbo whose arms are now absolutely overloaded with the ridiculous amount of weapons you carry. Fili is clearly suppressing a slight smirk as he looks upon Bilbo. It’s hard not to feel a little offended. 

You turn back to Bilbo and frown, “Not a very welcoming host, these hobbits, are they?” Kili shakes his head, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and dragging you back towards the kitchen. 

Bilbo huffs and tosses the weapons to the floor with a put-off look. There’s loud cheering coming from the kitchen as the others greet you. He takes in a deep breath and sets his shoulders. Enough is enough. Clearly, there has been some mix-up. Whatever bearded reunion is taking place in his dining room is not meant for him. He’s just going to walk over to you all and inform you to take your business elsewhere. 

Bilbo only manages one step forward before a knock echoes through the front hall. It seems deafening, an ominous warning. He knows that if he goes to answer the door there will be no going back. These dwarves will be here to stay. He’s tempted to just ignore it, to usher you all out and slam the fence closed behind you. 

But then there’s a second knock, a third. He cannot simply ignore it, it’s too rude. Despite knowing better, he goes and answers the door. He’s nearly knocked over by a pile of stacked dwarves. He jumps back in shock, glaring down at them all. 

“That would be the rest of them,” you muse, appearing out of nowhere behind him. You grin at his affronted face, “Got any extra chairs?”

The Hobbit is certainly interesting. You struggle to find a kind word for him. He’s not exactly happy to have you all in his home. And you can’t entirely blame him, you and your kin aren’t the best guests. But Gandalf had told you all he was perfectly fine hosting the company in his hobbit hole. 

Though, you have a growing suspicion he wasn’t telling the whole truth if the wicked looks Bilbo is shooting him is anything to go by.  “Need a hand?” You ask, hovering in the entry of his pantry. 

He lets out a low sigh, just barely glancing over his shoulder at you. He stands amidst the wreckage of his once-great food stores. The rest of it is being bickered over in his dining room. If what Gandalf has told you is true and he is going to be your thief, then it shouldn’t matter. 

You’ve done him a sort of favor, clearing out his stores before the journey. No one wants to come back home to rot and mold having crept over all their food. But again, you’re starting to doubt the wizard’s words. He’s known for his tricks, but you didn’t think he would do something as sly as this. 

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” His voice is snippy, but he’s trying his best to be polite. You barely hold back a laugh at how hard he’s keeping up the pretense of being gracious. 

“Don’t be stubborn,” you insist, moving past him and grabbing a broom. “I don’t mind. Durin knows we aren’t a clean people.” He gives you an odd look as you start to sweep the mess up. He stays firmly planted in his spot, gaze tracking you. You try not to grow uncomfortable at his intense stare but it is hard. 

“You are a dwarf, then?”

Your face screws up in irritation and you shoot him a severe look. He lets out a slight whimper, whirling around and pretending to be fascinated by his shelves. “Yes,” you grit out, “I am. Despite the oddities in my appearance, I am a dwarf.”

He whips back towards you, face drawn tight in confusion. “Oddities?” He demands.

“Look at me,” you gesture to yourself, feeling a tight ball wind itself up in your throat. “No beard, too tall, I might as well just be a short human. I’m practically repulsive.”

His jaw drops and he stares at you for a long while. You can feel the judgment, and can practically hear his thoughts as he wonders at how ugly you are. Bilbo’s mouth opens and shuts multiple times before he lands on a squeaky, “Repulsive. That’s ridi-”

“There you are!” Gandalf’s head dips into the pantry and he gives you both an impatient smile. “We are waiting for you, Master Baggins,” he says your name and you nod. You throw the broom back in place and shove past them both, swallowing down tears. 

They watch you go with varying degrees of shock. “My word, what did you say to her?”

Bilbo snaps his jaw shut and shakes his head, “I might have brought up how peculiar it is that she doesn’t have a beard.”

Gandalf nods sagely, as though this is something he has experience with. “Sensitive topic for young dwarvish women.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for him?” You hiss to Kili as you all leave the tavern. You’d written Master Baggins a note, promising to wait for him in the Green Dragon Inn. If he didn’t make it by 11 AM, you would all leave. But Thorin was demanding your leave early, it didn’t seem fair to not give Bilbo a chance. 

Fili glances towards Thorin, making sure he’s not listening to the three of you. “Best not to argue with him. He’s been upset since the meeting in the north.”

You sigh, mounting your horse and falling into line with them. “I don’t blame him. They claim to be brothers, yet won’t come to our aid.”

“Watch, once we reclaim our home, they’ll all be demanding payment from the stores of Erebor.” You cannot help but agree with Kili. You are a greedy people, there’s no denying it. The lust for gold, at times, can rival that of a dragon’s. But you were loyal, to a fault. How could they abandon you all so readily?

You look towards Thorin and feel yourself deflate. He has been different since the stirrings of the journey were brewing. More prone to anger, and quicker to draw his blade. Something dark awakes within him when he thinks of Erebor. Reclaiming your home will benefit you all, but you cannot help but fear the dragon that lurks beneath its bones. 

Not the actual dragon, yes that’s terrifying, but the curse that lays over that gold could spell all your doom. You’d watched as it happened to one king, you don’t want to see another fall to the sickness. 

You’re about to ride up to Thorin when you hear a voice shouting wildly behind you all. “Wait! Wait!” You glance over your shoulder, a grin slowly spreading across your lips. Bilbo chases after the company, waving his contract in the air. 

Thorin frowns, bringing you all to a halt. Bilbo slides to a stop beside Balin. “I signed it,” he pants out, holding the contract out. The older dwarf frowns suspiciously, taking it from him and examining it through his lens. 

After a moment he nods at Thorin, “He signed it,” he reaffirms. Thorin glances towards Bilbo and you can’t tell if he’s going to honor his word or not. 

After a tense pause, Thorin finally nods, “Give him a pony.” Bilbo shakes his head and waves him off. 

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he insists. “I’m perfectly fine walking. You know I almost made the trek to-” Kili and Fili lean down and grab him by the jacket, hoisting him atop a pony. 

They both sport sore frowns as you ride up beside them. “I do believe I’m owed something, gentlemen.” You hold your palms out expectantly, Bilbo gives you an odd look as they both slam their gold into your hands. 

“What’s that?” He wonders as they ride off. 

You smile down at him, “You’ve just made me a rich woman, Master Baggins. They had a bet, about whether or not you would show.”

His brows raise and he narrows his eyes at you. “You thought I would come?”

You laugh, “Obviously.” You chuckle a little and toss him one of the pouches, “Here. It’s only fitting you should have some.” You nudge the side of your mare, urging her forward. Bilbo watches as you ride off, face furrowed in confusion as he rolls the gold around in his palm. 

He doesn’t know why you believing in him means so much, but it does. 

“Something caught your eye?” Bilbo startles from his thoughts and turns towards Balin. The old dwarf smiles slightly, glancing over Bilbo’s shoulder towards you. Bilbo flusters, stuttering slightly on his words as he shakes his head. 

“No,” Balin raises a brow and Bilbo shakes his head harder, scoffing. “No, not at all. I was only lost in thought.” Unwittingly, Bilbo’s gaze drifts back towards you. You’ve stripped off the heavy leathers of the day and are leaning over the fire, stirring some stew. 

The light of the fire casts you in a sort of glow. You could be mistaken for an elf by someone passing by. You tuck a braid behind your ear, standing up and glancing around camp. When your gaze drifts past him, he’s quick to turn back around. 

Balin is staring expectantly at him, giving him a cheeky smile. Bilbo’s quick to change the subject, not wanting to fan the flames of Balin’s assumption. “Are there other dwarf women,” he points vaguely towards you, “like her, I mean?”

Balin shakes his head, puffing on his pipe. “No, no one quite like her. She’s a fierce fighter and an even fiercer friend. She’s been working hard to campaign for this journey.”

“No,” Bilbo glances back towards you, ensuring you’re not listening. You’ve walked off, looking towards the ponies with a confused expression. “I mean, physically,” he rubs over his chin, miming where a beard is meant to be.

Balin huffs out a laugh. “No, it’s quite rare for any of us to be without beards. I don’t recommend bringing it up to her, it’s quite a sore subject. We think there might be some human blood, maybe even an elf somewhere down her line. It’s the only explanation for it.” He shakes his head with a sad smile, “A shame, truly.”

Bilbo continues to find himself more and more confused by his company. The way they speak of you, you’d think you were a troll, not a woman. “A shame? She’s,” he hesitates on the word, worrying it might be inappropriate. “She’s quite pretty,” he lands on.

Balin shrugs like there’s nothing to be done about it. “By any standard other than a dwarf’s. You have to understand, laddie, she’s a dwarf, despite appearances. No beard, too tall, she’s not pretty, as you said, to her people.”

Bilbo thinks it’s a horrible shame that you’re going to go through your whole life believing yourself to be some hideous creature. In truth, you’re one of the most beautiful women he’s ever met. He finds himself distracted every time your eyes meet his. 

“Bilbo,” you pop up behind him, scaring him as you seem to be doing. You smile slightly and nod towards the edge of camp. “Come with me?” Bilbo’s eyes widen as he follows after you. For a horrible moment, he thinks you’ve heard his and Balin’s conversation. 

You lead Bilbo into an outcrop of trees, there’s a little bit of firelight shining through ahead. His suspicions shift and he wonders if something else hasn’t gone wrong. Kili and Fili both stand by an overturned tree, peering over it and staring at something. Bilbo can’t see what it is from where he stands. 

You stop beside them both, turning towards him and giving him an apologetic smile. “We need your help-”

“We were meant to be watching the ponies,” Kili interrupts. 

“We’ve encountered a slight problem,” Fili motions toward the tree and Bilbo comes up to join them. “We had sixteen,” Bilbo looks to the pen where the ponies were being held and frowns.

“Now there’s fourteen,” you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face and glaring at Kili and Fili. 

“Oh no,” Bilbo frets. He counts the ponies again, just to ensure that you all didn’t make a mistake. “Should we not tell Thorin?”

Your face blanches and you share a panicked look with the brothers. “No,” Fili quickly butts in. “No reason to worry him. You are, after all, our burglar. We thought you might be able to help us.”

“We think we know where they went,” you tell him. Bilbo glances between the three of you and not for the first time he wonders how he got himself mixed up with this adventure. 

Trolls, trolls you could handle. Being tied up and thrown in a sack, nearly roasted alive and eaten. All of that was palatable. However, being hosted by elves was not. You sit at Elrond’s table and glare down at the vegetables before you. 

Elves, you almost scoff as one of them dances by you with a flute. They think they’re so much better than dwarves, so much more sophisticated. You wouldn’t be surprised if they were born with that haughty look on their face. 

It’s difficult to have an appetite when you have a rabbit’s dinner in front of you. It’s even harder when you’ve got Elrond’s men glaring holes into the back of your head. None of them trust you. And not because they expect you’re going to rob them. They simply don’t trust your table manners. 

A bread roll thunks against your cheek and you grimace. You pick it up, tossing it back at Dwalin and laughing as it knocks his salad into his lap. Well, they might have good reason to doubt your table manners.

You sigh, bored of your meal and tired of all the noise. You stand from the table, slipping away from the others. Thorin catches your eye as you leave, giving you a brief nod farewell. You head down the stairs, toward the pond you saw earlier. Perhaps, while everyone else is eating and arguing with each other, you can cleanse yourself. 

It’s been a long while on the road. Scrubbing yourself with rainwater hasn’t exactly done a wonderful job of keeping you clean. You’re used to always being on the move, but you’ve been able to settle down nicely enough in the mountains. It feels a little odd to be adventuring once more. 

You can practically smell the elves' magic permeating the air around you. It’s light, it feels like a weight being removed from your shoulders. It tastes like something sweet dancing along your tongue.

As much as you despise Thranduil and his kingdom for abandoning your people, a part of you has to admit that Elrond held no part of that. They did not offer you aid or a place to rest, but he had no reason to. It’s wrong to hold your bitterness against him. 

And it does not make a good king to so stubbornly reject Elrond’s help. You worry for Thorin, worry for his sanity when it comes to returning to Erebor. He’s so like his grandfather, it wouldn’t be so difficult for him to succumb to the same sickness Thror had. 

You drag your fingers lightly over the marble of the elves' home. It’s impressive, the way the forest manages to grow through their walls. Their architecture is something to be admired, even if it is not as grand as Erebor once was. 

You stumble upon the pond and strip out of your clothes. You dive into the pristine waters and are surprised when you feel no chill on your skin. The water is warm and it eases your aching bones. The stress melts away from your tightened muscles. If you weren’t so skeptical, you’d think the water held a magic of its own. Then again, Elrond’s Last Homely House is renowned for the healing capabilities it provides, perhaps it does.

You swim for a while, stretching your limbs and floating along the surface of the water. The sky darkens above you and the stars appear.

The view on the road is always gorgeous and usually left unblanketed by clouds. But this is absolutely breathtaking. You feel as though you could reach up and steal a star for yourself. 

You pull yourself onto the shore of the pond and find that your clothes have been taken. A white, gossamer gown hangs on the branch of a tree, and your brows furrow. “Elves,” you hiss with disdain. You wonder which one of the flighty things had left this while you’d been swimming. You’re sure whoever it was got quite the show. You pull the gown on and ponder going back to the others. 

You can hear their laughter from here. You know they’ve probably found food that you can actually stomach but you can’t bring yourself to leave the peaceful serenity of the water just yet. 

Bilbo does not want to admit that he was looking for you. He simply dismisses the idea as wanting to explore more of Elrond’s home. After all, he’s never gone further than the shire. He’d had the desire to, once, when he was a child. He’d all but abandoned that for the comfort of home. 

He can see why he had once wanted to see the elves so badly. The entire place is filled to the brim with magic and people older than the oak trees surrounding the Shire. He seems to be the only one recognizing how truly wonderful this place is. He knows the others all want to leave. He can see how restless they are the longer they stay. 

He wonders if you feel the same way. He cannot tell, he finds it harder to read you than he does the others. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s afraid of thinking of you for too long or if you are simply an enigma to him. 

He ascends the stairs, gazing out at the forest and smiling as the breeze brushes against him. Something catches his eye by the glittering waters of the pond and he frowns. He peers further over the railing and spots what must be another elf. They’re surrounded by starlight, basking in the glow of the night. Their beauty is nearly breathtaking. 

Imagine his surprise when they turn and it’s you. His eyes widen infinitesimally and he backs away from the rail before you can see him. Why does he keep mistaking you for an elf? 

Bilbo finds himself moving before he really thinks about what he’s doing. Your back is to him as you drape yourself along one of the rocks near the shore. Your toes dip slightly into the water and he can just barely hear you humming to yourself. 

He’s caught completely off guard by the sight of your hair. Damp and curling, it lay along your back without any braids. It’s the first time he’s seen any of the dwarves without a braid in their hair. He doesn’t have a vast amount of knowledge of your culture, but he feels as though it’s taboo to have your hair unbound like this. 

He clears his throat awkwardly and you shoot up in surprise. Your hand drifts to your hip where he’s sure there’s usually a dagger. Tonight, though, you are wholly unarmed. The thought doesn’t seem to bring you much comfort as you narrow your eyes at him. 

“Bilbo,” you call out, slightly breathless. “You scared me.”

He gives a strained smile and laughs, taking a hesitant step towards you. You sit up straighter and beckon him closer. He obliges embarrassingly fast, taking a seat beside you at the edge of the pond. He doesn’t even mind as moisture and mud stain his pants. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, voice light and tired. 

“I was going for a walk,” and wondering where you had gone, he thinks to himself. But that is not something he is ready to admit to you, yet. You’re still practically strangers. 

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” 

He nods and the question that’s been lingering in his mind slips out. “How do you know Thorin?” You give him a confused look and he quickly adds, “You’re the only woman in the company, I’m only curious.”

“Oh,” you smile slightly and look towards the water. “I believe he’s my distant uncle, possibly a few times removed.” He frowns and you laugh, “The family tree grows a tad confusing. We’d gone through a long list of kings named Durin and the familial relations got hard to keep track of. It’s possible we might not share blood at all. But the dragon had left me orphaned and I was raised alongside Fili and Kili, blood or no, we’re family.”

There’s a faint smile on your face as you speak of the others and it makes a small one form for him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “losing your family, it must have been incredibly hard.”

You shake your head, shrugging his apology off. “No need, I was too young to truly remember them. Besides,” you gesture towards the balcony above and you both listen as the others laugh, “I’ve got more than enough now.”  

It’s admirable, how loyal you all are to each other. Bilbo’s almost envious of your bond with the others. It’s clear each of you would die for your king, for your home. It’s a dedication and purpose he has never had. 

“Do you miss the shire?” You ask, curious and not accusing as Thorin often is. “I imagine life on the road is nothing compared to the comforts of home.”

“Yes,” he answers so quickly it makes you both laugh. Your face lights up when you smile and you smile so little. But when you do, it makes his breath catch. He grows even happier when he’s the reason for it. 

“I do miss home. But,” he leans in and you follow, smirking like you’re sharing a secret. “I must admit, adventuring is not as bad as I once thought.”

“Ah,” you lean back, “we’re poisoning you Master Burglar. Soon you’re not going to want to go back.” Well, Bilbo would not go so far as to say that, but you do have a point. The recklessness of the dwarves has seemed to be influencing him, just a tad. 

“Well,” he hums and shakes his head slightly. He catches the teasing smile on your lips and doesn’t bother correcting you. “Maybe,” you look a little surprised that he played along and it only makes him more amused. 

His eyes drift towards your hair before looking back at you. You give him a self-conscious smile, idly running a hand over the strands. “I took them out to bathe, I didn’t have the energy to rebraid.”

He speaks before he can even think. Perhaps it is the joy of being alone with you that loosens his tongue so foolishly. “I could braid it for you.”

Your eyes widen with shock and you ever-so-slightly flinch back from him. “Do you,” you clear your throat, practically gaping at him. He doesn’t know what about what he just said is so appalling to you but he wishes he’d just never spoken at all. “Do you mean that?”

“Well,” he mutters lowly, “I suppose. Yes,” it sounds more like a question than anything. He can’t help but wonder what he just offered in your culture. 

You blink rapidly, pushing your shoulders back and straightening. “Alright,” you whisper and there’s a giddy grin on your lips that he can’t help but be suspicious of. “I’d love it if you would.”

He gets to his feet, moving to stand behind you and idly running his hand through the damp strands of your hair. He doesn’t do many, just enough to keep your hair out of your eyes as you’re on the road. But you seem to get more and more restless with each one he adds. 

Finally, when he’s done, he takes a step back and gives you a strained smile. “There you are.”

You get to your feet, running your hand over the braids. “Oh,” your eyes widen as you feel them. “You put quite a few.”

He glances away from you and looks to the tree beside him like might hold the answers to this bizarre encounter. “Was I not meant to?”

You shake your head rapidly and wave him off. “Oh, no, this is wonderful.” You wince and give him a strained smile, “I mean, it’s good. Thank you,” before he can question you on your odd behavior you run off. He watches with a furrowed brow as you rush up the stairs to the dwarves' quarters. 

He’s absolutely bewildered as he makes his way up a moment later. He can’t imagine what he could have done to offend you simply by offering to braid your hair. When he makes it to the quarters, he’s not greeted with the rowdy laughter and loud conversation he was expecting. 

Instead, the majority of the dwarves are huddled around the fire, whispering lowly amongst themselves. When he walks in each of them turns towards him so quickly he nearly runs back out of the room. He can’t imagine what he could have done to have warranted such odd reactions from both you and the company. 

“Er,” he skirts around them, or attempts to at least, “good night.”

“Bilbo,” he clenches his eyes shut, sighing as Thorin calls his name. Whatever he had done, any attempts at escaping the consequences are thrown out the window. He turns towards Thorin who's standing in the corner, away from the others. He waves him forward. 

Bilbo feels very much like a child about to be scolded as the others watch him move towards Thorin. Thorin glances towards the others and lets out a heavy sigh. He walks outside and Bilbo follows him down the stairs and back to the path he was on before. 

“I doubt you know what you’ve done,” Thorin grumbles bitterly. He looks to Bilbo who only shakes his head. “Braids mean a great deal to us, I don’t imagine they hold much meaning for hobbits.”

“No, they don’t.” Bilbo glances back towards the balcony, and he sees you standing there. The moonlight still shines down upon you and he still can’t fathom that you would ever believe yourself to be anything but beautiful. 

“She is young, but she’s not a fool. I’m sure she knows that you didn’t mean anything by giving her courting braids,” Thorin emphasizes the words with a severe look. Bilbo curses his foolishness under his breath. He can’t believe he’s done something so stupid. “Did you?” Thorin asks. 

Bilbo shakes his head quickly, “No, of course not. I didn’t-”

“Know,” Thorin finishes for him. “I know. Could you?”

Bilbo looks up at him with a confused scrunch to his face. “Could I… what?” he asks hesitantly. 

“Could you ever care for her like that?” Bilbo goes to answer but Thorin interrupts him before he can. “She’ll never have any luck with her own people, not with the way she looks. If anyone did marry her, it would only be so they could be closer to the king and I don’t want that for her. I’m not asking you to marry her Master burglar, I’m only asking if you’d ever consider it.”

Thorin leaves Bilbo standing right back at the pond. He goes back to join the others and when Bilbo turns to watch him go, you wave at him from the balcony. He considers what Thorin said, and considers how he feels every time you two get a chance to be alone. 

He entertains the idea for a moment, but it's foolish. Even if he was truly in love with you, you were two completely different people. You were used to the road, always looking for a new adventure. Bilbo knew he would only ever have one great adventure in his life. His heart would always call him back to the Shire, back to home. 

He smiles and waves back at you. He watches you go back inside and he stays by the pond, thinking of what it could be like. 

The last time you see Bilbo is at Thorin’s funeral. You’re consumed by your grief and can’t spare him any attention. Three men to be mourned. The last of your true family is dead while another sits the throne that Thorin had earned. 

You can’t help but weep over their bodies, can’t help but leave the room so you won’t have to look at them any longer. You run from the procession, and that’s when you see him. Slipping away from everything like a proper thief. 

“Bilbo?” You call out, your voice is watery and thick. He lingers by the entrance of the mountain. His shoulders jump to his ears as he tenses at the sound of your voice. He turns back to you, offering you a weak smile. “Leaving?” You question, a weak tease lying somewhere in your tone. 

He nods, “I thought it would be better like this.”

“You didn’t think we’d want to say goodbye?” Bofur’s voice echoes behind you. You turn to find the others all standing there, watching as Bilbo tries to leave. You must not have been the only one unable to stomach seeing another wearing the crown. 

Dain had fought for you all, he’d come to your aid when you needed him most. He’d earned the title of king. But that didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. 

Bilbo laughs sadly when he sees the rest of the company. You’re sure he thought it would be less painful to simply leave you all. But you needed some sort of closure with him. Even though you’d always known that nothing could ever truly happen between the two of you, you still weren’t ready to let go. 

“If any of you are ever passing Bag End,” he pauses, swallowing thickly, “tea is at four. There’s plenty of it.” His gaze drifts towards you and you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye, “You are always welcome.”

You only know he’s gone when you hear his footsteps retreating. Pain and heartache make a coward out of you. You don’t chase him or call out to him as you should. You watch him leave and you let him go. 

One Year Later

The clock chimes just half past four and a knock rings out through Bag End. Bilbo frowns, head lifting from the map he’s working on. He pauses and his home remains silent. He shakes his head, dismissing it as a hopeful illusion. Just as he places the quill back on the parchment another rapid set of knocks ring out. 

This time it’s persistent. It grates on him as his door rattles from the force. Bilbo huffs, “A moment, please!” He snaps, glaring at whoever lurks behind his door. Another impatient knock and he wonders if it would be wrong to get Sting out of the chest by the door. 

He stomps towards the door, grabs the knob, and throws it open, “What-”

He cuts himself off, eyes widening and face going slack with shock as you smile at him. You’re here. You’re here and standing before him and he almost wonders if he’s dreaming of you again. 

“Master Bobbins?” You tease, a watery laugh leaving your parted lips. 

“What-” he stutters and stumbles over his words, not even sure what to say. He’s barely processed the fact that you’re even here. 

You shrug, “I’m sorry I’m so late. I was hoping to get here at four but Bofur had some problems on the road,” you cut yourself off and give him a breathless laugh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I stayed a while.”

Bilbo can only smile, something thick and choking hanging at the back of his throat. He feels his chest tighten and he shakes his head. “Please,” he breathes out, “stay.”

You grin at him, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes as you take a step inside. “You planted the tree,” you point out, looking toward the sapling growing by his home. 

“It reminds me of,” he trails off. It reminds him of everything. Thorin, the adventure, all the friends he’d left behind. You. You nod, not needing words to understand him. “What are you doing here?” He asks, not yet having processed what you’d said.

“I thought it was time for a different adventure,” you tell him, your hand grazing against his as you smile at him. You walk into his home and Bilbo closes the door behind you, already thinking of a million ways your adventure could begin. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the book/movie The Hobbit, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[daycourtofficial]

Everything is Not As it Seems - Part 4

Author’s note: this has taken me waaaay longer than anticipated, but there will be one last part after this one. :)

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three)

“Rhys, I have an idea.”

Working with Rhys and Feyre was the most painful experience of your life. After your talk with Azriel, you decided you needed to do something about your memories before anything can move forward with him. It doesn’t matter how much you want him - you need to make clear distinctions because the fake Azriel and the one that’s here.

Rhys and Feyre were helping you sort through the memories with Eris by changing the Azriel in your memories into the Eris that it actually was. It was a long and embarrassing process, the three of you sorting through a month of memories to alter Eris into his true appearance, but you did it.

Going through it made the two of them even more upset with Eris for his con. Going through the memories, he treated you incredibly kindly and fondly, much like the real Azriel does. They could never fault you for falling for the rouse, especially after seeing how closely Eris matches Azriel’s attitudes toward you.

As hard as it was to show them a month of your life with Eris, they were incredibly kind about your experiences.

-

Azriel’s first instinct to you coming back was to be able to see you, see what had happened to you. The second thing on his list was to kill Eris. After your interaction where completely bared his soul to you, Azriel decided to take out his frustrations on a certain autumn heir.

You had given Azriel the all clear to seek vengeance on your behalf, never wanting to see Eris again. And vengeance he sought. It didn’t take Azriel long to capture the heir, letting him sit in the dungeons for a few days before properly dealing with him.

-

After Azriel’s declaration, you decided to write him a letter. You and Rhys had discussed going through and altering your memories, and you decided to reach out to Az. The first letter you wrote reads as:

Dear Az,

I’m sorry things turned out like this. I’m sorry I’m not ready. I wanted you to know that I am trying. Rhys and I are going to start altering my memories in a few days to make my memories more accurately reflect who was in them.

I don’t want to see you until the memories are fixed. I want to see you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. My brain needs to know that you are you and Eris is Eris.

I’m writing to ask you to wait for me. I don’t know how long this will take, if it will even work, or what the outcome will be, but I am asking you to wait. If you can’t, I understand.

Feel free to write back, seeing as how Eris and I didn’t exchange letters I don’t see this as an issue for communication.

Yours,

(Y/n)

You folded the letter, writing his name on the envelope, and slid it underneath his door the next time you passed his room.

-

You received his response by the end of the day. It was sitting directly on your bed, right in the middle, most likely placed by a shadow.

You opened the envelope, trying to still your nerves over the contents.

Dearest,

I understand your decision to stay away. It is one neither of us like, but I think for things to continue a distinction has to be made in your mind, so I understand.

Do not apologize for circumstances you did not create. If I could only have you as words on the page, I will devour them every night. I will wait as long as is necessary.

Are you okay with me leaving a few shadows with you? I want to know you’re safe, and selfishly I hope they’ll provide you some comfort in lieu of my presence.

I have to say, I practically melted when you signed your last letter as ‘yours’. I will gladly keep you as mine, for as long as you wish.

Yours, heart, mind, and soul,

Azriel

You had to read the letter several times, committing Azriel’s incredibly neat handwriting into your memory.

-

Between your back and forth letters with Azriel and your progress with Rhys and Feyre, you’ve begun venturing out of your room more and more.

Every morning Azriel has his letter delivered, along with a schedule for his day. It was an idea he mentioned in his third or fourth letter as a way to ensure you don’t run into him unexpectedly. He’s away in the Day Court, procuring something from Helion for Rhys, and he won’t be back until the end of the day.

The amount of letters you’ve exchanged has gone from a daily letter to at minimum three letters a day. Last Saturday when Azriel had a rare day off from work, he sent you no less than 7 letters, each incredibly well thought out.

You bounded down the steps, planning to spend the day with Feyre at her art studio. Every day you’ve spent an hour or two sorting through memories with Rhys and Feyre, taking Tuesdays off. You appreciate all their help immensely, but you need a day spent not living in the past.

Walking through the dining room you find Rhys enjoying a late breakfast.

“Ah,” he says, putting down his orange juice, “the reason I’m running out of parchment at a pace never before seen.”

He backpedals a bit at your blush, worrying he’s gone a bit far. You don’t want to admit it, but you are a bit more shy these days since returning from Autumn. You’ve slowly been spending less and less time in your room, but it’s still a bit of a safe haven for you.

“I only jest, I assure you. I’m actually quite happy you two have found some way to communicate. Mothers knows he was insufferable the days he had no access to you,” muttering that last part.

You pull out a chair next to him, interested to know more, “insufferable? Azriel?”

Rhys laughs, “believe it or not, yes. He wouldn’t stop bothering me for days. I had to put up mental shields to block out his thoughts.” He laughs, his growing somber as he looks at you.

“Truth be told, when you were gone, we were all a wreck, him especially. We only figured out where you were because Lucien had been to that cabin.” He reaches out, grabbing your hands in his, “I’m glad you’re back, not just because of what you mean to my brother. But because we all love you dearly.”

He pauses, smiling at you, “and maybe because Azriel hardly slept while you were gone, spending the whole time trying to figure out everything he could about the Autumn court. I’m pretty certain he actually snuck into the Forest House at one point.”

You gasp, surprised and amazed he was able to accomplish such a thing. “No way!”

Rhys laughs, “just know that you are a thing of great importance to him. Please, always remember that.”

You laugh, seeing right through your high lord. “Ah yes well thank you for the big brother ‘if you break his heart, there’ll be hell to pay’ speech, Rhys.” You pause, letting him laugh, “but he is also a thing of great importance to me, as evidenced by the events that have led us here.”

He gives you a sad smile. “I wish circumstances were different that brought you two together.”

“Me too,” you sigh, looking at the table. You start thinking about if things were different, how they used to be. How the two of yourself used to dance around your feelings. Now you two write what are practically love letters back and forth.

[bainutwater85]

prop: you 2 imitate each other no matter what. Denki is always awestruck when you step around him ≧▂≦

notes: you both crush on each other but you think the feelings aren’t reciprocated even tho it’s so obvious to everyone else that you 2 have it out for each other

cw: sweetheart!yn, nervous&awkward denki. y/n has braces!

“y/nn!!” you turn to look behind you, all you seen was you friend in a crowd of people as he excitedly pushed them out the way to get to you. With a warm and cheesy smile you open your arms to hug him! you hadn’t seen him outside of school due to exams and trainings and being busy of course with your job. Engulfing each other in tight hug— he squeezed you hard like you were gonna melt in his arms like puddy; tapping his back to let him know it’s time to let go.

with a smile he hooked his arm around yours and walked you to class. All you could do was smile and feel warm inside, finally seeing the person you know and love the most!.

in class there’s a project, you didn’t need to worry about finding a partner because denki automatically volunteered to be yours ≧ω≦. Talking him through the work and helping with the hard and difficult questions— you could see him staring out your peripheral vision; your cheeks got hot and you started to sweat a bit, palms getting sweaty. “denki, i can see you staring!” you exclaimed softly. he chuckles a bit before responding “that pimples looks ready to be popped..let me pop it!” your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed as you smacked his hand away from your face. “no way!” you pouted while he laughed in your face. Mr. Aizawa standing right behind you two as you go at it.

the you and denki stopped laughing, stopped playing around when you felt and cold presence breathing down your neck. Simultaneously, you and denki both turned just to see the sight of your teacher- glaring you both down. Detention. yeah that SUCKS. it was no better when sero, mina and kirishima were laughing at you both!

the room was still and quiet besides the occasional sound of paper flipping and the squeek of the dry erase marker in the board. You looked quite pissed as denki struggled and groaned at his missing work assignments, which you’ve already completed. You had a choice to read a book or clean and you picked neither. As you were about to lay your head down, a paper ball hit you in the head! you turned around and glared at denki before picking up the paper.

“cOd whEn wE gEt hoMe?” in the most sloppiest handwriting ever. It took you a minute to decipher if his E’s were actually 3’s.

“sure, but that’s only if i don’t get in trouble when i get home! if i do i’m totally blaming this on you >:(“

“ur daD is cool tho >B) he shOulndt grouNd u!”

“yeah maybe.., i’m hungry. you got any snacks pookie?”

Denki reaches in his backpack and gives you a chocolate bar and the rest of his soda pop. You almost foamed at the mouth and thanked him so much before turning around and finishing your 30mins of detention.

30mins later your waiting for denki at the door because he can’t seem to find his airpods. “oh denki! i have them i forgot they were in my pocket” you say while walking out the door, him trailing behind you with a sigh of relief “thank god, i was about to flip out !” chuckling you say “you gave them to me in 2nd period”. As you were about to cross the road off campus, denki grabs your hand and pulls you back “hold on! we have to make sure no cars are coming” he pulls you close to his side putting and arm on your shoulder as cars pass by. “Maybe we should just take the bus?” you suggest “Um, does it look like have bus money y/n” he says sarcastically, laughing. A smile purses across your face; a feeling in your stomach that makes you happier than usual.

He held your hand all the the way to your house until he was about leave to go home himself but got freaked out by the neighbors dog and ran into your arms practically jumping on you “agh! denki!” you yell as he almost knocks you down. “That dog is on a leash! it won’t do nothing to you-“ “AHH i don’t care just open the door ! i’ll have my mom pick me up”

with that you brought him into your house, choking and waiting his mom. When she pulled up into the drive way you walked him out saying your byes and se you layers before he turned around and pressed his lips agaisnt your forhead. never have you smiled so wide, your rubber bands on your braces could little pop off the brackets rn by how hard you were smiling.

[h-l-v-kennedy-blog]

1 - isn't it lovely? all alone

pairing: john f. kennedy/oc (princess anna) word count: 2,211 summary: after the loss of his wife almost two years ago, the bad days outway any good. but enclosed spaces bring together with unlikely conversation partners, who are deep down not without sorrows of their own. warnings: grammar errors, grief, probably wrongly interpreted mentions of ptsd and panic attacks, mentions of child death and death overall etc. A/n: here it is. my experimental piece. i hope it's all right. i haven't really written anything like this before. about the warnings, it's clear, this is not meant to be all sunshine and rainbows story. if any of this is not something you go for, just don't read it. this is a slow burning story, and neither lead character is in a place where romance is even on their minds.

///

February 12th, on the eve of Valentine’s weekend, 1965

He couldn’t get out of bed. No, it wasn’t because of his back, or because he felt exhausted, which he was. But he knew what date it would be, and for the second time, it would be without her.

He wasn’t getting better, not seeing her everywhere. It had been over a year. Since that horrible day. When it should’ve hit him. Why did she lean over, why did she have to go?

She left him just as painfully as Patrick. God, baby Patrick.

Maybe, he could just stay in bed, until he decomposes and joins his Jackie and Patrick.

He can’t, because Caroline and John run into his room and climb into his bed. They do this more often ever since the funeral. They’re closer to him, and he feels like he isn’t enough. He is gentle with them and dotes on them. But...he doesn’t know how he can give them what they need.

Jackie knew.

How was he supposed to go on? How had he managed to? He felt he had been asleep, even throughout the reelection in 1964, and even when he gave his second inauguration speech (this time more than ever focused on domestic issues, since foreign policy was less of a problem). He forgets more and more what he does on the daily. It’s been less than a month into his second term, and he doesn’t remember anything he has done. Who has visited him, who he has visited, where has he gone, it’s all a hazy mess. Not even highlights pass through him.

Caroline nuzzles herself against the crook of his neck and John grips at his side, both hugging him.

But he doesn’t move, paralyzed. Caroline whispers something into his ear, maybe: “Good morning, Daddy.”

He should answer, he mutters a soft. “Morning, Buttons.”

He looks at her, he knows she looks like him, but he sees Jackie, too.

John demands his attention in his own nonverbal way, playing with his fingers. “Morning, John” The little boy smiles.

He sits up, his back is stiff, even with the board under his mattress. His children still cling to him. A few moments his valet comes in and he knows he can’t hide away from his duties and life, let alone his children, who watch him get dressed, while they remain in their pajamas.

They have breakfast together in his room and then he goes down the elevator leaving the Residence. Soon enough, Mrs. Lincoln greets him with his schedule for the day.

THE PRESIDENT’S APPOINTMENTS

FRIDAY, 12TH OF FEBRUARY 1965

9.35 - Danish Ambassador Count Knuth-Winterfeldt

10.25 - meeting with the DAR, presenting with a plaque for their help in the White House Restoration

11.00 - VP Johnson, Atty. -Gen Kennedy, Civil Rights Committee

12.35 - (AG Kennedy) OFF THE RECORD

(Lunch)

3.00 - (Mrs. Stephen Smith) OFF THE RECORD

4.45 - Senators Abraham Ribicoff, Connecticut and Hubert Humphrey, Minnesota

6.00 - Mr. William Walton, chairman of the U.S. Commission of Fine Arts

8.00 - The President will give a dinner at the White House in honor of Crown Princess Anna of Denmark and Prime Minister Krag

Not as packed as it could be, he guessed. He needed to fit some time in for the children, and he took he scribbled next to lunch in his nearly ineligible handwriting + with the children.

/

He didn’t remember when they started first. Shortness of breath, dizzy spells, rooms feeling too small. Sure, he had bad times after PT109 or after the Bay of Pigs.

But this was repetitive in more than annoying way. He would be talking to someone and suddenly hear a distant crack that sounded like shot. And he would be back in Dallas.

Everything was going just fine. The Princess was pretty, and the Prime Minister had a receding hairline, nothing new. The Princess sat next to him at his table, but there wasn’t much conversation. They must’ve had some small talk; he was sure. He just didn’t remember much of it. Then he zoned out and didn’t notice her leaving her chair.

The air was too stuffy, too many people. He needed to escape. Through the Red Room out onto the South Portico. It was winter, and the cold air was the prickly fresh relief that he needed. One deep breath in and shallow breath out, he remembered a doctor telling him when he said he had started to feel this way. A doctor had told him he probably had “shell shock” or something like that, prescribing him medications just in case (which he had forgot to take earlier). His hands were cold as they held onto the cold white stone ledge looking out onto the south lawn. Snow covered it. There was some snow near his hand, his right pinky stretched and felt it melt.

The sound of a pair of heels made him nearly jump (he had gotten jumpier), his head whipped to his left. Low and behold, the Princess...Anne or Ann or was it Anna? He usually had a head for names, but in the darkness of the balcony, it escaped him.

Usual for February, the moon was up, and it did light her up, as she stood a scant two feet from him. A cigarette was between her lips, ringlets of smoke leaving her mouth as she exhaled, along with the cool air puffs.

She was wearing a silver dress; he knew that since it shimmered in the moonlight. And her hair was near the color of gold. A diamond headband perched in her hair.

But her eyes were shadowed.

There was something calming in watching her smoke. He remembered when Jackie smoked. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t stop her then, either.

“Can I have one?” His voice was a bit shaky and far from being commanding or authorities as was expected from the leader of the free world. “A cigarette, I mean.”

That seemed to wake her up, because she blinked and reached into the folds of her dress (pockets, probably), and brought out a packet of Marlborough, getting one out for him while her own was between her lips.

He took the cigarette and held it in his calloused hands.

She got out a lighter and lit it for him. She was standing closer to him now.

The click of the lighter almost made him jump again, but he stopped himself.

He took a drag of the cigarette while she turned back away from him, so he could look at her side profile.

“I don’t smoke cigarettes.” He broke the silence. He smoked cigars, 4 a day, depending on the day.

“Neither do I.”

Her voice. It was like he was hearing it for the first time, even if only an hour or so earlier they had met. This time he was hearing it. There was an accent, but it also sounded sort of proper, almost British, but still with that Scandinavian lilt.

“Only Cuban cigars, every once in a while.” An understatement.

“I only smoke on special occasions.”

This surprised him, he quirked an eyebrow. He had her attention if she didn’t earlier.

“And what’s so special about tonight?” State dinners and foreign visitors had become such a blur for him that he struggled to find anything special about them anymore.

“It’s the anniversary of fiancé's death.” She deadpanned, bringing her cigarette to her lips with her silk glove clad hand.

“Your...” He was stunned. She looked...young. How had she experienced such a loss already?

“Yes, two years ago, the date was set, invitations sent out, dress being made. But...” Her voice trailed off. Now he really wished he could remember what her name was. He wanted to know more.

“My wife was killed two years ago.” He didn’t know what implored him to say it. He knew she knew that. The whole world knew. But it felt like a tit for tat situation.

“He wasn’t...well, what do you call when one car is hit by another car with a reckless driver and the driver in the car that is hit dies?” She looked at him.

“Car crash. So, he was killed in a car wreck?” He already knew the answer but wanted her to confirm it.

A single nod of her head and a puff of her cigarette. “He smoked Marlborough's. I buy back at the start of the month and finish it by Valentine’s.”

“My wife smoked Newport’s.”

“You smoke to remember, too.” She had hit the nail on the head.

“I do.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it? Pretending to be happy, especially this week?”

Danes really didn’t beat around the bush, did they?

He put the cigarette out, he didn’t find he needed to finish it. “It isn’t.”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants, feeling them get cold. He looked at her, her shoulders were bare, but she didn’t even look like she was cold.

“Aren’t you freezing?”

“I’m a Viking, this is a spring cold.” She said, making him chuckle.

“Ah, of course. I forgot I was in the presence of royalty, Your Highness.” This made her let out an airy laugh of her caliber. Rich, regal and precise. Practiced, he might venture. But not without at least some sincerity, he hoped. He hadn’t made anyone laugh in a long time. Not on purpose.

“Well, it would be useful if you didn’t forget that next time you ask a Crown Princess for her cigarettes.” She was humoring him, she must be.

“I will.”

“How long do you think until they notice we’re not there?” She gestured towards the door to the Red Room and the State Dining Room that was beyond it. He turned and then looked back at her, giving a shrug.

“If there’s enough food and drink, they won’t notice for a while.”

Laughter filled the South Portico for the first time in a long long time. He felt guilt pool in his gut, but he pushed it aside and asked, leaning on the stone ledge of the South Portico.

“What was he like? Your fiancé? If I’m allowed to ask, Your Highness.” He tried to keep his tone not too light or too serious, but open to her rejection while keeping his own curiosity at bay.

She flicked ash of the cigarette, and her gaze seemed to glaze over. Had he overstepped, he went to take his words back, but her voice stopped him.

“I think he was the best man I knew.”

That was something too close to home for him. Joe Jr. His oldest brother, who he remembered that way even if it wasn’t wholly true. He was good. And he thought of Jackie. The best woman, he knew, he would ever know.

There was silence again. But it was more contemplative than awkward. Both had begun to reminisce, but not in the depressed way that was common.

The answer to her question on when they would notice the two of them missing, would be 15 minutes. Then Dave found him and her. At first, he looked like he had caught something intimate. He had, but not what he thought.

“Mr. President, and, uh, Your Highness, things are wrapping up. Ma’am, your private secretary has bee-”

“Deres Højhed, hvor har De været?” (Your Highness, where have you been?) That must be her private secretary, who pushed onto the Portico next to Dave. He was tall, redheaded and square glasses on his long nose. And he was speaking Danish, of course.

He didn’t catch a word.

“Aase. Jeg har det fint, jeg fik en smøg og en snak med præsidenten.” (Aase. I'm fine, I had a smoke and a chat with the president.)

He didn’t understand a word she said, but he looked at her as she put her cigarette out and straightened up the folds of her dress.

“Jeg forstår. Du burde trække dig tilbage til Blair House. Flyet tilbage til Danmark er tidligt.” (I get it. I get it. You should retire to Blair House. The flight back to Denmark is early.)

He shared a confused look with Dave as they listened to the two Danes talk. He felt excluded and it peeved him ever so slightly.

The private secretary and Crown Princess squabbled for a few more minutes before he finally heard some English, again.

“It has been a lovely evening, Mr. President. You have been a gracious host. Now, it’s past Aase’s bedtime, so we will be retiring.”

All he could do was nod, while the pit in his stomach grew. She was leaving. The one-time in... God knows how long when he felt somewhat good, and now it would be over.

“Goodnight, Princess.” He managed to make himself speak. She gave him a practiced smile and let her private secretary take her back inside, their conversation resuming in Danish.

Dave had gotten him back inside and to his bedroom, swearing that if he caught a cold, he would kill him and why had he gone out without a coat (truly, sounding like a concerned mother), but he didn’t find it in himself to respond. His valet drew him a bath, and he soaked, his back pain relieved somewhat. He was back in the fog, but now, he had a bright spot in it.

A golden-haired Danish princess who had lent him a cigarette, shared grief with him, and made him laugh.

[slowandsteddie]

It’s three am and I just had the most wonderful idea because I am Awake and missing my grandma something fierce. Aka, woke up crying because I had a dream about her… Anyway.

I’m gonna write a Steddie thing based on my grandparents love story. Because, honestly, it’s a great fucking story and more people need to know it but like… I would feel weird writing about my grandparents.

But, like, imagine if you will, Steve and Eddie taking each other to their respective dates just to make sure that they get there safely. Steve and Eddie picking the other one up to save them from bad dates, whether it’s just boring or they’re actually scared. Steve and Eddie being best friends who grew up next to each other, spending so much time together that people think that they should just date themselves. Steve’s mom commenting, “he always walks you to the door, but never kisses you goodnight. Steve whining, “I know.” A few days later, Eddie saying “we should just cut out the other people, and try going on a date ourselves,” and Steve laughing because he can’t picture them together. No matter how much he wants it. But a few months later, Steve shows up at the garage where Eddie works looking his absolute best, and saying “I’m ready for that date now, big boy.” And Eddie is just covered in grease and oil, an engine spread out on the work bench, asking “Can I shower first?” Only Steve is grinning like a little shit, “nope. Right now, Edward Munson. Or you’ll miss your chance.” And Eddie looks to his boss who tells him, “just this once, love gets to win in my shop. Get the fuck out of here.” Then Steve takes Eddie to the fanciest place that they have in that small town and they get so many dirty looks but neither of them care, they’re having so much fun and falling so in love and both are wondering why it took them so long to get here. That night, Steve finally letting Eddie into his room for the first time in months because he doesn’t have to be ashamed anymore. Tommy had written “Eddie Munson” all over Steve’s ceiling and they have similar handwriting. Eddie noticing and grinning, “so you have liked me this whole time, huh?” And Steve just blushing so pretty while smacking him with a pillow like “Hagen has a crush on you. He brainwashed me into having one, too, because I’ve had to stare at your name for months.” And Eddie just “I should send him flowers,” only to be tackled to the bed where they finally, Finally, fucking kiss.

Anyway, let me know if you wanna read the extended version pls and thanks.

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember Day 26: ALT - Doctor's Note

Fandom: BTS

Sickie: V/Taehyung (voice loss)

Caregiver(s): Seokjin

Word Count: 643

Note: Short and sweet. Let's crank out the rest of these prompts, shall we?

Due to a duo photoshoot that had been delayed and lasted until the wee hours of the morning, Seokjin and Taehyung had been allowed to show up to practice two hours late the next day. Neither one was complaining about the extra sleep. So Seokjin was surprised to find Taehyung slumped miserably over the kitchen table ten minutes before the car would arrive for them. 

“Taehyungie?” Anxiety heightened, Seokjin ran to the younger man, touching his back gently. “What’s wrong?”

Taehyung peeled his head up, revealing a notebook hidden under his arms. He pointed dramatically at the paper: I lost my voice :(

Seokjin frowned, his hand beginning to rub rhythmically up and down Taehyung’s back. “Just today?” A nod. “Does your throat hurt?” Another nod. Seokjin frowned. “Did it hurt yesterday?” Taehyung’s mouth quirked to the side as he shook an open hand: kinda sorta. “Does anything else feel weird?”

Taehyung grabbed the pen laying next to the notebook. No, just the sore throat 

“Well that’s probably a good sign. Have you taken anything?”

Taehyung shook his head. We don’t have anything just for sore throats

“What about tea?”

Made some earlier. 

“Well I’ll make you more now so you can take it with you. We can also bring the vocal steamer with us. And you should definitely wear a scarf or something to keep your throat warm…”

Stop coddling me

“I’m not coddling. I’m caring about you.”

Well, it’s gross and I hate it

Seokjin laughed, probably against his better judgement, but the gleam in Taehyung’s eyes told him the younger man was enjoying this as much as he was. “Point taken. Less affection for you then.” Taehyung shook his head at the words ‘less affection,’ eyes blowing wide, and Seokjin laughed harder. He wrapped an arm around his dongsaeng’s shoulders. “Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

Taehyung bit his lip as he feverishly scribbled something in his notebook. But aren’t they going to be mad at me if I can’t sing?

Seokjin shook his head. “Hyung’s got that covered, love. Don’t you worry about that.”

Sure enough, when the two vocalists waltzed into the practice room, Taehyung now clinging to Seokjin’s hand, the elder man stepped right to Namjoon with the brightest smile. “Taehyungie’s on vocalist rest today.”

The leader’s eyes moved from Seokjin to Taehyung back to the eldest. “Okay…”

“He has a note.” Seokjin stepped forward, presenting Namjoon ceremonially with a folded slip of paper from his pocket. The leader’s eyebrows furrowed as he opened the paper. 

Taehyung must rest his voice today, and everyday after until his throat heals. - Dr. Kim

Namjoon sighed. “Hyung, this is your handwriting.”

“No it’s not…”

“And we don’t have a Dr. Kim on our medical team,” Yoongi pointed out, reading the note over the leader’s shoulder. “Also, I don’t think a real doctor would have drawn a heart in the bottom corner.”

Seokjin huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “First of all, that’s discriminatory against the writing habits of doctors. Second, I’ll have you know that I am the closest thing we have to a doctor in this group.”

“Hyung, dressing up as a doctor in the Dope music video doesn’t count!” Jimin replied. Seokjin mimed smacking him, and Jimin stepped back, arms held up in surrender. 

Namjoon sighed again. “Hyung, it’s perfectly fine for Taehyung to put himself on vocal rest. He doesn’t need doctor approval for it. Especially since we’re just in practice right now. Comeback’s not for another month.”

“Well, Taetae was nervous that the higher ups were going to be mad, and I assured him that I would make sure that didn’t happen.”

“By making them more mad at you?” Yoongi asked, only his eyes gleaming jokingly. Jimin and Hoseok snorted, Jungkook outright laughing aloud. 

Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “We all know I’m not above it.”

[minnie--verse]

Pen Pals -- A Park Sunghoon Fic

!!PART 3!!

(link to pt. 1) // (link to pt. 2)

Summary: You, Ren, are a college student, taking what you thought would be a normal composition class—until you’re assigned a pen pal with your professor’s second class. What happens when you fall for someone you know… but dont?

pairing: sunghoon x f!reader(ren)

genre: strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, mostly fluff, later chapters to include possible angst//comfort, slow burn.

general warnings: college students!mc, slow burn, love square, swearing, possible adult content in future chapters.

word count: ~6.7k

!!this is not proof read!!

thank u for reading<3

— — —

Sunny,

It’s nice to hear back from you. I have to admit, your letters have become something I look forward to—they’re a break from the routine, a small moment of connection in an otherwise hectic day.

I read your letter about your art final and your friend. It made me think about how different our paths are, yet how they somehow align in these letters. You’re creating things, bringing art to life, while I’m more the type to observe and analyze. My days are mostly filled with reading, writing, and, if I’m lucky, a bit of quiet in between.

You mentioned how your friend keeps you grounded. I get that. My roommate does the same for me. He’s always trying to push me out of my comfort zone, to see the world from a different angle. I guess you could say he keeps things interesting, even if his methods are a bit... unorthodox. 

It’s strange, isn’t it? How we’re connected by these letters, yet know so little about each other. But I think that’s part of what makes this interesting. It’s like we’re sharing pieces of ourselves in a way that we might not with people we see every day.

The snowy night I wrote about—there’s something about snow that makes the world feel quiet, almost like it’s pausing to let you catch your breath. I imagine your art might capture that feeling in some way, the way you described working on your final project. There’s beauty in those moments of stillness, don’t you think?

I’d like to hear more about your art and how you see the world through your creations. And of course, anything else you feel like sharing. It’s nice to have someone to write to, even if we’re just pen pals.

Talk to you later, Snow

— — —

You sit in the corner of the bustling cafeteria, the sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery filling the air around you. It’s lunchtime, but the food on your tray remains untouched as you unfold Snow’s letter, your eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. The cafeteria feels miles away as you begin to read.

His words pull you in, and before you know it, you’ve read the letter twice, maybe three times. There’s something about the way he writes, the way he shares these little slices of his life with you, that makes you feel like you’re getting to know him in a way that’s deeper than just surface-level.

You find yourself lingering on the part about his roommate, imagining what this nameless person might be like. From what Snow described, it sounds like he’s the opposite of Snow—more outgoing, maybe a bit of a troublemaker, but someone who’s trying to bring Snow out of his shell. The dynamic feels familiar in a way, reminding you of your own friendship with Callie.

You take a sip of your drink, mulling over the growing interest you have in these exchanges. It’s not just the content of his letters, but the person behind them—someone thoughtful, introspective, and maybe even a little lonely. You can’t help but wonder what he’s like in person, though you know that’s not something you can just ask. There’s an unspoken rule in these letters, a line neither of you has crossed yet.

As you reread his letter, you feel a warmth spread through you, a comfort in knowing that someone out there is taking the time to write to you, to share a part of themselves. It’s something you hadn’t expected when the assignment started, but now, you find yourself looking forward to each new letter, wondering what Snow will say next.

The cafeteria continues to buzz around you, but for a moment, it’s just you and Snow’s words, connecting across a space that feels more like a bridge than a gap. You feel a strange mix of anticipation and contentment as you fold the letter back into its envelope, carefully tucking it away in your bag.

As you finish your lunch, your thoughts drift to what you’ll write in return. There’s a sense of wanting to share more, to keep this connection going, even if it’s just through ink and paper. Snow’s right—there’s something beautiful about the stillness he described, something you might try to capture in your art.

But there’s also something more you want to share, something lighter, maybe even a bit playful. After all, Snow’s letters have become a small, unexpected joy in your life, and you want to reflect that back to him.

You’re lost in your thoughts, Snow’s letter still lingering in your mind as you take a sip of your drink, when you hear a familiar voice—smooth, quiet, and unmistakably him.

“Ren.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you look up, startled. Standing there, just a few feet from your table, is Sunghoon. His dark hair falls slightly into his eyes, and there’s that usual unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, you just blink at him, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

“Sunghoon,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady as you process the fact that he’s here, in the cafeteria, talking to you. You weren’t expecting to see him again so soon after your library encounter, and definitely not here, now, while you’re still thinking about Snow.

He looks down at the seat across from you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod, and he sits down, placing his tray on the table. He glances at your untouched food, then back at you, his expression still difficult to read.

“You looked… deep in thought,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Something on your mind?”

You feel a slight blush creep up your cheeks as you realize how absorbed you must’ve looked. “Just… a letter,” you say, trying to downplay the significance of it. “I was rereading it.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow slightly, his gaze briefly flicking to your bag where you’ve tucked the letter away. “From a friend?”

You glance at the letter, then back at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s… an assignment for Composition class?”

His eyes widen slightly in recognition, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. “Wait, you’re taking that too? We must be in the opposite classes.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the coincidence, “Oh really? I didn’t think much of it at first, but it’s actually been kind of nice. How about you?”

Sunghoon nods, taking a bite of his lunch before responding. “Same here. I thought it was just a pointless assignment, but it’s not bad.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you remember how skeptical you’d been at the start. “Yeah, I was pretty skeptical too. It seemed like just another thing to do for class. But once I started, it was... different. More personal than I thought.”

He smiles, and you can tell he’s on the same page. “Yeah—it’s easier to talk to someone without the physical interaction.”

“There’s definitely something strange about it,” you agree, your thoughts drifting back to Snow’s letter. “Like, you’re sharing these little pieces of yourself with a complete stranger, and it makes you think about things in a different way.”

Sunghoon nods, looking like he’s considering your words. “Yeah. I guess it’s a nice change. I enjoy being anonymous, and waiting to see what she says.”

You find yourself smiling more, feeling a warmth in the conversation. “Exactly. It’s like a little surprise each time. I’ve started looking forward to it, even if it’s just for the sake of curiosity.”

His eyes briefly flicker to the envelope again, but he quickly looks away, not wanting to pry too much. “So, how’s your pen pal’s writing? Do you find it interesting?”

You think about Snow’s eloquent words and how much they’ve resonated with you. “Yeah, it’s actually quite nice. They’ve been really expressive about their thoughts and experiences. It’s refreshing to read.”

He nods, seeming to understand completely. “Mine’s been pretty good too. I think the anonymity of it makes it easier to open up in a way.”

You both share a moment of silent agreement, appreciating the irony of discussing your pen pals while keeping your own identities hidden. The conversation shifts to more mundane topics—classes, weekend plans, and the usual college life chatter—but there’s a subtle undercurrent of something more meaningful beneath it all.

Sunghoon’s gaze drifts around the bustling cafeteria, “People watching? That seems like a fancy way of saying you’re nosy.”

You roll your eyes, “If you wanna be negative about it then yeah, sure. Nosy. I just like to see what people are up to, you know? Decipher their story.”

Sunghoon looks around the room, scanning the diverse crowd. “Okay, let’s start with that group of friends over by the window.”

You follow his gaze and start to analyze the scene. “Yeah, they look like they’re having a great time. The girl in the red sweater is laughing so hard her glasses are slipping down her nose. She’s clearly the life of the party. The guy next to her in the black hoodie seems to be trying to make a joke, but it’s not landing as well—he’s got that ‘awkward but trying’ look.”

Sunghoon chuckles, clearly enjoying the insight. “How about the couple over by the food counter?”

You glance over and see the couple in question. “Oh, them? The guy seems a bit impatient, like he’s waiting for his food to come faster. Meanwhile, the girl is chatting animatedly with the server, probably trying to make a connection or get a special order. It’s like they’re in their own little world, and he’s just trying to keep up.”

Sunghoon nods, clearly impressed with your detailed observations. “That’s pretty spot-on. What about them, huddled around a laptop?”

You look over and analyze the situation. “They’re working on a group project, I’d say. The girl in the blue scarf seems to be the one taking charge, pointing at the screen with a lot of enthusiasm. The guy next to her is nodding along, but he looks a bit overwhelmed. He’s probably trying to keep up with all the ideas being thrown around

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the process. “I didn’t realize how much you could pick up from just observing. It’s like you’re seeing a whole story unfold without them even knowing you.”

You smile, enjoying the shared activity. “Exactly. It’s fascinating to see how people interact and what little details tell you about their mood or situation. It’s almost like creating a narrative from real life.”

Sunghoon looks at you with an impressed smirk, “You’re an expert at being nosy then, huh?.”

You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of satisfaction in sharing this part of yourself. “Yeah, it’s a bit like that. It’s also nice to share it with someone who’s genuinely interested. Makes it even more enjoyable

Sunghoon’s eyes wander around the room again, clearly more engaged in the activity now. “So, do you usually come to the cafeteria to people-watch, or is this a special occasion?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Oh, it’s a regular thing for me. The cafeteria is one of the best spots for it. Lots of different people and interactions to observe.”

You find yourself lingering on Sunghoon’s face for a moment longer than you intend. There’s something about the way he quietly observes the room, his dark eyes taking everything in with a calm, almost unreadable expression. He’s hard to read, but there’s a depth to him that intrigues you. 

You quickly glance back down at your finished plate, hoping he didn’t notice you staring. But as the silence stretches, you feel his eyes on you. Sunghoon clears his throat, his voice a little hesitant. “So, uh… what do you see when you look at me? I mean, you’re good at this observing thing, right?”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat at his question. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you try to gather your thoughts, suddenly aware of how close you two are sitting. “Oh, um… well, I guess…”

You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Your eyes… they’re really… intense. But not in a scary way. More like… there’s a lot going on behind them, but you don’t really let it show. It’s like… you’re watching the world, but keeping your thoughts to yourself. It’s… I don’t know, they have some kind of mysterious pull to them.”

Sunghoon blinks, clearly caught off guard by your answer. His expression softens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable. “Mysterious, huh? I’ve never thought of myself that way.”

You fumble for words—that was fucking weird, Ren—you think, scrambling to fix your words. “I-I mean, not in a bad way! It’s just… you have this kind of… stoic presence, but your eyes say a lot more than you let on. It’s like there’s a whole other side to you that most people don’t see.”

Sunghoon looks down, a faint smile playing on his lips, his cheeks tinged with a slight flush. 

You nod, feeling the awkwardness of your own words but also a strange sense of connection. “Sorry that wasn’t what you meant and I am… fucking weird now, huh?”

He looks back at you, his gaze softening. “No, no, no—“ He laughs gently and shakes his head, “It’s… actually kind of nice. I appreciate it, Ren.”

As you both settle in Sunghoon’s apartment, the storm still raging outside, Sunghoon suddenly looks at you with a mix of nervousness and determination. “You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you why I couldn’t say anything when we bumped into each other at the park. I was just… kind of enthralled by how pretty you were.”

He shakes his head, a slight flush still coloring his cheeks. “I know that sounds a bit stupid, but it’s the truth. I was too caught off guard to say anything, so I probably just looked broody.”

You feel your face heat up at his confession, but you can’t help but laugh a little, shaking your head. “Honestly, I just thought you were kind of an asshole. Like, you just bumped into me and then stared me down. I had no idea you were, you know… stunned or whatever.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widen, and he looks immediately embarrassed, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come off that way. I really wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I just… didn’t know how to react.”

You laugh again, but this time more warmly, seeing how flustered he is. “It’s okay, really. I guess we both misread the situation. I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

Sunghoon nods, still looking a bit embarrassed, but he manages a sheepish smile. “Yeah, me too. I guess I need to work on my reactions a bit. Sorry again for giving off the wrong vibe.”

You wave it off, feeling the tension ease as you smile at him. “No harm done. It’s kind of funny, actually, now that we’re talking about it.”

Sunghoon chuckles, the embarrassment starting to fade. “Yeah, I guess it is. I’m really glad we’re getting to know each other better now, though.”

“Well, now that we’ve both embarrassed ourselves—“ You laugh before a sigh escapes you and you lean back against the booth seat you were in. 

Callie was right—which was something you didn’t like to admit very often—but maybe Sunghoon was something you could chase after. 

— — —

Snow,

Your last letter caught me off guard—in a good way. It’s not every day someone asks about my life outside of school or my perspective on the world as an artist. It made me realize how rare it is to have someone actually care about those things. So, thank you for that.

Where do I start? Outside of school, I guess I’m pretty much the same person. Art isn’t just something I study—it’s how I see the world. I know that might sound cliché, but it’s true. When I walk through campus, or sit in a coffee shop, or even just people-watch from a bench, I’m always noticing the little details that others might overlook. The way the light hits someone’s hair, the shadows that play on the ground, the fleeting expressions on people’s faces as they pass by. It’s like everything is a potential piece of art, even the most mundane moments. I think that’s why I love being an artist so much. It’s like I have this secret lens that lets me see the beauty in everything, even when the world feels overwhelming.

But that’s not to say it’s always easy. There are days when I feel like I’m carrying the weight of everything I see. It’s like I’m constantly trying to capture moments, to hold onto them before they slip away, but sometimes it’s exhausting. There’s so much emotion in the world, and it can be overwhelming to try and process it all. I guess that’s why I retreat into my art. It’s my way of making sense of everything, of turning the chaos into something tangible.

Outside of that, I’m just a normal college student, trying to navigate life and figure out who I am. I have my close friends, like Callie, who keep me grounded. She’s the type of person who can make me laugh even when I’m stressed out of my mind, which is more often than I’d like to admit. We balance each other out, I think. She’s practical and a bit of a realist, while I’m the one with my head in the clouds, always dreaming and creating. It’s a good dynamic, and I’m grateful to have her in my life.

But enough about me—how about you? You’ve been so thoughtful in your letters, but I feel like I don’t know much about you yet. What do you see when you look at the world? What’s your perspective on life? I’d love to hear more about what makes you, well… you.

Talk to you later—Sunny

— — — 

Your days have settled into a comfortable rhythm, a mix of classes, painting, and the occasional coffee break with Callie. Mornings start with you groggily pulling yourself out of bed, the faint light of dawn filtering through your curtains as you get ready for another day of classes. You make sure to grab breakfast, a habit Callie has drilled into you after too many mornings of skipped meals. Then it's off to campus, where you navigate the familiar paths with a sense of routine, waving to acquaintances and exchanging quick hellos with classmates.

Your classes keep you busy—lectures, assignments, and the constant pressure of upcoming exams. But amidst the academic grind, there's a part of your day you look forward to the most: those moments you spend in the library. It started with that first meeting, an accidental collision of schedules and a shared space, but now it’s become something more intentional.

You’ve found yourself meeting Sunghoon regularly in the library, often in that same reserved room where you first actually talked. It’s a quiet, tucked-away corner of campus where you both can focus on your work but also where conversation flows easily between the two of you. At first, it was just studying side by side, exchanging the occasional word or glance, but soon you started talking more—about classes, about life, about the things that matter to you both.

There’s a comfort in his presence, a steadiness that you hadn’t expected from someone who seemed so closed off at first. He listens when you speak, really listens, and when he shares something about himself, it feels like he’s letting you into a part of his world that few others see. The more time you spend together, the more you realize how much you enjoy his company, how much you’ve come to look forward to these meetings.

He’s still a man of few words, but when he does speak, there’s a thoughtfulness to it that you’ve come to appreciate. Sometimes, you catch yourself smiling at something he says, or at the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. And sometimes, when he’s focused on his work, you let yourself wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. It’s a strange kind of closeness that’s developed between you two, one that feels both new and familiar at the same time.

And then there are the little things—the way he’ll bring you a coffee if he knows you’ve had a rough day, or the way you’ve started sharing music recommendations, discovering you have more in common than you initially thought. There’s a warmth to your interactions now, a quiet understanding that seems to have grown naturally out of these moments spent together.

You can’t quite put your finger on when it happened, but somewhere along the way, Sunghoon became more than just someone you ran into on campus. He became someone you genuinely care about, someone whose presence you crave more often when you had to wait for another letter. And as you sit across from him in that familiar library room, you find yourself wondering what this connection means, where it might lead, and how much closer the two of you might become.

— — —

Sunny,

I have to admit, after reading your last letter, I found myself looking at the world a little differently. It’s like your words opened up something in me, made me see the beauty in the details that I usually overlook. I guess I never realized how much there is to notice when you really pay attention.

Like yesterday, I was walking through campus, and I saw the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting these long, golden shadows on the ground. The leaves were swaying just enough to make the light dance. It reminded me of the sunny day you talked about in your first letter and then I thought, ‘Sunny would probably paint this,’ Or the way the raindrops gather on the window after a storm, reflecting the outside world in those tiny little beads of water. It’s like the whole world is contained in those drops, you know? I don’t think I’ve ever noticed those things before, not really. But now, it’s all I can see.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, your perspective has kind of... consumed my thoughts. I find myself thinking about what you’d make of the things I see every day—how you’d capture the way a moment feels, or how you’d turn something simple into something profound. It’s like you’ve given me a new lens to look through, and I’m really grateful for that.

Honestly, I’m finding it hard not to think about you every day now. It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve never even met, but I feel like you’re everywhere. Like, every time I notice something beautiful, you’re the first person I want to tell about it. I’m not sure what that means, but I thought you should know.

Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been painting lately—if you’re comfortable sharing, that is. And if there’s anything else on your mind, I’m all ears.

Talk to you later—Snow

— — —

Over the past few weeks, Sunghoon had found himself thinking about Ren more and more. It wasn’t just the time they spent together in the library that lingered in his mind, but the little details of her that had started to etch themselves into his memory. The way her eyes would light up when she talked about something she was passionate about, or how her lips would curl into a soft, almost shy smile whenever he complimented her. He had memorized the way she absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while she studied, or how her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she worked on her assignments. And then there was her laugh—so genuine and infectious that it never failed to make him smile, even on his worst days.

Sunghoon didn’t know when it happened, but Ren had become someone he looked forward to seeing, someone who made him feel understood in a way that was rare for him. There was an ease to their connection that he hadn’t experienced before, a natural rhythm that made their time together feel effortless and comforting. She was someone who could bring out a side of him that he usually kept hidden, and he found himself wanting to share more and more of himself with her.

But then there was Sunny.

Sunny, the anonymous pen pal who had captured his thoughts and inspired his imagination in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Their letters had started off as just another assignment, something he hadn’t expected to matter. But now, every letter from Sunny was something he eagerly awaited. Her words painted vivid pictures in his mind, and he found himself longing to know more about the person behind them. What did she look like when she painted? What emotions played across her face as she captured the world on her canvas? What other poetic visions would she impart next?

The more he read her letters, the more he felt like he was getting a glimpse into her soul, and it was intoxicating. He wanted to know everything about her—her thoughts, her dreams, the way she saw the world. He had even begun to wonder if she might be someone he already knew, someone who had been right in front of him all along. But then, there was Ren, and that complicated things. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being unfair to both of them—this girl he was growing closer to in person, and this mystery pen pal who occupied his thoughts.

Sunghoon found himself caught between two worlds: the real, tangible connection he had with Ren, and the deep, almost ethereal bond he felt with Sunny. And with each passing day, the desire to bridge that gap, to know who Sunny really was, grew stronger. He wanted to understand the person behind the letters, to see if the connection he felt with her words could translate into something real. But as much as he longed to uncover Sunny’s identity, he also feared what that might mean—for him, for Ren, and for whatever delicate balance he had somehow found between the two.

— — —

Snow,

Your last letter made me smile. It’s funny how we’ve never met, yet I feel like you somehow understand how I see the world. When you described the sunlight filtering through the trees and the raindrops on the window, it was like you were speaking my language. It’s incredible how something so simple can become so beautiful when you take the time to notice it, don’t you think?

I’ve been painting a lot lately. After reading your letter about the snowy night, I couldn’t get the image out of my head. There was something so vivid in the way you described it—the quiet, the stillness, the way the world seemed to pause under that blanket of snow. It was like I could feel the cold air on my skin and hear the crunch of the snow beneath my feet, even though I wasn’t there. So, I decided to paint it. I wanted to capture that moment, the way you saw it, and try to put that feeling on canvas.

It wasn’t easy. I think I’ve repainted the sky about a dozen times, trying to get the right shade of twilight, that moment just before the night fully takes over. I wanted the snow to look soft, almost like a memory, with just enough light to see your breath in the air. And the trees... I think they were the hardest part. I wanted them to look both strong and delicate, like they were standing guard over this perfect, fleeting moment in time. I don’t know if I got it exactly right, but I hope it comes close to what you saw that night.

It’s strange, but painting your snow night made me feel closer to you, like I was sharing in that moment with you even though we’re miles apart. It made me realize how much I look forward to your letters, how much they make me think and feel. I’ve found myself wondering what you’re doing at random times during the day, or how you’d describe the things I see. It’s like your words have found a way into my thoughts, and I’m not sure how to explain it, but it’s kind of wonderful.

I’m curious, though—do you ever feel that way about my letters? I mean, do you find yourself thinking about what I’ve written or imagining what I might say next? I guess I’m just wondering if this connection is as real for you as it feels for me.

I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been seeing lately, what moments have caught your eye. Maybe they’ll inspire my next painting. And if there’s anything you’re curious about, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m more than happy to share my world with you, piece by piece.

Talk to you later—Sunny.

— — —

You and Sunghoon are sprawled out on the floor of his apartment, the room echoing with your laughter and playful banter. You’re in the middle of a mock wrestling match, both of you grinning like fools as you try to outmaneuver each other. Sunghoon manages to pin you down for a moment, and you let out a loud, exaggerated laugh of defeat.

As the laughter dies down, you both lie there catching your breath, the playful energy giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere. You looked up at him as he held your arms down, his roommate Jake giving the dramatic announcement of Sunghoon’s pin as if it was WWE. Your chest rose and fell with a stagnant smile on your faces, Sunghoon still chuckling softly as he looked down at you. For a brief moment, the world seems to slow down, and you find yourself watching him with a sense of wonder.

His dark hair is a bit tousled from all the antics, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead that makes him look somehow more... real. The way the light from the lamp casts a soft glow on his face, and the way his lips curve into a relaxed smile—it’s all strikingly attractive. You hadn’t really noticed before, but now, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time, in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

You shift your gaze slightly, trying to process what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about appreciating his looks; it’s something deeper, a fluttering sensation in your chest that you can’t quite ignore. You think about the way he listens to you, the way he makes you laugh, and how easy it feels to be around him. There’s a warmth and familiarity that you didn’t expect, but that you’ve come to cherish.

And then, like an unwelcome intrusion, your thoughts drift to Snow. The mysterious pen pal who had captured your imagination with his poetic letters. You remember his descriptions of snowy nights and the way he made you see the world through his eyes. It’s been a constant presence in your mind, a subtle, persistent reminder of another connection that feels just as intense, albeit in a different way.

The contrast between the two is jarring. Sunghoon’s presence is immediate and real, filled with tangible moments and shared laughter. Snow’s presence is ethereal and distant, yet equally compelling, with each letter adding another layer to the intrigue. The two are starting to feel like they’re vying for space in your thoughts and emotions.

You find yourself torn, caught between the easy, tangible connection you’re building with Sunghoon and the poetic, almost dreamlike allure of Snow. It’s confusing, trying to reconcile these two parts of your life and figure out what you truly want. As you look back at Sunghoon, you realize how much you enjoy his company, how much you’re drawn to him, yet Snow’s influence remains a significant part of your emotional landscape.

You let out a soft sigh, trying to clear the fog of conflicting feelings from your mind. Sunghoon lifts a brow and catches your gaze, giving you a curious look.

“You alright, Ren?” he asks, his voice warm and genuine.

You offer him a small, distracted smile, trying to hide the whirlwind of emotions inside. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

Sunghoon nods, giving you a reassuring smile. “Well, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

You nod, appreciating the offer. “Thanks, Hoon… I appreciate it.”

As the evening continues, you try to focus on the present, enjoying the time with Sunghoon while grappling with the complexities of your feelings for both him and Snow. It’s a balancing act you’re not entirely sure how to manage, but for now, you’re determined to savor the moments you have with Sunghoon and let the rest sort itself out in time.

— — — 

Sunny,

Your letter brought a smile to my face and warmth to my heart. I was genuinely touched to hear that my description of the snowy night inspired your painting. It’s incredible to think that my words could be transformed into something so beautiful and tangible. I can almost see the scene through your eyes, and it makes me feel as though I’ve been there with you, experiencing it all over again. I hope to see it one day.

I’ve found myself constantly thinking about you and your letters. It’s a strange but wonderful feeling, knowing that someone out there is visualizing the world through such a creative and thoughtful lens. It’s like your perspective has woven itself into my daily thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder about the details of your life, the moments that inspire you to create. Your words have become a significant part of my routine, and I often catch myself daydreaming about what you might describe next.

There’s a warmth in knowing that our correspondence has become such a meaningful part of our lives. I’m always eager to read what you’ve written, to find out what new insights or observations you’ll share. It’s almost as if your letters have a way of drawing me in, making me feel connected to you in a way that’s both surprising and comforting.

I have to admit, there’s something more profound than just admiration growing within me. I’ve started to realize how deeply I’m falling for your words, for the way you express yourself so beautifully and thoughtfully. It’s as though each letter reveals another layer of who you are, and I’m captivated by the depth and sincerity of your reflections.

I’m curious to know more about you—your inspirations, your dreams, and the things that move you. If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear about what drives you to paint, or about the moments that make you pause and reflect. Your letters have become a source of light in my life, and I fall harder with every word you share.

Talk to you later—Snow

— — — 

You’re pacing back and forth in the living room, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You’ve been wrestling with your feelings for both Sunghoon and Snow, and it’s starting to drive you a bit mad. You finally collapse onto the couch next to Callie, who is lounging with a stack of notes from Snow spread out in front of her.

"Callie, I need help," you say, your voice tinged with frustration. You’re sprawled out on the couch in your apartment, the remnants of Snow’s letters scattered around you like a chaotic love confetti. Callie is sitting next to you, munching on a snack bowl of pretzels and clearly enjoying the show as you have a mini-meltdown over your feelings for both Snow and Sunghoon.

“Snow’s words are like this beautiful, poetic storm that’s taking over my mind, and then there’s Sunghoon, who’s right here, making me feel seen and loved in a completely different way. How am I supposed to choose between these two worlds?” You bury your face in you’re hands and groan.

Callie raises an eyebrow and picks up one of Snow’s letters, glancing at it with a smirk. “Okay, let’s break this down. So, Snow is basically a walking, talking poem who understands your soul from a distance, and Sunghoon is a real-life guy who makes you laugh and look at you like you’re the only person in the room. Got it.”

“Exactly!” you say, waving your hands around dramatically. “Snow’s letters are this perfect mix of art and mystery. I mean, he’s on campus somewhere, and I don’t even know what he looks like! And then Sunghoon... he’s here, being all cute and attentive, and it’s like I’m falling for him just as much. It’s a mess!”

Callie chuckles and picks up another letter, reading it with exaggerated enthusiasm. “‘Your letters have become a source of light in my life, and I fall harder with every word you share.’ Ugh, Snow, you charmer. And here’s Sunghoon, who knows the way you take your coffee and gives you his coat when you’re cold like a rom-com.”

You groan and flop back against the couch cushions. “I know, right? It’s just that Snow’s letters make me feel like I’m part of this beautiful, poetic world, while Sunghoon’s presence makes everything feel so real and tangible. How do I even begin to balance that?”

Callie puts down the letter and gives you a sympathetic look. “Listen, you don’t have to choose right this second. Snow’s words are wonderful, but they’re just a glimpse into a world that’s still shrouded in mystery. Sunghoon is right here, making you laugh and enjoy life. Maybe the real answer is that you need both worlds for now.”

You sit up, considering her words. “That’s... not the worst idea. But it feels so complicated.”

Callie leans back with a grin. “Complicated is just a fancy word for ���interesting.’ If you’re enjoying both, then why stress? Snow’s poetry isn’t going anywhere, and Sunghoon’s not going to vanish. Take your time to figure it out.”

— — — 

Dear Snow,

I was so touched by your last letter, and I felt compelled to write back and share something with you. I’ve been thinking a lot about how you expressed your feelings, and I realized something incredibly beautiful. Even though you’ve never seen any of my paintings, you seem to understand them so well, as if you’ve seen them in your own way. It’s like you’ve been looking at the same world through my eyes.

Your words have a way of making me feel like you truly see me, and it’s more than just knowing my thoughts or my feelings—it’s as if you’ve grasped the essence of what I try to capture on canvas. When I painted my vision of your snowy night, it wasn’t just about recreating the scene you described. It was about expressing how your words made me feel, how they painted a picture in my mind that felt so vivid and real.

Falling for you, Snow, has been like discovering a new color in my palette—one that resonates deeply with my own heart. The way you describe things, the way you make me think about the world in new ways, it’s all become a part of me. You’ve made me realize that sometimes the connection we build through words can be even more profound than anything we could see or touch.

I can’t wait to continue exploring this journey with you, sharing more of our worlds through our letters, and discovering where this connection takes us. You’ve made me feel seen and understood in a way I didn’t think was possible. Thank you for being such an important part of my life, even from afar.

Talk to you later— Love, Sunny

— — —

Sunghoon burst through the door of his apartment, his face flushed with excitement. He had just received Sunny’s latest letter, and the warmth of her words had him practically skipping with joy. His thoughts were a whirlwind of how perfectly their feelings seemed to align, and he was eager to share his enthusiasm with Jake.

As he walked into his room, he noticed something lying on his bed. It was the jacket Ren had borrowed from him. Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat. He remembered that Ren had returned it today and briefly wondered if there was anything inside the pockets.

He reached into one of the coat pockets and felt a small, folded piece of paper. Curiosity piqued, he pulled it out and unfolded it, revealing a neatly written note in neat… purple… ink.

— — —

Thank you for the jacket.

—Ren

— — —

ending note —

hehehe!! promised part three!! I’m really enjoying this prompt so I’m literally pumping these out as fast as I can bc even I’m excited for what happens next.

I love you and thank you for reading my little corner of tumblr<3

[and-claudia]

His Heir pt. 30 (Darth Maul x pregnant! reader)

Warnings: mentions of being sick

Word count: 2301

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After returning from Mandalore, Maul suggested that I take a couple of days off to rest before returning to work. I ended up just asking him if I could have the rest of the week off, to which he obviously agreed. I was just trying to process everything still. It was still strange to know that now, despite the fact I hadn’t considered her my sister for many years that my ties with Bo-Katan were officially severed. 

Currently, I was sitting in the small office Maul had in his quarters. There were a few sheets of loose flimsy scattered across the desk with different names written on them. I was practicing in order to update the book and wanted to make sure my handwriting was perfect. I have spent so many years using my datapad that my penmanship had suffered. 

“Yn?” I heard Maul call through his quarters. 

His voice startled me. It had been so quiet for so long and I had been focussing so hard that I wasn’t expecting him to be home so soon. Sure enough though, when I check the chrono on the wall it was just about time for him to be home.

“I’m in your office!” I hollered back. 

I could hear his footsteps approaching before he stopped outside the door. 

“May I come in?” 

“Of course.” 

The door slid open with a small hiss and he stepped inside. 

“I didn’t expect you to be in here. And not to say that you can’t be in here, but may I ask what you are doing?” He asked, peering over at my flimsy sheets. 

“I am trying to make sure my handwriting looks okay before I write in the book. I want to make sure it looks perfect.” I said. 

“May I look?” He asked reaching for a few of the papers. 

I nodded and he grabbed a few of the pages and began to inspect them. He flipped through a few before he stopped and did a double take at one of them. 

“Who is Korkie Kenobi?” He asked, squinting at the name as if he may have read it wrong. 

“That is my nephew.” I said simply, waiting to gauge his reaction. 

“And is it Kenobi as in…” He trailed off. 

I nodded, “Yes it is Kenobi as in Obi-Wan Kenobi… neither of them has any idea about the other though. As far as Obi-Wan knew, Korkie was our nephew. Which, if you ask me, is suspicious considering he was Satine’s, Bo-Katan’s, and my nephew… we were the only three children of Satine’s and Bo-Katan’s parents so how could we all have the same nephew? One of us had to have been his mother. I knew no one in the public would believe us. Especially since Satine disappeared for a year and a half and then suddenly when she returns we have a nephew… Anyways as far as Korkie knows, his last name is Kryze.” 

“Hm.” Maul said in thought. 

“Korkie has nothing to do with Kenobi, I promise.” I said worrying that he may be thinking about his involvement with him. 

“I have no doubt about that. I was just thinking… it’s funny in a way I suppose. A few years ago I would have been thinking about how to use this child against Kenobi, but now I feel a bit… sorry, I think, for the boy. It’s hard growing up, not knowing who you are. With the Jedi gone, there’s no way for him to meet his father. Don’t get me wrong, I loath Kenobi, but as you said this boy would have had nothing to do with him.” He was silent for a brief moment, “Do you know where Korkie is now? Is he taken care of?” 

“I can only assume, I haven’t spoken to him in many years. I hope he’s doing well.” I replied truthfully. 

Maul nodded, “Should you ever be in contact with him again, let him know that he has family here on Dathomir. He would be safe and protected here.” He said. 

I was taken aback by his words. I had definitely seen a much softer side of Maul since I got pregnant but this was a whole new level of caring from him that I had never experienced. 

I nodded, “I will. I will.” 

When I returned to work I was surprised to find that the majority of the banquet to announce that we were having a boy was already mostly planned. My first task of the day was to review some of the decisions already made. 

I was sitting in a meeting with Maul and Dasar who was there on the hologram in the center of the table. 

“Did you really pull this poor man away from his wedding planning to help with this?” I asked Maul. 

“Yn,” the man in question began, “If I’ve said it once, I swear I’ve said it a million times. This baby is the biggest event of Crimson Dawn. I am honored that Lord Maul asked me to help plan it. It also has given me a break from Totin. I love the man, obviously, I mean I’m marrying him in 4 weeks, but boy does he drive me crazy sometimes.” 

I laughed at his comment. I understood the feeling. 

“Well, I’m grateful for your help. I guess let's get started.” I said. 

“Here it’s all been put onto this datapad.” Maul said, leaning across the table to hand it to me. 

I took it and my eyes locked in on the first entry: 

Guest will dress in accordance to what they think the baby is: Pink for a Girl, Blue for a boy.

I sighed and set down the device on the table. My eyebrow raised in question at Maul as I leaned back in the chair, folding my hands on top of my belly.

“I hate that. So much.” I said, still looking at Maul. 

While I looked at him, he looked at Dasar and Dasar looked back at me. 

“I told you she’d hate it.” Maul said to Dasar. 

“Mhm. Fine, you were right.” Dasar said.

Neither of them were being rude, more so just sassy with the way that they said it. 

“Do you hate the concept or just the color choices?” Maul asked, turning to me. 

“Just the colors.” I began, “I love the concept. I think it’s very cute, ooh… wait! So I don’t want some big over-the-top reveal. SO, what if the reveal is just something simple? Like Maul and I can make our grand entrance and the color that we are wearing is the announcement. I’m just not wearing something baby blue or baby pink, that’s just not my vibe, and it’s definitely not Maul’s vibes.” I said with a laugh. 

“I don’t know, I’d paid a lot of credits to see Maul in one of his tunics but have it be a nice pastel pink.” Dasar said as we both laughed at the mental image it gave. Maul just shook his head in amusement. 

“What color would you prefer us to do? Red and black?” Dasar asked once he had stopped laughing 

“No, that seems a bit too predictable from us. How about… navy and burgundy?” I asked. 

“I like it.” Maul agreed. 

“Yn, that… that’s literally just dark blue and dark pink.” He said dramatically.

“No…” I hesitated as I thought about it a bit more, “I mean technically you can look at it that way, I guess.” 

Once the laughter died down I picked back up the datapad to review the rest of the plans. The guest list was fairly small.

“Only the leading members are physically invited, and since this is such a big deal, attendance is mandatory. The reveal itself will be broadcasted to everyone else.” Maul explained and I nodded along. 

We had discussed this some already. I really didn’t want everyone being here since it would bring in so many germs and stuff. I wasn’t scared of germs per se, but being pregnant made me much more aware of them and their risks. 

“What else is there to discuss?” I asked. 

“Well, there’s still the Mayer of the food. I was thinking that instead of doing a full sit-down meal and everything like that, it may be better to just do hors d'oeuvre. We can have the service droids go around with trays and just do that instead of trying to prepare a full 3-course minimum meal for everyone.” Maul said. 

“I think that sounds great. I do just request that we avoid anything with blue milk in it…” I said, slightly shuttering at the mention of it. 

“Of course. I will make sure that happens. No blue milk.” Maul quickly agreed. 

“What’s wrong with blue milk? We use it all the time here.” Dasar said. 

“We use it quite frequently here as well… or we did. Yn was making a snack a few days ago and poured herself a glass of it… let's just say her snack went uneaten.” Maul said clearly trying to leave out the details and spare me the embarrassment. 

“I never even noticed a smell on it. But for some reason when I took it out, it smelt so bad. It instantly made me nauseous. I think that is the sickest I have ever been. Maul was still working I had to com him to come help me.” I added. 

“Was it out of date or something?” Dasar asked. 

I shook my head along with Maul, “I even checked it.” Maul said. 

“Let’s move on before I relive it.” I said. Just talking about it was making that nausea creep back up. 

“How formal are you wanting the guest to dress?” 

“Standard formal banquet attire. Just as we normally do.” I answered before turning to Maul, “I already know what you’re going to be wearing.” 

He scoffed, “I am fully capable of picking out my own attire, dear.” 

“I know you are. But considering this whole banquet wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for me I think you should wear what I want you to wear.” I shot back. 

“She has a point.” Dasar said. 

Maul just shook his head in amusement, “She always uses that now. Anytime she wants or needs something of me she’ll always pull the whole ‘I’m the one carrying your child’ card. She thinks that by saying that I’ll cave to whatever she wants.” 

“Well, it works does it not?” I asked. 

He stayed silent. 

“Exactly.” 

“Okay, so Dasar is going to come in a few days before the banquet to oversee the setup of everything since I am beginning to have Qi’ra take on more responsibilities to prepare for once the baby is here. And I don’t want you to have to worry about running back and forth for multiple days-” 

“Appreciated.” I commented with a nod. 

“So, he is going to have to know what we’re having so he can plan accordingly with the lights and for the fireworks at the end.” Maul said. 

“I don’t know, can he be trusted?” I teased, raising an eyebrow. 

“Miss ma’am, I do believe I was one of the first people to know you were even pregnant and I am pretty damn sure I kept that secret. So, yes, I can, in fact, be trusted.” He sassed. 

“You’re right, my sincere apology… we’ll tell you. But first, just for my own curiosity. What do you think it is?” I asked. 

“Hmm… stand up real quick.” He said. 

“One, there is no standing quickly for me anymore. Two, why?” I asked. 

“Just do it.” He said. 

I let out a groan, that was only partly playful and stood. 

“There, happy?” 

“Turn to the side.” 

I rolled my eyes but did so anyways. 

“Oh, it’s definitely a girl.” He said confidently. 

I sat back down and looked at him. 

“How do you know that?” Maul asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair some. 

“I mean look at the way she’s carrying. It’s obviously a girl. So burgundy. Fun.”

“Nope, navy blue, bud.” I corrected him. 

“What?” 

“It’s not a girl. It’s a boy.” Maul said. 

“Really? Are you sure?” Dasar asked causing Maul and me to laugh. 

“Positive.” 

“Oh… wait why am I getting a little emotional?” He said, fanning his eyes. 

“It’s okay we did too.” 

“Awe, you two are the cutest… so any names picked out yet?” 

I let out a long sigh at the question. Truth is Maul and I have spent many nights discussing names but I just couldn’t figure out what I wanted for him. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to have a Mandalorian name, a Dathomirian name, a traditional Night Brothers name, or just a name in galactic basic. It was overwhelming honestly, knowing that this name would be with him all his life. I didn’t want to pick something he’d hate later on and it was just stressing me out at this point. 

“We are still working on a name.” Maul said for me. 

Dasar got the hint that it was a sore subject for me right away and brushed it off quickly. 

“Well, there’s no rush, the right name will come to you. And you know what if it doesn’t, I am more than happy to share my name with him. Have a mini Dasar! So cute!” 

“It would be something.” I agreed. 

“Well I do have to get going now, wedding planning duties await. I will be there next week. Bye bye!” He said 

Maul and I said our goodbyes as well before he turned off the device. I sighed as I looked across the table at him. 

“Maul, we really need to figure out this name situation.” 

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