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tommyoboe · 1 year ago

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YEAR ONE.

Welcome to a little tour of my life since completing my Master's degree last year.

I just had another read of my blog post from then, and I am transported to that time of uncertainty, that feeling of being marooned on an island, with the sun setting around me and the horizon so vast and encompassing that this is all I can see for miles.

This could be the default for summers to come, as I have just completed my last gig for a little while. However, my mindset has changed, and I know that there is lots of fun to be had in the coming months.

Before I delve into that, I am pulling the lever in my mind and taking a peek back at the last twelve months of activity and what that has done for my insane little mind.

As soon as my Master's was complete, my focus was entirely on finding work, because, let's face it, I'm a musician, and there was no immediate segway into a job in an orchestra or a chamber group or whatever. So I applied for everything I could and got a job in a zero waste store in Birmingham, where I was preparing to move back to within a couple of months.

Overall, it was absolutely fine, paid s*** but was comfortable otherwise. It also allowed me flexibility when come September, I earned my first professional gig since leaving Manchester with the BBC Philharmonic and jumped out of my seat like a flying squirrel to the next oak.

By this point I had moved into my new property in the suburb of Harborne with Cameron and we were enjoying living back together for the first time in a couple of years. To be living in a nice place and area and be getting work so quickly after departing Manchester was a delight, even if it meant pissing off my minimum wage paying employers.

That has perhaps been one of the most significant challenge this year, balancing everyday work with freelance opportunities, that to me are simply gold dust.

Upon returning from a successful recording of Shostakovich 12, I was launched into working in a speciality coffee shop for the first time, which was quite different from the relative ease of a zero waste store. My employers were great though, hugely decent people with such potential for their ideas to flourish. However, not being a trained barista meant I was new to many concepts, although those who know me best realise that I am still quite the coffee addict, and refuse to entertain a chain and its over sweetened burnt products. And any time I have given into an overpriced pumpkin spiced or caramel waffle latte from Starbucks has been filled with a rush of sweetness, a burnt mouth and instant regret.

I also regret the times that followed in that first term of having to decline work, leading to fits of deliriousness in some cases where my breathing heightened to an absolute panic and all control of my body disappeared.

No matter though, because what followed were more gigs! Quite wonderful. So there I was in October, thanks to the RNCM and BBC Philharmonic, playing a programme of Ruth Gipps in the foyer of the Bridgewater Hall.

The coffee shop meanwhile left me stressed on a regular basis, as it required me to be fast paced and just better than I was. There was no space to truly learn and take things in at a leisurely pace, as there should be more of in this life. And it was debatable as to if I was really keeping my s*** together.

I was therefore grateful to go off to Huddersfield with Cameron to see his folks and for myself to enjoy my first gig with Manchester Camerata outside the RNCM. And then the following week back to Media City for round 2 with the BBC. Having had a mixed October, I wasn't in the best place this second time round, and therefore not the person and player I have learnt to become since. I remember taking out my frustration to my very patient mum on the first afternoon and just feeling myself fade away as a human. I generally kept myself together, but I would then have these horrible outbursts where I fired myself at those closest to me in an aggressive and unwelcome way.

Soon I was back in Birmingham, and then Coventry for my first teaching of some primary school keyboard players. My pupils have accumulated since opening that classroom door in November, and although it has been rewarding in places, it has also been a mountain to climb in terms of maintaining energy, a positive mindset and a willingness to teach kids that are very often little f***ers.

More playing followed with a daunting trip to Aldeburgh for the Britten Pears Young Artists programme, which my wonderful oboe teacher from Birmingham put me forward for. It was a joy to once again play with such a high calibre of musicians, but this also made for moments of immense insecurity to the point that I couldn't bring myself to socialise and on the odd occasion I would retract to my room and write about my general state of sorrow before eventually feeling my vision fade and fall into a moderate slumber.

However, it was a beneficial week but one I would only come to appreciate seven months later.

December was hard. Work things were far from steady and the world was seemingly going to s***. I decided last minute not to attend my Master's graduation, and to be honest, it was somewhat heartbreaking. It wasn't even missing the graduation itself: it was more my fear of going by myself when my parents weren't able to make it anymore due to ongoing train strikes and Cameron working. I couldn't bring myself to make that journey and have that day potentially alone. My heart breaks for my past self.

Past self was relieved to be heading to Barcelona shortly afterwards for four days of unwinding with Cameron. I was shattered after constantly trying to keep up with an ever changing situation in terms of work and no emotional stability, but this was a brief time I really enjoyed, and came to somewhat find my sense of spirit again.

The year came to end with notes of Baileys, arguments and fried chicken and it was on to what was going to hopefully be a more stable 2023!

Ha.

The year began with a family bereavement and continued challenges with work. With teaching this was being gravely insulted in my lessons, told to 'die' and that I should 'go to prison' by my students. I was so in shock that I just let it all happen like some satanic ritual in front of me, but if that was to happen to me now I would react in a highly different way. There would be no getting away with that now. They would be out.

The rest of my January and February, two of the worst months in all of my twenty six years on the planet, was spent searching for new work, as this was rapidly dwindling at both the zero waste and coffee shop. No more performances were coming my way and funds were depleting.

I took on a couple of freelance teaching days in Dudley and interviewed for new work, but couldn't bring myself to the finality of a full time role at another coffee shop. I hung on and made contact with a local florist about an opening at their store, which to my delight was immediately successful and the job was mine.

I thought, this is it. This is the light at the end of the wintry bog I've just experienced. I could do this and keep the coffee shop job as I quit the zero waste job, which by this point was giving me four hours a week.

Things were figured out. Until I lost my coffee shop job due to the tsunami hitting small businesses and their funds to keep members of staff with decent pay. It wasn't exactly a surprise, but the abrupt nature of this dismissal was unfair.

But then, if the day hadn't been crazy enough, an email came through from Manchester Camerata, and I had to double take, regarding a tour to Saudi Arabia in March.

*screams*

This was all gradually being figured out, and in the meantime I began my new part time job. I knew this wouldn't be enough to see me through financially difficult times that we were going through with bills at over £300 a month.

Confirmation came through in the days leading up to Saudi Arabia, but the day job was falling mercy to lack of funds and I was to be making an early exit.

Uncertainty was high until Cameron and I took a heavily frustrated walk to accidentally discover a lovely furniture store in the heart of Edgbaston that immediately caught my attention. I emailed to ask of any vacancies and to my pleasant surprise I had timed this perfectly, and three full days were on offer.

For me, the combination of this and the tour with Manchester Camerata were the start of my revival.

And then Saudi Arabia happened! There I was, on a plane with eighty musicians to the Middle East to play as part of the expansion of a new city on the Red Sea. It was surreal, seeing these sights that I couldn't have otherwise comprehended; getting lost on a coach in the pitch black dead of night; going dune bashing in the middle of the desert (almost dying as a result when the driver started the car as I was getting in), and playing cor anglais to a Manchester medley in this huge arena in this bizarre location.

But it happened. It really did. And it gave me the boost I needed (despite some moral concerns about going to the Middle East) to somewhat escape my slump and restart life.

Life had to restart straightaway with a gig in Sunderland, then my new job at the furniture store, followed by gaining another teaching role for September with Services For Education.

All was going well; I felt like I had entered this new golden age. It didn't last that long as we suddenly had a neighbour complain about our practising/teaching in our flat. Basically a disaster, but one that was sorted after a couple of weeks of agonising over alternative venues, with me having the courage to go talk (have it out to a certain extent) to the neighbour. This was after our estate agent demanded we stop playing immediately (but then again, their first thought when we had a crack in our toilet was 'have you dropped something in it?'). The practice lives on!

Highlights in April included a third gig with Manchester Camerata, this time in Withernsea of all places; catching up with folks back home and attending my old oboe teacher's wedding in Harrogate! This made for a lovely weekend of catchups with Hull Music Service teachers and colleagues and a jaunt around the scenic town.

May was perhaps the first normal month I have had but this was counteracted by a somewhat hectic and exciting June of music making. A group of us visited London on the first day to see the absolutely astounding A Little Life, which I endlessly recommend. I'm still reading the monster of a book, but it is so heartbreakingly beautiful in how it is written and it was performed in a way that truly brought this to life.

Other high points included a lovely pair of gigs with New Sinfonia in Wales; a second solo concert courtesy of the RNCM and BBC Philharmonic at the Bridgewater Hall; a return to Aldeburgh for the culmination of the Britten Pears Young Artists programme, and just yesterday I was back in Suffolk briefly to play as part of a memorial event for the late architect, Michael Hopkins. The venue was outstanding, situated so pristinely by the water and filled with fantastic pieces.

Aldeburgh the second time round was an absolute joy and was a much healthier experience for me. The playing was tremendously difficult in places, but I felt in a calm frame of mind when tackling everything, knowing at least I could properly unwind at the end of this and actually appreciate the company of others in a serene coastal town. And I was simply myself, or at least the self I want to be.

That makes me happier beyond belief.

After all that, my primary reflection is that actually, this year has been a success. It has been challenging to the point of hardly recognising myself in places, but I have become a better person. So as I was last year when my Manchester experience came to a close, I am grateful. But grateful perhaps isn't even the word: I'm simply happy. I'm happy that I'm making the choices that I am; living a lifestyle that I believe is healthy, and embracing the everyday with all its quirks.

And ultimately, it's refreshing to know that my main concern today was having lardons for the carbonara recipe.

That's me for the summer; now to crank the volume up on Taskmaster to mask the sound of a drill next door!

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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

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Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

A/N: i may have a little surprise for you guys tomorrow... (not related to this fic)

Masterlist

Chapter 15

“Jo! Please bring your suitcase downstairs so Daddy can load it into the car,” you called up the stairs.

“How high does the plane go up in the air? Who is the pilot? How fast does it go?” Jo asked as she walked down the stairs.

Jo had been asking a lot of questions about planes recently since you told her that you all were taking a little trip. You were going to Las Vegas so Diana could meet Jo.

Spencer was ecstatic about it so you tried to hide your growing anxiety to not kill his mood. You had already met Diana multiple times when you would accompany Spencer on road trips home on long weekends in college and she seemed to love you. But that was before you had her granddaughter and didn’t tell her or her son for six years. Not to mention the fact that you and Spencer were now dating again and living together.

“Those are questions for Daddy on the ride to the airport,” you ushered her out the front door, locking it.

Jo repeated her questions again once in the car.

“The plane will fly at about 5.9 to 7.2 miles up in the air. I don’t know who the pilot is but we can ask. Commercial planes fly at about 547 to 575 miles per hour which is about 14 times faster than the speed we are driving right now,” Spencer informed her.

“Woah,” Jo exclaimed, “I’ve never been on a plane before.”

“Yes you have, Baby J. You were just too young to remember it. You and Mommy flew from California to here,” you said.

Once you made it through check-in and security, you were waiting in the terminal for your flight to start boarding. Spencer came back with coffee and breakfast sandwiches for you both and a chocolate milk and donut munchkins for Jo.

“Thanks, Spence,” you gave him a quick kiss before unwrapping your sandwich.

“Jo, look!” Spencer pointed to a woman in a uniform, “I think that’s our pilot. Do you want to go say hi?”

Jo nodded shyly. She seemed to be a little starstruck.

“Come here, Princess,” Spencer lifted her up and walked over to the lady.

You watched from afar as the woman nodded her head to Spencer’s first question so she must be the pilot. She seemed very enthusiastic to answer any and all of Jo’s questions. She knelt down to her bag and gave something to Jo, waving goodbye.

“Mommy! I got wings!” Jo held up a little wing pin.

“Oh my gosh, sweetie! That is so cool!” you smiled, pinning it to her sweater.

“Do you want to be a pilot when you grow up, Jo?” Spencer asked.

“Yes,” she beamed.

“You can be whatever you want, Josephine,” you smiled, kissing her cheek.

It was the middle of the night. You couldn’t possibly sleep, knowing you were going to have to face Diana in the morning. You were expecting the cold shoulder from her at the very least.

You were sitting on the cool hotel bathroom floor, silently crying with your knees pulled up to your chest and your head tucked in between.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Spencer quickly rushed over to you, sitting down beside you.

Either your crying was louder than anticipated or he just woke up to use the bathroom because you forgot to lock the door.

“Your mom hates me and I know how much her approval means to you,” you sniffled, not looking up.

“Baby, can you look at me please?” he whispered.

You hesitantly looked up to meet Spencer’s sympathetic gaze. He used the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the tears from your face, pulling you in for a hug.

“She doesn’t hate you, I promise. She is overjoyed to meet her granddaughter,” he assured you.

“What if she’s just not telling you, Spence? She is seeing Jo for the first time at the age of 6, I honestly wouldn’t blame her for being pissed,” you were crying again.

Spencer pulled back and cupped your face, wiping away the fresh tears with his thumbs.

“I’m really sorry, I got so excited I forgot to consider how you’re feeling. I can take Jo alone tomorrow if you don’t want to go,” he said.

“No, I want to go,” you replied with no hesitation.

Spencer smiled softly, “If you feel uncomfortable at any point, we will leave but I swear she is not harboring any animosity towards you.”

“Does she know we are living together and dating again?” you asked softly.

“Yes, she does. Let me tell you she was not happy when I broke up with you the first time so I can assure you she approves of us getting back together,” he chuckled.

He elicited a quiet giggle from you.

“Would you like to go back to bed?” he asked softly.

You nodded and Spencer helped you up off the floor and back to bed. Spencer wrapped his arms around you and you snuggled into his chest, finally getting some rest.

“Dr. Reid! Diana has not stopped talking about this visit all week! She is having a wonderful day!” the nurse at the front desk chirped.

“Thank you. Is she in her room?” he asked.

“Yes, you know the way!” she said, gesturing down the hall.

You and Spencer stopped right outside her door, halting Jo’s movement as well because she was in between you both, holding each of your hands.

Spencer knelt down to her level, “Do you remember who we are meeting?”

“Your Mommy,” Jo said.

“So that makes her your Grandma,” Spencer smiled.

“I already have a Grandma,” Jo said, confused.

“You have two Grandmas now, Baby J,” you explained.

Jo still seemed a little confused and made a grabby motion for you to pick her up.

Spencer knocked on the door and opened it a crack.

“Mom?” Spencer said.

“Oh, Spencer!” you heard the familiar voice excitedly shout from inside.

You entered the room with Jo nuzzled into your neck. Jo tended to get very shy around new people and liked to cling to you or Spencer until she warmed up.

Once Diana finished hugging Spencer, she turned to you and Jo.

“Hi, Y/N! Good to see you! Let me see my beautiful granddaughter,” she chirped.

“Good to see you too,” you smiled, “Jo, can you say hi?”

Jo nuzzled further into your neck.

“How about if you sit in Daddy’s lap?” you whispered in her ear.

She nodded and you handed her over to Spencer, taking the seat next to him on the couch.

“Oh, look at her precious little face. She looks just like Spencer did at that age. Hello, Josephine,” Diana smiled.

“Jo, how about you tell Grandma what we did yesterday,” you prompted her.

“We went on a plane and I got this,” Jo pointed to the wings that she was still wearing today.

“Oh my, the pilot must have thought you were a very important little girl then,” Diana nodded.

Jo beamed as you reached over to your bag.

“Um we brought some of Jo’s toys if you want to play with her,” you asked Diana.

“Of course! I would love nothing more!”

“I have to pee,” Jo tugged at Spencer’s sleeve.

“Okay, let’s go,” Spencer lifted her up.

Shit. As much as Spencer assured you that his mom didn’t hold a grudge, you were scared of the ‘girl talk’ that would ensue when he left the room. You couldn’t really offer to take Jo because you didn’t know where the bathrooms were.

Once the door to the room clicked shut, you felt Diana’s eyes on you.

“So long time, no see,” she said.

“Yeah,” you chuckled nervously.

“Now I’m Spencer’s mom and I’m supposed to see him as perfect but one of the biggest mistakes he ever made was leaving you and I made sure I let him know that. And I didn’t even know you were pregnant at the time. You both just had this special bond that was so clear to anyone who was within twenty feet of you. I am so grateful that you gave him the opportunity to come back into you and your daughter’s life,” Diana spoke.

You were tearing up at how nice she was being. She didn’t blame you for any of it.

“Can I hug you?” you asked with watery eyes.

“Of course, my dear,” she opened her arms, “I am so lucky to call you family.”

Spencer returned to see two of the most important people in his life hugging and the third was in his arms.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #cm fanfic #criminal minds

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years ago

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𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, encouraging, justifying, promoting nor romanticizing yandere behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationships, violence, degradation, physical/mental abuse, kidnapping, hostage holding, self-harm, attempted murder and other yandere behavior. Read at your own discretion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝟹𝚛𝚍, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟾

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟽𝟾 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟻'𝟷𝟶 𝙵𝚃.

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■□90%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙳𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

𝙽𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜.

𝙱𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He was the school's and the town's heartthrob.

From the time he was young, every girl was in love with him and every boy wanted to be him.

From the tenderest of age, old folks were praising how cute and adorable he was.

That's just how Park Seonghwa grew up, being admired and loved by everyone around him. He was so used to his little club of adoring fans.

He dated, or more like, messed around with more than a couple of girls in his classes.

Not a single one of them was immune to his charms, even if at first they said they'd never ever fall for him. They always fell like dominoes.

And then the day finally came....The day someone ignored him, the day someone didn't worship the ground he walked on.....

The day someone not only refused but humiliated him in front of others.

You had recently moved into the small town, wanting to get away from all the bustling and, in your opinion, futile life of the city.

So you moved somewhere more quiet, serene, calm.

You only wanted a nice and comfortable life, and with the small but sturdy job you accepted, it allowed you to have a comfortable living.

For a while, no one really noticed or payed the to you, and those that did were wary of you.

You couldn't blame them. A stranger suddenly moves into their town? Of course they'd be careful.

You were very observant and in that time you observed Seonghwa.

He was good looking you had to admit, but he had come into the shop with a girl by his side which suggested to you they were an item.

Meaning he was off limits so you didn't bother to think about him.

But then he came in weeks later with a different girl, which threw you off a little.

And then a different girl, then another and you saw the pattern.

You shook your head and cringed at him. "Fuck boi." You muttered every time you saw him.

It didn't take long for him to hear about the new girl in town.

Which to him meant another heart to steal and a pair of legs to open and add to his collection.

He was with his friends, who were anxious to see what would happen.

You saw him confidently stride up to you, cocky grin on his face as his eyes looked you up and down. You internally scoffed.

"Don't think you can easily play me boy." You resolved in your head to wipe that smirk off.

"Hey gorgeous. Come here often?" He winked at you.

"I work here." You responded with absolutely no emotion or expression, barely giving him a glance as you arranged the shelves in the store.

He moved so you could see him better, thinking it would cause you to melt, but you just stared straight at him as if he wasn't there.

"If you need any assistance, please ask one of the managers. I only stock the merchandise."

You had to hold back from laughing at his shocked face, probably because no girl had ever not blushed or become flustered from his close proximity.

You moved away from him to put some articles on the next aisle.

Not giving up, Seonghwa followed after you, his friends trailing close behind you.

He tapped your shoulder to get your attention again.

For the first time in his life, a girl glared at him as if he was no more than a bug....

That was strike one for him.

"Listen...... I.......just wanted to get your number?" He couldn't believe that he was actually sweating nervously.

"Sorry. I don't give my number to strangers." You stated.

Seeing an opportunity, Seonghwa smiled flirtatiously at you.

"Well then maybe I should take you out. Then we won't be strangers. Maybe we could even get...really close." He licked his lips.

His face froze when he saw you roll your eyes at him.

That was strike two.

"Thank you but no. And if you'll excuse me."

You moved to leave him there again, but his hand reached out and gripped your wrist, a little too rough for your liking.

"Come on darling...no one's ever said no to me."

Yanking your hand away, you looked at him with disgust as you told him:

"I believe I just did."

Those words and the snorts and giggles from his friends behind him were strike three for him.

In that moment something snapped in him.

How dare someone like you reject him? The Park Seonghwa.

He was so stunned by your actions that he couldn't get you out of his mind from then on.

He no longer looked at any other girls.

His thoughts were fixated on you and only you.

He had to win you over, he just had to.

You were the ultimate challenge and he was going to make sure he was victorious.

But you made it so damn difficult.

Every. Single. Time.

You never hid how much he annoyed you and that pissed him off so much.

Days turned to a month, then 3 and still you kept refusing him.

The final straw for him was when he tried gifting you a rather expensive necklace that would have anyone else swooning.

Not batting a wink, you threw the case back to him.

"I'm not some whore you can buy for the night just cause you feel like it. Go find someone else to be your toy, fuckboi."

He gripped the case so harshly it actually bent, eyes staring daggers at you as you walked home.

"You're not getting away so easily. You're going to regret this."

You were surprised when you didn't see Seonghwa the next day..

Or for an entire week.

But you shrugged it off, perhaps he had finally learned his lesson and opted for leaving you alone.

Walking home, you couldn't help but feel like something eerie was going to happen.

You tried ignoring it by plugging in your headphones and just head home as soon as possible. It was dark and cold.

You weren't paying attention to your surroundings so you didn't see nor hear the car that was heading straight to you.

You only felt something knock you to the ground, immediately passing out from your head hitting the pavement.

The driver got out of the vehicle, his dark orbs staring down at your unconscious figure.

Bending down, he tilted your chin to look at your bloody face.

"I told you would regret this."

You woke up sore and with a pounding headache days later.

But more than anything, you woke up frightened when you saw you were chained down on a chair, wrists bound on the arm rests and feet tied to the legs.

Who the hell would kidnap you?

Your answer came in the form of Seonghwa himself, coming into the dimly lit basement where he held you.

He smirked as he saw you swallow harshly when he came close to you, face bending down at eye level to you.

"You can get out of this whole mess you know...."

Cupping your chin, he brought his lips dangerously close to yours.

"Just give in to me and agree to be mine."

You swore this had to be a joke. He'd go through all this trouble just for this shit?

Unable to stand his close proximity, you opted for showing your contempt for him by spitting on his face........something he did not take kindly to.

He looked at you as if you committed a heinous crime. And he wasn't going to let you get away with it.

Lifting your face up, he slapped you several times across the face, not satisfied until your nose was bleeding and your cheeks were stinging so badly, there was going to be bruising for sure.

You cried out when he harshly gripped your burning cheeks, adding even more pain.

"Sooner or later, you'll have to give in. The more you resist, the worse it'll get."

He left you there for 3 days, or a week. You honestly couldn't remember, you were going in and out of consciousness for a while.

When he finally let you out, you thought he'd be a little more nicer to you, but you were wrong.

Things only got worse.

You were being treated worse than an animal.

You couldn't walk anywhere, you had to crawl. You weren't allowed to use utensils for food, nor your hands.

The first time you tried to refuse to these rules, Seonghwa shoved you to the floor and dragged you by the hair across the hallway.

And as for food, he smashed your face into the bowl, you were surprised it didn't break from how hard he did it.

You could never look him in the eye or else you'd get struck across the cheek.

"Never look your betters in the eye. You should be grateful I even spare a glance at such a lowlife like you."

He lived, no...he thrived out of humiliating you.

It was sickening to know that such an individual could hate someone so much to go out of their way to try and dominate them to such an extent.

The times he was actually being 'nice' to you, his voice was filled with mock pity, talking to you as if you were his little pet.

It was those times where you truly couldn't hold back and glared at him.

And it always end with you back in the basement, stripped naked, and left there for days in the cold, body bleeding and sore from the canning he gave you.

And everytime he came back, he'd always say the same thing:

"You could end all of this if only you'd love me."

More than once you thought about giving in, even if just pretending.

He couldn't possibly treat you any worse than he did now.

But your inner strength, independence and repulsion from him kept you from giving in.

You'd rather die than ever let Park Seonghwa win and give him that. satisfaction.

But the day you found out you were pregnant with his kid, you knew you had to get out of there.

You were not going to allow a child to be raised by a monster.

You never told him anything, he couldn't know. You even resorted to cutting yourself so he'd believe you were still menstruating.

And for months you played it nice, obeyed him so he wouldn't cause you harm or to the baby.

He actually began to soften up, thinking he had finally broken you into the perfect lover he imagined.

"Fucking idiot."

That was the exact thing you thought when you finally allowed him to kiss you, instead of the forced ones he'd usually give you.

Taking advantage that his guard was down, you pulled out the knife you had hidden and didn't hesitate to plunge it on his side.

He pulled back in shock, but had no time to react because you just took out the knife and plunged it back in...

Over and over again until he layed unconscious on the floor.

Blood was everywhere and you honestly couldn't believe you did that.

Choking back the tears, you scrambled to find anything that could help you break the lock, which you eventually found.

You ran out of that place, never looking back.

You didn't run into the direction of the town, people would be too suspicious.

You ran towards the direction of the highway, hoping someone would find you and take you to the nearest hospital or police station.

It seemed luck was on your side as a woman immediately stopped when she saw you running.

She didn't hesitate to help you out, taking you to a hospital so you could get checked up.

You lied and simply said you had been kidnapped and managed to escape, feigning that you don't remember who your kidnapper was.

The police bought your story and more so dropped the interrogation when you said you didn't want to press charges and just wanted to lay low for a while.

You moved all the way across the country, far far away from the place of hell you were in.

You quickly got a job and a small, but comfortable home to raise your newborn daughter in.

She was such a cute and beautiful baby, looking like an exact replica of her father which somewhat haunted you but you pushed those thoughts aside.

Time had passed, you were safe, she was safe and almost a year old, and you'd never have to worry about that insane man ever again.........

So you believed.

Unaware of the piercing eyes that were looking through your opened window, staring at you as you fed yours and his baby.

"You'll love me in the end....."

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dreamkidddream · 4 years ago

Note

Quote 7 for Mammon Pls!! Congrats as well on your followers btw, really love your stuff, keep it up! ☆

Thank you!! Call me biased but Mammon is my fav brother. I still love em all but I can’t help but love him a lil more (can you tell by how long this got lol) 😭 Reader is gender neutral!

Prompt: “We’d make a cute couple.” with Mammon!

Having Mammon by your side throughout the day was one of the main things you looked forward to whenever you woke up. While he may have his moments where he can be a little bit annoying, you could never fully be upset with him. There was never a moment where you two weren’t together: walking to RAD, walking to class, walking home, doing homework, pissing off Lucifer. It seemed like you two were inseparable, joined by the hip with how much you two were side by side. The only time you two weren’t together was when you went to bed, and even then you still had sleepovers/movie nights to make up for it.

You honestly wondered why you two weren’t dating yet.

You knew part of the reason (honestly the main reason) was Mammon. He’s so stubborn and determined to deny his feelings for you when it is so painfully obvious that he’s in love with you. Was it a pride thing? A demon thing? Maybe it’s just a him thing, either way you didn’t understand. Plus, it’s so obvious that you love him too! You wanted to slam your head into a wall every single time Mammon brought out his tsundere side. It was cute at first (and still was sometimes), but it was starting to get old very quick. When will he stop being so hardheaded and just admit to it already?!

Whenever it was you two, he let his soft side come out. Being the family’s punching bag, he let a lot of stuff slide, and he held a lot in. He’s able to lean on you whenever he’s struggling, never having to worry about keeping up facades and having to be strong all of the time. Everyone has moments of weakness, and you made sure that Mammon always knew that and never felt ashamed when he came to confide in you. He’s a sensitive demon, and you have no problems comforting and encouraging him when he’s down.

You two balanced each other out, and he’s always there for you just you are for him. The whispers of “I love you” that he thought you didn’t here among the gentle looks that he gave you that he thought was unseen, all taken in my you.

So no more beating around the bush! This is happening, and happening now.

He couldn’t avoid you forever (not that he would be avoiding you anyway), and he couldn’t avoid his feelings either (not that he tried to hide them well in the first place). It was the weekend, and after eating dinner with everyone, you were in your room for your scheduled movie night. Some action movie was playing on the screen, empty instant Hellfire noodle cups scattered while you two laid side by side on the bed. Mammon was deep into the movie, while your attention was elsewhere.

“Oi MC! Look at how that agent landed a double shot from behind his back while driving blindfolded!”

“Uh huh.”

“And the way that he’s blowing through these guys like nothing is crazy! Bet I can do that too! Wanna bet?”

“Uh huh.”

“And- MC? Ya not even listenin’, are ya?”

“Uh huh.”

“Sorry if I’m boring ya to sleep.”, he grumbled, looking away and pouting. But he still peeked back at you, gaze forming to show his worry. You were out of it, mind focusing on something that wasn’t you and him time, which never happened. So what happened? Did someone do something to make you mad? Did he do something and made you mad? He doesn’t recall anything happening...maybe you’re just getting homesick?

It was making him get uneasy and had his mind racing now. What is going-

“You know Mammon, we’d make a cute couple.”

Well that caused him to choke on his spit and shoot straight up, knocking the empty cups over and spilling the blankets off of your bodies.

“W-where is this coming from?!”

“I mean,” you turned to him, the movie illuminating your face in the dark. “Am I wrong?”

It’s so easy for Mammon to get lost in your eyes, just as it is for you. You believed that all of the brothers’ eyes reminded you of jewels, but Mammons’ eyes were always the most unique to you. They always found a way to draw you in, the mix of gold and cerulean never failing to captivate you. Not to mention how expressive they are, his emotions easily showing through them. Like now, you could see the hesitation and uncertainty swirling through them after your declaration.

You took a leap of faith, and you’re only hoping that he would do the same.

He sat with his mouth opening and closing a couple times, the tips of words never leaving his tongue. He started to fidget, eyes darting to look anywhere else that wasn’t you, his cheeks turning scarlet and spreading to his ears. You felt disappointment bubbling in your stomach. You should’ve know that he wouldn’t confess, that you just pushed him too far. You should’ve just kept quiet and never addressed-

“You really think so?”

He said it in such a small voice, that you barely heard him. And when he looked at you, he stared in so much awe, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“I mean, yeah. Don’t you think so?”, you were trying to still be casual about it, but you feel yourself starting to sweat. The look that Mammon’s giving you is getting to your nerves, making your heart beat even faster than it already is. He’s already caught off guard, but it’s what he says next that does the same to you.

“I do,” he has tears welling in his eyes now with an infectious smile to match. “I really do. W-what took you so long to say something, you dumb human?”

“Me?! You’re the one who’s always acting so tough, you dumb demon!”, but you shoved him, laughing the whole time. “Geez, you stress me out for no reason-”

You didn’t even have time to pretend to be mad as he tackled you to the bed, his trademark laugh filling the air. It didn’t take that long for you to join him, you both just appreciating the moment. You both longed for this moment, just to be in each other’s arms, not a care in the world. Nothing else mattered right now; just this.

“MC, I really do care about you and”, he paused. “I- I don’t ever wanna let you go. I don’t know what I would do without you now, and I don’t ever wanna find out”, he tightened his grip around you as he spoke. “You’re the only one I wanna be greedy with.”

The satisfaction you felt when hearing this was indescribable. “I care about you too Mammon, and I wouldn’t mind that. Not at all.”

“G-Good! Because now that the Great Mammon is blessing you with this opportunity, ya better be grateful about it! It’s not easy to get with me, so count yourself lucky!”

Ah, here’s the old Mammon. Minus the denial.

“Okay, Mammoney.”, you chuckled, getting yourself comfortable. The warmth radiating from his body was making you sleepy, and you couldn’t fight it anymore. “I’m the luckiest person in the world.”

As you mumbled a “goodnight, love you” as you succumbed to sleep, you felt the forgotten covers being brought over you both. Mammon admired you as you snored lightly in his arms, and he couldn’t help but lightly kiss the top of your head. No amount of gambling could ever beat this high that he’s feeling, nothing could.

“I know I count myself the luckiest demon in the world right now.”

He’s already won something better than a prize, and that’s you loving him.

#obey me x reader #obey me reader insert #mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #reader x mammon #reader x obey me #mammon x mc #dream’s 100 + 200 followers prompt special 💙

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flowercrown-bard · 4 years ago

Note

35 for Geraskier? :3

thank you so much for the prompt! And also, I would like to apologise. I had the most cursed thought about how to end this and I wasn't going to actually write that, but you know sometimes you have an idea so bad that you just know you would forever regret it if you didn't do it

prompt: Bets/teasing with increasing physical stakes makes character confront their feelings

word count: 5k

kind of inspired by the song "anything you can do I can do better"

content warning: brief mention of injury (no detailed description)

Anything you can do, I can do better

“You know you could help me, right?” Jaskier’s tongue peeked through his lips in concentration. “All you need is a little magic-“ he wiggled his fingers through the air uselessly, letting the sticks he had been holding before fall to the forest floor. “-and we would have a fire. Easy as that. So why, oh, why do you insist on torturing me thus?”

Geralt had to bite back his grin when Jaskier turned his big pleading eyes on him. “I thought you said you were ‘perfectly fit to travel through the wilderness’.”

Jaskier abandoned his fruitless attempt at making a fire for good and his puppy eyes turned into a glare. “I am! Just because you decided to be a prick about it, doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

“You almost stepped into the snare I had set up to hunt our dinner.”

Jaskier crossed his arms in front of his chest and lifted his chin in defiance. “Your point?”

“My point is that you wouldn’t survive a day without me out here.”

“Well, good thing I don’t want –“ Jaskier broke off and his eyes narrowed. “Wait. Are you…” he came closer to Geralt, who barely could keep his shoulders from shaking. “Are you laughing at me? Geralt, how dare you!”

A snorting laugh slipped past Geralt’s lips and he no longer fought back the grin. “I would never dare do such a thing.”

“Oh, no. That’s it.” Jaskier jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest in outrage. “I am going to prove to you that I am just as good as you are at surviving out here. No, I am better.”

For a long moment Geralt only stared at him. “I am a witcher. I am enhanced and trained specifically to survive out in the wild. You are a bard.”

“And I am stubborn and pissed off. And I know that I can do anything better than you.”

Geralt threw a pointed look at the sad attempt at making a camp fire. Jaskier cringed and shrugged his shoulders. “Magic doesn’t count.”

“Alright then,” Geralt sighed, but his lips twitched up when Jaskier’s eyes lit up with determination. “How about you prove how good you are by setting up the tent?”

“Psh, that’s easy.” When Geralt sceptically lifted a brow, Jaskier added, “I am a travelling bard. Do have some trust in me.”

Geralt watched in amusement as Jaskier strode off to go about his task. At least for the time being the bard would be distracted. Geralt knew there wasn’t a chance that Jaskier would actually succeed in setting up the tent, but it was strangely endearing to watch him bite back frustrated curses as he got tangled up in the fabric. And maybe, just maybe Geralt was preparing his ‘I told you so’ for when Jaskier finally admitted defeat and asked Geralt for help.

Except, that didn’t happen. Against all expectations, Jaskier managed to build the tent and it didn’t even take him too long.

Geralt stared at him, taken aback. Clearly Jaskier noticed Geralt’s surprise, for the smug grin he wore only got wider and he put one hand on his hips, gesturing towards the tent with the other.

“There you have it. I dare you to tell me again that I’m not as good as you are.”

“You are not,” Geralt said, more to watch Jaskier splutter in indignation than anything else.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“I am able to prepare us dinner,” Geralt said, taking out his knife.

“Oh please, now you’re just being ridiculous.” Jaskier rolled his eyes with a huff. “We both know that before I came along, you only used salt and pepper to spice your food. If even that much.”

Geralt shrugged. “I never said it tasted good. I just said I was able to prepare it.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkled as his grin became triumphant. “Aha! So you admit it. I am better at cooking than you.”

“If you think so, then I’m sure you’ll have no problem preparing these.” Geralt did his best to keep his expression carefully neutral as he held the rabbit he had caught out to Jaskier.

Jaskier blanched at the sight. A hint of guilt battled with the satisfaction of seeing Jaskier give up on his stubbornness and he was just about to take the rabbit back and skin it himself, when Jaskier took it away from him, though he held it in the same way a lordling might hold a wet frog.

Over the next days, Geralt started having more and more fun with this. No matter what he told Jaskier to do, he jumped at the opportunity to prove himself. At this point, Geralt wasn’t really sure anymore what exactly Jaskier was trying to prove.

It was obvious that Geralt’s increasingly ridiculous bets were nothing that would prove anything to Geralt other than that Jaskier was a stubborn idiot who would rather attempt to chop down a small tree than give up, though he had done that particular task while throwing glares at Geralt every other second. It had been fun to watch Jaskier grit his teeth and try to succeed in this utterly useless task.

It had become slightly less fun when Jaskier had become so exhausted that he had to shrug off his chemise, revealing his skin that glistened with sweat.

Seeing Jaskier like this – seeing the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he swung the axe – was strange. It felt wrong. At least that was the only explanation Geralt had for the strange twist in his guts as he watched his friend. And the only reason why his mouth went dry when he later massaged Jaskier’s sore back to get the tension he was responsible for, was because he felt guilty.

He should have stopped then.

He didn’t. Not when they were making camp and not now that Jaskier was walking beside Roach, humming the same melody for the umpteenth time.

Just to see Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt now said, “I bet you can’t stay silent for longer than I can.”

He threw a glance at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier had stopped walking and was opening his mouth to protest. Geralt lifted his brows and cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips twitching.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, but no sound left him. Instead, he mouthed something at Geralt that he was sure must be some sort of insult, before hurrying after Geralt.

It became clear quickly that this might just be the hardest task for Jaskier. Chopping wood and skinning rabbits was one thing. Evidently, Jaskier’s stubbornness gave him extra strength and the ability to swallow his disgust. But staying quiet? He looked as if he was ready to through the towel right then and there, and not even a full minute had passed.

Geralt was almost fully convinced that the only reason Jaskier remained silent was that every time his fidgeting got worse and he looked like he was about to open his mouth to say something, he caught Geralt’s eyes. Within a heartbeat that determination was back in his eyes and he snapped his mouth shut.

Geralt was almost impressed. He should have known that Jaskier would play dirty.

He started to poke Geralt’s legs, pull at his boots and open their straps.

Any glare of Geralt’s was only answered with a shit eating grin and a shrug that screamed ‘You said nothing about me getting you to talk first.’

Too bad that Jaskier wasn’t the only stubborn one between the two of them.

Geralt remained stoic, no matter what Jaskier tried to grate on his nerves. He was content to ignore him. After all, Geralt had plenty of practice tuning out Jaskier’s singing, he would have no problem ignoring the way Jaskier –

Eyes wide and mouth opened into a silent cry, Jaskier stumbled. He fell forward, his arms flailing to protect his lute.

Without needing to think about what he was doing, Geralt reached down and grabbed Jaskier by the scruff of the neck, steadying him.

“Careful,” he growled.

And Jaskier…Jaskier turned to him with the most self-satisfied expression Geralt had ever seen on him.

“Told you,” Jaskier said cheerily. “I anything you can do-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, but he failed to keep the amusement out of his voice. There was too much joy in Jaskier’s eyes to dampen his mood with Geralt’s broodiness.

“Which makes me think,” Jaskier tilted his head in contemplation. “Not that we’ve determined that I can keep quiet for longer –“

“Because you cheated.”

“Because I can keep quiet for longer,” Jaskier repeated, emphatically ignoring Geralt’s protest, “We should see if you can talk for longer than me.”

“No we shouldn’t.”

Jaskier skipped a couple of steps ahead, until he was walking right before Roach, turning around so he was walking still facing Geralt as he walked. “Whyever not?”

“Because this thing we’re doing isn’t about me,” Geralt replied with a huff. “And talking is no valuable life skill.”

The gasp Jaskier let out could put any actor delivering their final monologue to shame in how theatrical it was. Jaskier clutched a hand over his chest and pointed an accusatory finger at Geralt.

“The audacity!” Jaskier gave Roach a long-suffering look, as if she would understand his woe and agree with him. “Geralt. My dearest friend. You can be such a smart man, but what you said just now? That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Ever heard yourself talking?”

“Don’t try to distract me with insults. I have lived at court, trading insults is a battle you won’t win. Speaking of which, talking might not be important in the woods, but it sure is invaluable when you want rich people to pay you, which – oh! Wait. That is exactly what you want.”

Geralt grunted. “Your point?”

Jaskier’s lips stretched into a grin. He lowered his voice into a very bad imitation of Geralt’s growl, when he said, “My point is that you wouldn’t survive at court without me out here.” His voice jumped back to its normal pitch. “In other words, you need me.”

Geralt scoffed, though for some reason he liked the certainty with which Jaskier said those words.

“I really don’t.”

“Prove it then.”

“What?”

Jaskier stopped, forcing Roach to come to a halt as well.

“I said prove it. I don’t see why I’m the only one that needs to prove that I’m a worthy travel companion – “

“It was your idea,” Geralt grumbled.

“-so, how about this: I continue to do everything you think I need to be able to do out here and you prove to me that you could survive at court.”

“I don’t want to survive at court. And I don’t have to prove anything.”

Jaskier’s brows rose and he lifted his chin in a challenge. “Sounds to me like you’re scared.”

Geralt glowered at Jaskier. He could just guide Roach to walk around Jaskier. He could just ignore that stupid challenge.

But Jaskier had that look on his face. It was infuriating. Geralt never stood a chance against that look.

He jumped off Roach and walked over to Jaskier, trying to make himself look as menacing as possible, until they stood almost chest to chest.

He could see Jaskier’s throat bob as he swallowed. Geralt leaned in until their noses were almost touching.

“You’re on,” he growled, before he turned away from Jaskier and made to get onto Roach.

He was stopped by Jaskier clearing his throat.

“Actually,” Jaskier drawled. “At court it’s considered very impolite to ride on a horse while your companion is walking.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “I’m not letting you ride Roach.”

Jaskier let out a short laugh. “Oh, don’t you worry, I am out of practice anyway.” He stepped to the side to make space for Geralt to walk next to him while leading Roach. “But I bet you can’t walk for hours as you make me do.”

It became clear quite quickly that Geralt had underestimated Jaskier’s ability to be petty. Obviously most of what Jaskier made him do now was revenge for the ridiculous tasks Geralt had given Jaskier.

Well, two could play this game. And oh, how they did. For weeks they went back and forth, Geralt giving Jaskier a task that he performed with gritted teeth and Jaskier enacting his revenge by making Geralt do all sorts of ridiculous things. One would think that sooner or later one of them would run out of ideas, but Geralt had been walking the Path long enough to know that there were never enough skills to have and whatever could be said about Jaskier, no one could deny that he was creative.

And of course neither one of them was willing to back down from a challenge.

Which was the reason why Geralt disguised his obligatory protest at Jaskier’s newest demand as a clever explanation for why he can’t possibly do what Jaskier dared him to.

“How on earth am I supposed to ‘dress appropriately for court’ when I don’t have any fancy clothes with me.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “You would have, if you had listened to me when I had asked you to come to the tailor with me.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was back in Touissant. Months ago.” He gestured to the trees surrounding them. “I don’t think there’s a tailor anywhere close.”

Jaskier opened his mouth before letting it snap shut again.

“What?” Geralt demanded.

A blush crept across Jaskier’s cheeks and he averted his eyes. “Nothing it’s just…There are courtly clothes here. Myclothes.”

Geralt’s mouth went dry. “You want…” His eyes drifted to the doublet Jaskier was wearing. Without wanting to, he imagined Jaskier opening the buttons one by one and giving Geralt his own doublet.

When Geralt didn’t resume talking, Jaskier’s eyes darted back to him. For a moment he looked confused before his expression morphed into one of panic. “Oh, gods, no, that’s not what I – no. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t make you…” Jaskier cut himself off and went over to his bags, rummaging through them for long enough that Geralt began to wonder if maybe he was just trying to avoid looking at Geralt. Finally, Jaskier came back with a triumphant sound that didn’t bode well for Geralt and a deep purple doublet.

“No,” Geralt said firmly, as he eyed the garment in distaste. “I am not wearing that.”

“So are you saying that you give up?”

Geralt held Jaskier’s gaze for a tense moment, before snatching the doublet out of his hands.

“Fine,” he growled. “Don’t complain if it tears. This was your idea.”

Geralt felt awkward as he shrugged off his own shirt and donned the doublet. The fabric felt nice enough against his skin, but for some reason, the knowledge that Geralt was wearing Jaskier’s clothes set his chest ablaze. The sensation was so distracting that he fumbled with the buttons, unable to close them on his own.

“Here, let me,” Jaskier offered and suddenly he was right in Geralt’s space. His head was lowered so that he could see what he was doing as he buttoned up the doublet with practiced movements.

Without meaning to, Geralt leaned forward, just a bit. Just enough to catch more of the lavender-scent that clung to Jaskier’s hair.

“There, all done,” Jaskier said and looked back up. His eyes widened when he saw just how close he was to Geralt who sucked in a sharp breath. Their faces were only inches apart and Jaskier’s hands that had come to rest on Geralt’s chest were burning his skin through the fabric.

“Jaskier…” He didn’t know why he said it, why suddenly this name was all he could think about.

His skin was burning and the doublet felt too tight, too hot.

Geralt squirmed and as if he had been shook out of a stupor, Jaskier took a step back. Geralt pretended not to notice the way the loss of the touch left him strangely cold.

“Yeah, no, you were right,” Jaskier blurted, his face burning in a furious red. “That’s not your colour. At all. Just-“ he gestured to all of Geralt, his eyes lingering on the buttons threatening to pop over Geralt’s chest and the way the fabric stretched over his arms, “that looks just utterly unacceptable. You need to get that off right now.”

Geralt barely had the chance to nod, before Jaskier was on him again, practically tearing the doublet off of him.

He turned back as soon as Geralt was free of the garment again. Geralt should have been relieved to be rid of the atrocious thing, but as he watched Jaskier stuff it into the bottom of his pack as if he wanted to never see it again - as if the sight of Geralt wearing it had been so terrible that he wanted to ban it from memory forever - he felt a strange pang in his chest.

After that, Geralt wasn’t sure how to proceed. Usually, he wouldn’t have waited a day to give Jaskier the next challenge, but ever since the incidence, as Geralt had come to think of it, Jaskier had been strangely tense.

Geralt wracked his brain, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. Maybe the doublet had ripped after all without Geralt noticing. And who could blame him? It had been distracting having Jaskier so close, touching him.

Then again, nothing had happened. It didn’t even deserve to be called an incident. Still, Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed that day, that they had come dangerously close to having something happen.

Whatever it had been, it couldn’t happen again.

And so Geralt refrained from challenging Jaskier.

At least he did, until Jaskier looked at him a couple of days later with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I am sorry,” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt’s brows furrowed as he searched Jaskier’s face. “What are you sorry for?”

Jaskier shrugged and turned his face away. “You are cross with me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Geralt’s throat grew tight at the way Jaskier’s voice wavered. “You didn’t. And I’m not.”

“No?” Jaskier looked so hopeful, so relieved. “I just thought…you didn’t give me a new challenge and I was worried I had ruined it.”

Geralt’s chest clenched uncomfortably. “So eager to get your ass kicked?” He said as carefree as he could and nudged Jaskier in the ribs with his elbow. “I just needed time to come up with a good challenge.”

“Did you find one?”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked around camp as subtly as possible, frantically trying to find something he could make into a new challenge. As always, his eyes landed back on Jaskier. More specifically on his exposed forearms, where he had rolled up his sleeves.

“Arms,” he blurted out. When Jaskier gave him a confused look, he cleared his throat and gestured between himself and Jaskier. “We should do arm wrestling. As a test of strength.”

Jaskier get out an incredulous laugh. “You want me to test my strength against a witcher?”

Geralt shrugged, a pointless attempt to hide his sheepishness. “You are the one who said you could do anything better than me.”

Jaskier’s arms drifted down to Geralt’s arms, assessing. Eventually he nodded.

“Alright.” Jaskier’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

And oh, how he did. He stood no chance, of course, even as Geralt held back. Jaskier put all of his strength into it. He used both hands. He stood up and tried to use his body weight.

He let out a noise of frustration and his face scrunched up in an expression that could only be described as adorable.

Geralt didn’t even realise how lost he had gotten looking at Jaskier until he heard a low thud and Jaskier’s face twisted in disappointment.

Geralt forced himself to look away from Jaskier’s face and saw the obvious. He had Jaskier’s hand pinned down.

“I guess you won,” Jaskier said and made a face. “You have found something I can’t do.”

Geralt hesitated. This would have been the perfect moment to gloat, to declare this silly game over. What left his mouth instead was, “We’re even now. I couldn’t wear the clothes and you can’t beat me. I’d say that means we still don’t know which one of us is better.”

Though Geralt knew. When Jaskier’s eyes lit up at Geralt’s words, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Jaskier was better – he might even be the best man Geralt knew.

After that, the fight was fully on again. Jaskier didn’t hold back. Not an hour later, when the moon had just begun to creep across the sky, Jaskier stood up and offered Geralt his hand.

“I bet you can’t dance.”

He was right, of course, but not once did he mention how Geralt kept stepping on his feet or how his posture was all wrong.

Geralt wouldn’t have cared if he had. He didn’t think his defeat would have even registered. He was too occupied fighting and failing to keep his heartbeat slow as Jaskier pulled him ever closer and let him through the motions of the dance while humming a soft melody.

In this moment, he couldn’t have cared less if he lost a bet or not.

And it appeared that Jaskier cared just as little about winning the bet, just this once.

Neither of them said a word about it and when they finally let go of each other, Jaskier just looked at him with that same unreadable expression he had shown more and more often lately.

“Your turn to make a move,” was the only thing he said, before disappearing inside the tent.

Geralt was hurt. It wasn’t a deep or particularly painful wound. Not that one would be able to tell from the way Jaskier fussed over him with worry etched into his face.

“I bet,” Geralt pressed through his teeth, “that you don’t know how to clean a wound.”

Jaskier stared at him in disbelieve. “You’re absolutely right I don’t.”

“Don’t you want to try?”

Jaskier’s brows drew together like storm clouds and his voice was thunder. “Really, Geralt? You’re bleeding. Do you really think this is the right time for this? If I mess this up-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted him and put his hand soothingly on Jaskier’s wrist. He could feel his pulse pump beneath his fingers and he rubbed a small circle into his soft skin. “You won’t hurt me. This is just a scratch. The drowner barely got me.”

“It wouldn’t have gotten you at all if I hadn’t been in the way,” Jaskier said bitterly.

Geralt’s chest clenched and he squeezes Jaskier’s arm gently, making him look at him. “That doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you didn’t get hurt. And that you know what to do if you ever do get hurt.”

There were implications in Geralt’s words that he didn’t want to think too hard about. He didn’t get the chance to anyway. Jaskier looked at him with wide eyes, before he nodded and set to work.

His hands were gentle and he hummed soothing melodies as he cleaned and stitched Geralt’s wound under his instructions. Geralt wouldn’t have been able to think of anything but Jaskier’s closeness if he had wanted to.

“Why on earth would I need to know how to do that?” Geralt said scowling, to the utter annoyance of Jaskier how groaned in exasperation.

“No, no no, don’t do that! That’s the exact opposite of what I told you to do. You should be smiling.”

“But why? Who cares if I smile?”

“I do. I-I mean, people at court do. You need to look pleasant and approachable if you want to charm anyone.”

“I don’t want to charm anyone.”

“Too late for that,” Jaskier muttered, quietly enough that Geralt was certain the words hadn’t been meant for him.

Still, Geralt scowled even harder, just to spite Jaskier and maybe, just maybe to make his own frown turn into a laugh.

“Geralt! Stop that this instant! Truly, sometimes I think you enjoy riling me up.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “This is it. You are a hopeless student. I’d have better luck teaching Roach how to behave at court. She definitely is more charming.”

Geralt couldn’t help it. His lips twitched up. “You’d have to bribe her.”

Jaskier snorted. “I’m already working on it. One day I’ll get her to eat that dreadful old cloak you insist on keeping.”

Jaskier looked dead serious and a by now familiar warmth spread through Geralt’s chest at Jaskier’s unconvincing scowl.

A snort of laughter left his mouth and in the blink of an eye Jaskier’s face softened.

“There it is,” he said in a tone Geralt couldn’t place. If he dared to let himself imagine, he would have called it fond. “You may never again say that you aren’t charming.”

“What on earth does this prove?” Jaskier panted as he tried to dodge yet another swing of Geralt’s fist aimed at his face.

“It should prove that you’d be able to defend yourself against bandits or at least hold your own in a bar fight.”

“Why would I -“ Jaskier ducked under a ridiculously slow punch that would have been truly embarrassing to get hit by, “need to do that?” He jumped backwards. “I can always talk myself out of trouble or – careful Geralt! – or you’d be there to save me. I don’t know why –“ his rant ended in a sharp cry as he stumbled over his own feet.

He let out an exaggerated grown when he hit the ground. Geralt was on him within a second, pinning his hands to the ground.

Jaskier huffed, his breath ghosting over Geralt’s face. He went still.

Geralt’s brows furrowed. “At least try to get out of my hold,” Geralt growled. “You need to be able to protect yourself. What if I’m not around?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Jaskier’s voice was strangely breathless. “Why would I go anywhere without you?”

Geralt froze.

For the first time it hit him just how close they were, with Geralt’s body practically pressing Jaskier’s into the ground. At some point, Geralt’s hair band had loosened and some strands of his hair had come free, framing his face and tickling Jaskier’s cheeks.

“Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes followed the movement of Jaskier’s lips. The was so close. It would be so easy to just lean down and brush his lips against Jaskier’s. The feel of Jaskier’s body pressing up against him wasn’t enough anymore. Geralt’s heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted, he needed–

He had no time to think. No time to voice what he couldn’t even comprehend.

Because before he had the chance to do any of that, Jaskier leaned forward and breached the gap between them. He let out a soft noise that sounded almost like a sigh when they lips finally met.

Jaskier’s lips were soft and eager and they moved against Geralt’s as if he had been waiting to do this for a long time.

It took Geralt a moment to respond, but once the shock left him, he returned the kiss with just as much fervour. A low growl rose in his chest as he pressed impossibly closer against Jaskier.

His hands let go of Jaskier’s wrists, instead finding his hands and intertwining them.

Gently, Geralt bit into the softness of Jaskier’s lips, eliciting the sweetest sound from him. He felt Jaskier tug his hands free and Geralt let him, eager to feel Jaskier bury his fingers in his hair.

Instead, they pushed against him. Geralt let out a strangled groan when Jaskier broke the kiss and used Geralt’s surprise to throw his leg over Geralt and switch their positions.

Now he was leaning above Geralt, caging him in with his arms and giving him the biggest and smuggest look Geralt could imagine.

“Why…Jaskier, what…” He was unable to finish the sentence, wasn’t even sure what exactly it was that he wanted to ask. All he knew is that he needed to know. He needed this to not have been only a distraction.

“This, my dearest witcher,” Jaskier announced, leaning in close to Geralt; close enough that their breaths mingled and Jaskier’s fringe brushed Geralt’s skin. “Is a technique I am sure wasn’t taught in Kaer Morhen. The one type of battle you won’t be able to win against me.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “What kind of battle?”

“Why, it’s called battling for dominance. With our tongues.”

“What?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Kissing, Geralt. I’m obviously talking about kissing.”

“For a bard you have a terrible way of describing that.”

Jaskier huffed and Geralt could almost feel his smile against his lips. “Are you saying you’d be a better poet than me? Want to prove it to me?”

Geralt shook his head, his throat tight. One of his hands wandered up to Jaskier’s face, caressing his cheek. “I am much more interested which one of our tongues has won the battle.”

“Mine, obviously.” Jaskier grinned. “I have you pinned down, don’t I?”

“Hmm.” A smile stretched across Geralt’s face and he tilted his head just enough that his lips brushed against Jaskier’s with his next words. “Any yet I feel like I have won.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched. “I guess we’ll have to do it some more then. To determine which one is the winner.”

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed, his voice but a breath. “We should.”

As Geralt captured Jaskier’s lips with his own once more, he knew with a fierce certainty that neither of them would be proven a loser in this.

#i am so sorry #two things i never wanted to write:#detailed descriptions of kisses #and /that/ phrase #and yet here we are #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #my writing #fic #fanfic #prompt #pining #witcher #witcher fic #i once again am too tired to edit this #writing>sleep>editing #geralt #jaskier

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thetypedwriter · 4 years ago

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Cold Iron Heart Book Review

Cold Iron Heart by Melissa Marr Book Review

I don’t think many people are aware or have read the Wicked Lovely series by Melissa Marr, but that’s alright. I originally started this book blog as I had so many thoughts and feelings about the books I was reading and yet no one to share them with.

So I might be talking to me, myself and I in this book review, but at the end of the day, it’s still a way for me to express how I feel about the literature I’m consuming even if no one else is reading this.

Wicked Lovely is one of my favorite series from when I was young. I still remember very clearly how my love story with these books started as it was odd and coincidental. I was at the grocery store with my mom and a promised “quick” trip quickly turned into an hour-long shopping spree as my mother was prone to do.

Back then I was in middle school, had no cell phone, and was bored out of my mind. So what is any pre-teen to do? I went over to the small, sad book selection in the grocery story and picked up the novel with the most interesting cover.

This book was Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr.

I read it the rest of the day and finished it that night, consuming page after page. I was completely transfixed. It was dark, gritty, violent, sexy-all things that my twelve-year old self found entirely fascinating.

It was a fantasy book about fairies, but these fairies were deadly, life-sized, cruel, violent, beautiful and loving.

I’ve been enamored with fairies and fairy lore ever since. All because of this book and the series that followed. It hooked me in ways that I still don’t fully comprehend, but I understood then that I hadn’t read anything like it before and I was drawn into Melissa Marr’s world and never quite left it, even all these years later. I’ve gone back and re-read Wicked Lovely multiple times and each time I still found it enjoyable and alluring.

Cold Iron Heart is a different beast.

A few days ago, my best friend (who is a journalist) sent me an email saying that local Arizona author, Melissa Marr, was releasing a new book and that she might have the opportunity to interview her.

I was ecstatic, of course, and not so subtly tried to persuade my friend to let me silently snoop in on the interview (I didn’t, by the way).

It was then that I realized I hadn’t checked in on Melissa Marr for some time-what had she been writing? Imagine my surprise that one of my favorite series of all time not only had a new book-a prequel no less, but also several new short stories.

I was flabbergasted. And beyond excited.

So I ordered the book immediately and read it the moment it arrived on my doorstep to eventually find myself with...mixed feelings with a negative tinge. Okay, more than a tinge, more like a cascading waterfall of negative feelings.

First off, the book is a prequel.

Now. Melissa Marr could have done so many cool things with this. There are so many interesting characters that I would have loved to see more in depth or delve into their histories.

Like Miach and Beira, for example. I’ve heard about the late Summer King since book 1, but never got to read about him as he was dead before the series began. However, his legendary love with Beira, the Winter Queen, would have been so incredibly bewitching to read about it, especially if it involved the birth of Keenan.

This would have been an awesome choice.

Irial and Niall would have been another incredible one, probably the best one. We’ve been told over and over again throughout the series that these two hot-heads with a past used to run the Dark Court together, wreaking havoc, taking lovers, seeking new heights, etc.

But do we get to see this transfixing time? Nope.

I would even have settled for a story about the Hunt, Sorcha and Bannanach, literally any character done in the right way.

But...no. Melissa Marr decides to write a prequel that is literally a carbon copy of the first book Wicked Lovely, but innumerably worse.

Everything in the prequel is exactly the same as the original novels. Miach is dead, Keenan is looking for his Summer Queen, the Winter Girl is pissed off for not being the chosen love of Keenan’s, Irial is temptation in the flesh, Niall and Irial are at odds, Bananach is causing discord, Sorcha is isolated and frigid, the list goes on and on.

Nothing of consequence, novelty, or importance happens in this book.

Frankly, it just felt like a terrible redo of the first novel, just set 100 years back.

I didn’t give a single flying crap about Thelma or Tam or whatever her name was. She was a worse version of Leslie, of Aislinn, of every other cool female character we eventually get to read about in the main series.

Thelma was contradictory in the worst of ways. She said one thing, like she would rely on no man and never have children and then turned around and did every single one of them like some sort of hypocrite galore.

She was so irritating and boring to read about that I tended to skim her parts because it was just paragraph after paragraph of bitching and moaning about the same goddamn things over and over again: stay away from fairies, oh god this fairy likes me, no sex, no children, no love and then bam! She just throws it all away.

Urgh.

The worst part too is that this isn’t a well written book. It’s repetitive, quite boring at times, and caters way too much to the reader.

Something I loved about the first Wicked Lovely is that Melissa Marr kinda just tosses you into her world and calls it a day. She doesn’t hold your hand or over explain. She just describes and lets you glean for yourself.

I loved this aspect of the original series. I liked learning about her world and the characters this way.

Cold Iron Heart spits on the idea of this concept. Marr repeats herself so much about the same things, who Irial is, what fairies are, why this is happening, that I grew increasingly irritated as the book went on.

Who on earth is she explaining this for? New readers? Why in the world would any new reader start with this book? The newest one that comes after six others???? It makes no goddamn sense.

So not only did I feel patronized and aggravated, but the love story between Thelma and Irial grated on me as there was no basis for their love.

It was ridiculous with no shred of authenticity and I hated it, especially knowing that he already loves Niall and Leslie only to come back and say, “wait a moment! I had another true love that I’ve never mentioned before. Yeah. Her name was Thelma. Or Tam. Or whatever, I don’t know. I knew her for three days, most of which was just sex, and then I lost her after she had my baby but I conveniently forgot about it because of nonsensical plot! Hahahah, good right?”

No. Not good. Horrible.

Overall, this book is a waste of time and trees.

I don’t know why Melissa Marr even wrote and published this. I can see her writing this for herself because why not, but as a fan and a reader this was beyond disappointing.

It’s like how all Harry Potter fans felt when J.K. Rowling wrote The Cursed Child and we got movies about Newt Scamander when we literally wanted anything else-Marauder series anyone??

It’s a particular kind of egregious offense when a favorite series or author of yours ends up ruining the canon you’re in love with. For that reason alone, I am stripping Cold Iron Heart from my heart and mind, like it never existed.

Just like I did with Cursed Child, or the fact that you-know-who dies in Death Note (if you know, you know). I just...don’t believe it. It ruined all the lovely things Marr had previously written and the stories that defined so much of my love for YA, for fantasy, and for my own writing as a whole.

I know for a lot of you this was a bumbling mess of a review with little to no clarity of the plot or who these characters are. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you are still reading if you didn’t know the book or the series in the first place, but that’s alright.

Like I said at the beginning, this is a way to get my intense feelings and thoughts down onto paper and now that I have I feel marginally better, although still pissed off that this book exists and that I currently own it.

Sigh.

Well if you stuck around for the ride, I appreciate it. If you skipped this particular book review, I understand that too.

Recommendation: Burn this book. However, if you want a gritty, tantalizing fantasy story, pick up the original Wicked Lovely and be whisked away into a world that has stuck with me since the first moment I read it on the fateful day at the grocery store.

Score: 3/10

#cold iron heart #melissa marr #wicked lovely #book blog #books #book review #Book Recommendations #YA Book Review #ya book rec #booklover #3/10

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detectiveran · 4 years ago

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It’s been a long time since I wrote anything, practically a year and 2020 was awful and 2021 didn’t start off well either because of a relative’s death. But anyway, I hope you guys like what I’ve written.

If you wanna support me, I would be highly grateful. My paypal is: paypal.me/filterish

It was truly horrible that Ran was dealt such a awful card in her life. An alcoholic father, a workaholic mother and an innate disposition of wanting to please people whom she loved.

She could have lived with the first two cards but it was the third one that made her life difficult. Wanting to do the best she could at academics so she could get praised by her absent parents, wanting to have friends so that she could answer her mother’s questions about her friendships with conviction, wanting to work so that she could take care of the monetary burdens... wants, wants, wants.

To be honest, all she wanted was peace. To not be involved in her separated yet together parents’ tumultuous relationship. Sometimes thinking about her family made her chest hurt and throat tickle. She loved her mother and she loved her father. But she didn’t love them together. And when she came to realize that at the age of twenty, she finally let go.

She had worried and schemed to get her parents back together practically her whole life but now, she knew that if they didn’t want to be together, all her efforts would be in vain. So, at the age of twenty, with a heavy heart, she decided to let her family go. She stopped calling her mother to fix a date with her father, she stopped pestering her father about giving a fuck about her mother. And then came the realization that she was lonely. So lonely that her heart ached.

She hadn’t managed to make friends, life long friends people would go on about, because she was focused on bettering herself so that her parents would praise her. On the flip side, she had gotten into one of the best universities in Tokyo and was studying her desired subject about Medicine. Most days she could live with the pay off. Having a stable career would help in surviving alone a lot.

People in her class would invite her to hang out and she would say yes, just to sit there and observe them. For some reason, the buzzing chatter of her classmates soothed her a lot. They would gossip or discuss about classes or professors and Ran would sit there with a slight smile on her face and her heart feeling lighter. She craved companionship.

With that thought in her mind, she decided to open up with her college classmates. She knew the names of the people in her class, thankfully and so, with a cheery smile she used to plaster on at her high school, she slid into the conversation about the college’s professors.

“... And Tsukiyama-sensei gives us so maaaany diagrams to draw,” Hayami-san was whining, “I have a part time job to do and then that teacher’s homework... I don’t get the time to unwind at all.”

“He does push us a lot,” Ran said and noticed the sort of surprised looks of her three classmates, though they quickly covered it up.

“You find it hard too, huh, Ran-san?” Sonoko-san said, “With your grades, I thought it would be easy for you to catch up.”

Ran quickly grabbed the opportunity to continue the conversation, thankful that the atmosphere didn’t turn awkward at her sudden interruption, “Ah, well, I don’t actually have a lot to do, you know? Mostly studies and a part time job as an assistant at a detective agency.”

“Detective agency?!” The three of them exclaimed and faced Ran fully.

Her smile grew sheepish as she said, “Ahhhh, but, nothing interesting happens when I’m there. Usually, I just have to compile all the data and file them.”

“But, still! You must have found something interesting there!” Aoko-san said, with her eyes shining with excitement, “A case? Or a person? Have you ever helped the detective, Ran-san?”

Ran shook her head no, “I’m not allowed to work on the cases, Aoko-san. As a matter of fact, I’ve not even seen the detective yet, I usually work in the evening, after my classes are done.”

Hearing that, the three of them looked concerned and Hayami-san spoke, “Ran-san, are you sure that’s safe? I mean,” she shared a look full of concern with Sonoko-san and Aoko-san, “you have never seen whom you work with, right? What if it’s some super shady guy?”

Ran chuckled a bit and said, “It’s okay, Hayami-san. I’m trained in karate. Plus, the agency I work at is super reputed. It’s just that the guy whom I’m assigned to is very, very busy and even other employees have said that it’s rare to see him in the office. He works at very odd hours.”

That did nothing to alleviate their concern and Ran felt a bit touched. This was the first time she was having a proper conversation with them and the four of them were practically strangers yet Hayami-san, Sonoko-san and Aoko-san were so concerned about her well being.

Aoko-san was apprehensive and she murmured, “If you say so, Ran-san,” and then in a more chipper tone asked, “Which agency do you work at?”

“Kudo Detective Agency.” Ran replied.

Hearing that, the three of them were even more animated in their response, “THE Kudo Detective Agency?” Aoko-san gasped in disbelief.

“Wait, the famous ex-policeman one?!” Sonoko-san exclaimed.

“The one that has this hot, handsome guy working there?” Hayami-san said.

All of them turned to look at Hayami-san and she shrugged sheepishly, “What? Everybody knows that there is this rumored handsome guy who works there and is seen like once in every millennia,” she said sarcastically.

Sonoko-san swatted her friend and Aoko-san clicked her tongue, waving her comment away and turned her attention back to Ran, “You really work at Kudo Detective Agency, Ran-san? Oh, wow. It houses the best of the best detectives.”

Sonoko-san nodded and said, “Damn, you must have impressed the Kudo husband and wife duo a lot. Seeing that they have such a strict policy and criteria to employ people.”

And with that, the three of them were off chattering about the elusive Kudos. Ran chipped in whenever she could but mostly listened while they were talking. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that only reason she works there is to spite her father in an act of rebellion.

The Kudous were not the reason her father was a piss poor detective but she had spent her teenagers listening to him whine about how Kudo Yuusaku was responsible for the lack of cases in Mouri Detective Agency. And at that time, Ran did what she could to help him, guide her high school classmates in need, put up posters, advertise in newspapers... she did what she could but her father was too prideful to take small cases and too incompetent to work properly on big ones. And by then, the ex-policeman Yuusaku and ex-actress-turned-housewife had established a proper detective agency housing some of the brightest, youngest detectives.

When she cut ties with her family, she decided to do what she wanted. And so, she offered her services to the Kudous. She knew she could be an excellent assistant and she proved herself by working for a week under Yuusaku Kudo herself. From organization to appointments to little treats or snacks for the clients... she did what she could have been doing for her father.

And by the time the week had ended, she was employed with a good salary. She thought that working there would hinder her Medicine study course but the detective whom she was assigned to had a set of orders ready when she entered his office.

She was surprised at first because no one was there to greet her on her first day, just a piece of paper telling her not to come during day time and that her work was to organize the papers that were kept on the table. Sure, there were scribbled notes scattered everywhere on the table but a quick glance clued her in that those were case notes. Case notes of multiple cases, to be exact.

She found it extremely odd that the detective whom she was supposed to assist had never shown himself. All she knew was that his name was Kudou Shinichi, Kudou Yuusaku and Yukiko’s son, and was an excellent detective. He had grown up in the States and had come back at the age of twenty with plethora of experience under his belt.

Ran chalked up never seeing him to some weird quirk of his. Truthfully, she liked working there. The Kudou couple treated her kindly, the assistants of other detectives were warm and welcoming, even the other detectives greeted her and indulged in small talk. The work wasn’t difficult, the pay was excellent, the timing fit her college schedule perfectly; everything was great except for never having seen her superior’s face.

Ran sighed as she brought herself back to present. Aoko-san was talking about the lab work they had just finished and Ran smiled lightly. Having friends like them would be nice, she thought. And swore to herself that she would make the effort to know them better.

That day, she felt very calm as she entered her office. The Kudo Shinichi plaque at the door greeted her and she opened it, mentally gearing herself up for the stack of papers that was bound to be there, only to be greeted by a man, who was shuffling through them.

“Umm... hello?” Ran asked hesitantly, not wanting to jump to conclusions about who this man was.

The man faced her and smiled a bright smile, which left Ran disarmed. “Hello, you must be Mouri Ran-san?” he asked.

Ran felt a little discombobulated, she hadn’t anticipated someone being inside the office. “Uhh... yes, I am. And you are...?” she didn’t want to presume who he was but she had a little inkling of whom he could be.

“Ah, sorry for introducing myself late,” and he walked up to her and held his hand up for a greeting, “My name is Kudou Shinichi... and ahh, I’m supposed to be working here,” he said in a playful tone with a smirk that showed a dimple on his left cheek.

The only thought that crossed her mind at that moment was what Hayami-san had said a few hours before. He really was a gorgeous man.

#dcmk #detective conan #ran mouri #ran mori #shinichi kudou #shinichi kudo #shinran #hello it's been a while #i hope you guys like it #i haven't written in a long time and i'm rusty #i dunno if it's good or not #but here it is #my writing #i will continue this methinks #if people are interested

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 4 years ago

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WHOMST IS THIS OC BAKER BOY ELF I SEE YOU SPEAKING ABOUT!???! DO TELL!!

~vaya

GAH YES I LOVE MY SOFT BAKER ELF BOY!!

He is one of my most favourite OC’s, because he is quite literally a cinnamon roll.

(him on the top left, not my art but my faceclaim, as found on Pinterest with no other link)

His name is “Oranor” (it means “Sunday” in Elvish—the day he was begetted on)

He’s from another one of my main stories, “Phony Matrimony”

Basically, he’s about the elven equivalent of 18 years old, and developed a strong childhood crush on Legolas after the war against Sauron, upon seeing him ride to Aragorn’s coronation atop a white steed (very swoon-worthy for a 6 year old gay-to-be)

When Legolas took over Ithilien, I headcanon he built his town in Emyn Arnen—a canon place which looks like the Shire, but more yellow.

(Emyn Arnen, Ithilien)

He’s a baker’s boy (originally born in mirkwood) who Legolas regularly orders from, and the story follows one big lie that Oranor accidentally orchestrated with his scheming older brother.

So, his parents perished in the war, so he and his brother are both taken in by their aunt, Bronwe.

His older brother, Remmirath (means “constellation”), is an...eccentric “El Dorado” type of fellow, always chasing one big adventure after another, or selling snake oil as “cures” to people—a total charlatan.

Remmi comes back one day to find his little brother heartbroken over Legolas being forced to choose a Sindar-blooded partner soon by Thranduil (Oranor himself is just a lowly silvan), and sees an opportunity to be set for life.

The brothers are both naturally brunette, but Remmi returns as a blonde, explaining that he found this “amazing flower” which can change your hair colour for a short amount of time (like polyjuice potion, but just for your hair), depending on which hued flower you pick.

After being coerced (Remmirath just wants his brother to marry a royal so he can mooch off of them both), Oranor agrees to take the flower and turn blonde, as to convince Legolas and Thranduil that he, “Alfirin” (his new alias, quite literally means “white flower”), is actually Glorfindel’s illegitimate son, making him of noble blood, and consequently allowed to marry Legolas.

Big antics ensue with a “suitor competition”, as Thranduil calls in potential elves for Legolas to court, and now Oranor, under the guise of the blonde “Alfirin” has to make Legolas fall in love with him.

However, Legolas has actually been in love with the simple baker’s boy all along, and isn’t interested in any of the suitors, until “Alfirin” starts to remind him of Oranor, who has mysteriously skipped town.

An extract of chapter 2 underneath the cut!

I’ll get around to posting the story eventually lol

Also don’t mind Legolas being a little bit scandalous, he’s doing it to piss his father off (and rightfully so, too)

🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖

Blowing a stray strand of his fringe out from his eyes, Oranor readied himself under his breath. Readjusting the crate underarm, he shifted his weight to one hip.

Muttering quietly to himself, the young elf further pushed the letter down behind the sticky buns. “You can do this, Oran. He will never know it’s you unless you reveal so to him. Don’t be a coward, for once in your life, don’t be just a little baker’s boy. All you have to do is—”

Halting his nervous tongue, Oranor heard voices on the other side of the door. They sounded heated and tense, clearly two males.

It was only with quite some strain on Oranor’s elven ears, that he recognised both Thranduil and Legolas’ voices.

The Elvenking was here, in Emyn Arnen?

Frightened out of his idea immediately, but still curious, Oranor pressed his ear flat against the wood, and listened closely.

“I ask this of you because I care about you, Legolas!”

“Ada, please! You only wish for me to court so you can have an heir begotten for you!”

“That is NOT true, and I resent your thoughts regarding so! Just study the list of names, Legolas. Some are male, too! I know you and your preferences.”

“My preference is to NOT get married right now! Especially to your presumptuous list! I’ll be sailing soon after Aragorn’s departure from our world, so what does it matter, Ada?”

“You will be lonely by yourself overseas! I want to ensure my son is spoken for before he goes.”

“Your son is speaking; you’re just not listening.”

“I could be a lot meaner, Legolas. I am allowing you to choose whom you marry freely, so long as they’re from my list. There are many names on there! You will see—love will find you swiftly.”

There was a short silence on the other side of the door, and Oranor imagined it was his usually reserved lord taking a moment to roll his eyes at his father. Once those few seconds had passed, Thranduil spoke up again—sterner this time, too.

“I am not being unreasonable, Legolas. I only ask two things of you; that you see to yourself being betrothed in the next few months, and that they be of Sindar lineage. There are many to choose from. I won’t hear another word about it—you are still my subject and heir, therefore I have the right to ask this of you.”

Oranor gulped down the nerves that rose in his throat, and made quick moves to retrieve the letter. Hastily, for he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door (most likely Legolas seeking to leave his father’s presence in a furious state), Oranor began to rip the letter in two.

He was blushing madly in humiliation. Of course he could never court Legolas. Legolas was a prince, and Sindar at that. Oranor himself was just a lowly Silvan of bakery origins. It was simply not meant to be.

Perhaps it hadn’t moved past a childish crush after all.

Feeling the tips of his ears turning red, Oranor anxiously glanced between the letter he was tearing in half, as well as the door.

He knew he could not hide both himself and the crate in time, for the angered steps were upon him. Glancing all around, Oranor spun on his heel a few times, as he hastily thought of where to flee and stash the crate.

There was a pot of fern to his right, but before he could throw the crate inside and finish tearing the letter, the door to Legolas’ large reading room opened.

A roaring fireplace soon met Oranor with its warmth, as it fought to fend off the winter snow’s cold, just outside the large windows of light running along one side of the room.

Oranor, shorter than his lord by at least a head, was soon met face-to-face with Legolas. They blinked at each other in shock for a moment, before Thranduil spoke up again.

Oranor peeked over the prince’s soldier, and saw the king rise from the long couch before the fire to chase after his son.

“Legolas, do not be such a child, it is very unbecoming of you to storm away—”

Thranduil, too, was stunned to find someone there. If he didn’t possess all the class in the world, Thranduil perhaps would have been embarrassed over someone having heard his conversation.

Formally, Oranor bowed his head to both Thranduil and Legolas, and greeted them by their respective titles. At the same time, he tucked the one half of the letter he’d managed to rip into his winter cloak’s pocket—partially grateful the rest was hidden down the side of the buns.

At least most of it was unintelligible now.

“Your majesty.” He moved his eyes away from Thranduil’s, and nervously met Legolas’. “My lord.”

“My delivery?” Legolas repeated back, offering a mustered smile to the baker’s boy. He also gave a brief nod down at the buns in gesture.

“Yes, my lord,” Oranor meekly replied, shifting the crate under his arm again, so that he brought it forwards with both hands.

“Amazing timing,” Legolas sincerely commended. He took the order and practically drooled over the scent of cinnamon and icing.

Turning on his heel, and ignoring his unimpressed father, Legolas walked over to the table set before the fire. He placed the crate down promptly, planning on curling up with a good book later on and divulging himself in the treats.

The crate was slightly messy, and icing soon covered the lord’s fingers. Extracting a low, quiet whine from the back of Oranor’s throat, he watched as Legolas licked the icing from his fingers, one by one.

Thranduil caught this, and narrowed his eyes in Oranor’s direction. The younger elf noticed the king’s scrutiny quickly, and averted his eyes from the blonde, who seemed to be cleaning each finger very slowly, almost aware of his audience.

“Legolas,” Thranduil ordered, pausing the lord’s tongue as he looked at his father innocently with blinking eyes. “Pay the baker, and then we shall discuss your betrothal plans further.”

With one finger still in his mouth, Legolas flickered his eyes on over at Oranor. The brunette could’ve sworn he spotted mischief behind the blue, and the slightest of smirks upon his lips.

Oranor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing more than anything to run upstairs in the bakery to his bedroom. It’d been a blessing since his older brother had left on another adventure, for privacy was entirely his in the shared room and bunk beds, and his alone.

“Of course, Ada,” Legolas replied, popping his finger from his mouth. “I was just about to.”

#lord of the rings #lotrdaily #lotr movies #the hobbit #elves #hobbit #mirkwood #legolas #Ithilien #lotr fanfic #lotr x oc #Legolas x oc

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songbirdsingingthings · 4 years ago

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Beachy Keen - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO KOHEI HORIKOSHI

When you first met the blonde-haired boy, you never thought that he knew what being relaxed and carefree felt like. He exuded self-confidence and was always fired-up, but you could tell that it came from a deep place of longingness, anger, and insecurity. You knew enough of Midoriya and Bakugou’s past to know that their once friendly childhood became a toxic relationship pretty quickly. You understand where both boys were coming from. Izuku, who hadn’t developed his quirk for the most part of his childhood, was always there to lend a helping hand - especially to Bakugou. Then, years later, all of a sudden Bakugou wasn’t the star of his middle school. And the explosive boy, the pride and joy of all of those around him, all of a sudden did not meet the criteria of “future number one hero”. The years of showered affections, constant praise, and “can I have your autograph for the future?”s all ceased to exist now. However, both boys, at least to you, were nice. Well, Midoriya was nice, Bakugou was just kind of civil - which was a lot to ask for from the hero-in-training.

It was currently your second year at UA and all of the students had a long weekend off due to most of the teachers attending a hero banquet. Momo, being the sweet girl she is, wanted to splurge a bit on her friends and take them all to their family’s beach house on the coast of Okinawa. Everyone was so excited, especially you. You hadn’t had the opportunity to go to the beach in ages and you couldn’t wait to feel the soft sand in between your toes, feel the salty wind on your face, and relish in the yummy seafood. The school graciously allowed your class to take one of the buses and provided you with a cleared driver.

“Alright everyone! Make sure you have your luggage and double check for sunscreen! We do not want any sunburns and make sure to bring sunglasses if you have light eyes - the sun’s rays can be very damaging!” Iida said, listing his final instructions before the students boarded the bus.

“So Y/N, who are you rooming with now that Hagakure’s sick?” Ochaco asked you sweetly, stuffing her big trunk into the bottom of the bus.

“No one, I guess. I think I still get to keep the room,” you say, sticking your suitcase neatly next to hers. You step onto the bus and find a seat that was next to Mina and across from Kirishima and Bakugou.

“Oh, Y/N! Hey!” Mina said cheerily, giving you a smile.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” You ask, setting your carry-on backpack at your feet.

“Oh nothing, just Bakugou sulking as usual!” Mina responds, nudging your elbow and motioning over to the boy across from you. You were kind of confused. No one had done anything recently to get him into this pissed off state.

“Well… what poked the beast?” You said quietly to the pink-haired girl next to you.

“Kirishima had to pull out of rooming with him because he had forgotten that he promised he would room with Sero, and now he doesn’t have a room.” Mina said, rustling around in her own bag to fish out her phone.

“Huh,” you say. “Have you asked Momo if there’s another room?” You ask, now facing the boys across from you.

“Tch, what do you think? I’m not an idiot,” he says, kind of glaring at you. You knew that there was only one solution to this predicament since you didn’t want Bakugou sleeping on the couch in one of the many living rooms. That would give anyone a bad back, and for Bakugou, an even worse temper.

“U-um, you can room with me since Hagakure can’t make it.” Bakugou looked at you incredulously and Kirishima gave him a wild grin.

“That’s a GREAT idea Y/N! Quick thinking!” Kirishima applauded.

“Have you dumbasses lost your minds?! There’s no way I’m rooming with her!” He exclaims. It kind of hurt you that you could basically see steam coming from his ears due to how mad and opposed to the proposition of the two of you sharing a room. You were about to respond but Mina beat you to the chase.

“Well Bakugou, what other option do you have? Breaking your back and not being able to enjoy anything on this vacation?” The pink-haired girl retorted, sticking up for you. You shoot her a grateful smile and turn back to Bakugou.

“I’m sure that there’ll be two separate beds and we can stagger times in the room if you want.” You assure him, trying to convince him. Bakugou leans his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs.

“Fine. But I swear to god, if there aren’t two beds I’m going to lose my mind.”

Spoiler alert, there weren’t two beds, but a single queen size bed in the newly cleaned room. You drop your bags in shock and slowly turn your head to see Bakugou’s, who was right next to yours. If Bakugou was mad then he was doing a fine job hiding it because all you could see was a blank expression.

“I-I can see if Momo has a blow-up mattress and I can sleep on that.” You say quickly, trying not to make him uncomfortable. Bakugou simply shakes his head as he rolls his suitcase onto the left side of the bed.

“Don’t be stupid. There’s enough space for each of us, and if you think I’m gonna let you suffer after… doing this then you're wrong.” He says bluntly, already starting to unpack his clothes. You should’ve made yourself look away and not be so nosy, because when you caught a glimpse of a pair of grey boxers, you could’ve sworn that your face lit up like a Christmas tree. You tugged your suitcase along with you to the right side and put away all of your clothes into the side dresser but kept out a simple orange bikini set for later that day. After the two of you finished unpacking, you made your way to the main living room to see the rest of the class lounging on the plush sofas.

“So, who’s ready to hit the beach?” Momo asked, earning cheers from the class.

Their day on the sand covered shore was nothing short of divine. You all played beach volleyball, went swimming, and even tanned for a bit until the sun started to set, and then you all headed back to the beach house. For the first night, you, Sero, Jirou, Koda, and Todoroki were in charge of dinner. You decided to do an easy pasta bar so that everyone got to pick out what they wanted. After promising to be careful, Momo allowed the class to eat while sitting on the couches and watching a movie, which ended up being Clueless, much to Kaminari and Mineta’s protests to instead watch a more mature rated film. You ended up sitting next to Bakugou, but the two of you didn’t talk much - you were much more invested in the movie playing on the flatscreen. The class decided to pause halfway through to get some dessert which were pre-packaged ice cream cones. Out of nowhere, Bakugou called your name and tossed you one. You looked up at him with a raised brow which just caused Bakugou to scoff in response.

“You like (favorite flavor) the best, so I thought you’d want it.” He says plainly, grabbing a vanilla cone for himself. You gave him a smile.

“Thank you Bakugou, that was really kind of you,” you say sweetly as the two of you head back to your spots on the couch.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“YES! FINALLY!” Mina cheered as Cher and Josh kissed on the staircase. The scene even warranted cheers from some of the boys. Josh’s gesture made you melt as you gently sank into the couch. That is, until your shoulders were met with something hard. You turned your head to see Bakugou’s arm which was there, but he retreated it immediately.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes still facing the screen.

Okay, he is acting weird. First the ice cream and now this? He wouldn’t normally apologize for something like this. You shake the thought from your mind as you help the rest of the class clean up after the movie finished and turn off the lights. You made your way back to your room, only to see Bakugou in nothing but his boxers. The grey boxers. Flustered, you turn around and cover your face with your hands.

“Sorry sorry sorry!” You squeal, voice muffled by your palms. “I’ll wait til you’re changed.”

“I am. This is what I sleep in.” He responds as you hear him lift the covers and let them fall back on his bare chest. Your body temperature must’ve risen by at least 10 degrees because you felt like you were about to faint.

“O-oh.” You force yourself to turn around and grab your pajamas, booking it to the bathroom to change in privacy. You were horrified by what was in your hands. Your pajamas were the only somewhat skimpy set you owned - tiny little shorts with lacy on the bottom and a tank top with lace for the straps. Swallowing the large lump in your throat, you forced yourself into the set and then looked at yourself in the mirror.

If Bakugou can be fine wearing just boxers around me, then I can certainly be fine with wearing a tank top and shorts around him. After giving yourself a reassuring nod, you march yourself back into your room, stuff your clothes from the day in a hamper, and get into bed next to the blonde. You weren’t facing him so you couldn’t see, but his cheeks danced with an ever so slight shade of red.

“Okay so how is this gonna work,” You ask, looking between him and the space in between the two of you.

“You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine.” He states, looking into your eyes for approval. Giving a nod, you turn so your back is facing him and turn off your light. You try to make yourself feel comfortable in the silky sheets, but your entire body is freezing. You really should’ve packed better pajamas. A few minutes pass as your body is shaking until Bakugou speaks up.

“Oi, dumbass, what’s wrong with you?” He asks. As rude as his words could’ve been interpreted, you knew they came from a place of caring, so you turned around to face him, only for your noses to be just mere inches away from the other.

“I-I’m just cold I’ll be fine.” You say meekly, trying to avert your eyes and look at anything else in the room.

“Tch, sure.” He says simply, turning away from you this time. An uncomfortable silence graces the two of you until the boy decides to break it again.

“You looked better than usual today. In the orange.” You hear him say softly. Your breath hitched as your brain comprehended the words, making your cheeks turn red. “And your taste in ice cream flavors is at least respectable.” You couldn't help it - you giggled at his words. This made Bakugou whip around to face you as your hand went up to cover your mouth. “What the hell? I’m trying to give you a compliment and be nice and shit dumbass!” He growls, giving you a glare. You manage to calm yourself down but keep a huge grin on your face.

“I know, and it’s really, really sweet but seriously? Ice cream? That’s what makes you say ‘oh yes, that’s the girl I wanna date.’”. You were giggling again, but you were shocked when Bakugou let a little smile grace his face.

“Shut up, I’m new to this whole thing.” He says, smoothly wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You don’t flinch when his hand makes contact with your skin - it’s like it was natural to you.

“Katsuki Bakugou,” you say, a twinkle in your eyes, “I like you too.”

“I-I didn’t say that!” He protests, slight panic in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to.” You finish, tucking a stray piece of hair away from his face. His response was to pull you close to him which made you panic a little this time.

“Relax,” he says, “you were cold and now you won’t be.” He says matter-of-factly. Your face settles into a dreamy smile as you lay your head against his broad chest. The beat of his heart lulled you into a peaceful sleep and Bakugou followed you shortl with a stupid smile on his face. Lets just say, that for the rest of the trip, you two didn’t stray too far from each other. And Bakugou made sure to grab you a (favorite flavor) ice cream cone before anyone else could get to it first.

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