#like serviette or something

[haliaiii]

Being an artist and having Neuvillette as your favorite character is not for the weak. Everyday is a cruel test designed by the misery hoyoverse has inflicted upon me.

[ceesimz]

Leave Before The Lights Come On

Title is a Arctic Monkeys song! This trope has been done more times than I've blinked my whole life but this is my version, enjoy :) (ps it's not long but it's a lil bit spicy and slightly ridiculous)

Award shows, charity events, dinners with red carpets. It's how things started months ago, and it's still how the story goes now.

Everyone knew what private but not secret meant nowadays, it seemed to be the go-to for basically all couples. Yet, very few understood the thrill of private and secret.

Every night spent at these things was a new performance for you both, dancing around each other with fleeting glances and lingering, teasing touches. A chance to start fresh over and over, something most couples never endeavour in anymore, but it's so addicting. A game of cat and mouse that always ends in the same way, and despite that fact, it's still intoxicating all the same.

"One beer please."

"Just a beer'll do."

You know who is next to you, there's no use guessing. It always starts like this. And when she slithers closer, elbows rested on the bar that she's slumped over compared to you standing with perfect posture and hands clasped around your own arms that crossed over your chest, the cuff links of her suit sleeves glimmer in your eye line. Her hands purposely move to fiddle with them, knowing your attention is on her hands and the rings that are scattered across her fingers. She knows you too well, knows your eyes unintentionally fall to that part of her whenever they're on display, and it causes the first simmer of something to bubble in your abdomen.

At once, the bartender places the beer bottles down in front of you both, each reaching out to grab it and turning to the other. With eyes holding the other's gaze, you and Leah take a swig of your drinks, a silent agreement that the night has begun.

To your dismay though, the scales have already tipped in Leah's favour as she gets the first laugh. She takes another sip of her beer, first moving her eyes from your face to the way your hands make the bottle look bigger than it is as you hold it with both, rather than Leah who holds it with just one. Then, she trails her eyes downwards and up again, smirking smugly at you before walking away, not without a brush against your shoulder.

You shake your head just as the host announces the event will begin in ten minutes and advises everyone to find their seats. Working with one of the most well-known magazines got you great seats surrounded by good people to network with, and though if your manager found out she'd probably retract all future invites, you couldn't care less about networking. Not when you were stuck in the most mind-numbing game of back and forth, push and pull, take and give. You could be seated beside some random Tom, Dick or Harry from a no-name town in England, or you could be sat beside someone like Serena Williams, and it'd make no difference.

Leah Williamson, your new girlfriend and possibly the most frustrating yet attractive person you'd seen, was in the room. That was enough incentive for all thoughts to fly far from your mind.

The last event you went to was probably the most notable for your relationship. It should have been a pretty important one for you to pay attention to, considering it was hosted by GQ, but how could you when a certain blonde in a scantily clad dress was begging to be your girlfriend all night? She had asked in just about every way possible, and you would have said yes from the first instance if it weren't for her attention being pulled away before you could get a word in.

From whispering it in your ear as she slipped past you during a conversation with some of GQ's most important employees, to handing you a serviette with words written on that still send shivers down your spine when you think back to them, and even meeting your eyes from across the room in your respective seats and mouthing the question 'Mine yet?' with an upward quirk of her eyebrows. If you thought that part of the night was memorable, you didn't want to talk about the visceral reaction you got thinking back to the after events that occurred in the comfort of your hotel room.

But now, here in the present, you found your seat at a table with shareholders and employees and celebrities scattered around it, distinctively uninterested in every single one of them. They try to strike up conversation and you let them, your workaholic autopilot kicking in to entertain their interest for some time. These things are always boring, that's what makes them the perfect environment for this kind of thing. Sure, some were more fun than others and both yourself and Leah had found them enjoyable in the past, but there was an added element to them now that you were quite sure you could never give up.

The host drags on far longer than needed and to you it seems they're rather self-indulgent, revelling in the fact they've got the attention of the room. They talk as if everyone is hanging on the edge of their seats, grasping onto every word they said, when in reality it couldn't be further from the truth. Or at least in your case anyway. Apparently your boredom showed a little too much, because the person beside you asked if you're alright at a lull in the first speech of the evening. You reassure them you are fine, just in need of a drink since your beer had already gone down by now, and with a thanks from yourself they turn back away from you.

Your eyes search the room then, giving in to the temptation of her, only to find blue eyes staring right back at you from a few tables over. Her hair is slicked back into a low bun and she has one too many buttons of her white shirt undone - she's hot and she knows it. You still can't figure out if that's annoying or, unfortunately, attractive. The aura that exudes off of her hits you even from across the room, a combination of confidence and a smugness that gets under your skin in the best way.

It's at this moment that a short intermission is announced, allowing for people to go to the bathroom or fetch a drink and some snacks, or whatever they care to do. All you know is that there's a certain person in the room you've got to see and you need a new beverage, so you head to the bar.

Except, you're stopped in your tracks along the way. A body blocks you from going any further as she side-steps in front of you and shoves a champagne flute into your hand. In her hand is a sweet Manhattan cocktail, one with a cherry in it that immediately catches your eye. This is your chance to equal the score.

Maintaining eye contact with her, you delicately take the cherry and, with the most innocent look you could muster from under your eyelashes, you bite it from the stem. Those same piercing blue eyes track every movement of yours, from the moment you snatched it from her drink to the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. In the low light, you manage to make out the sight of her pupils tripling in size, and just like that, the cards are in your favour again.

Before Leah can react, you're sauntering away without a word having been exchanged, and you can feel her staring incessantly at you as you drop back into the ocean of people in the room. She curses under her breath, downs her drink, and heads back to the bar.

After that interaction, you actually did fall into an invigorating conversation with the people on your table. You discredited them, in the midst of your tunnel vision you didn't realise who it was you were sat with. Turns out, they're some fascinating people who you could really do with speaking to again soon.

It's as you're talking to one of them, offering to go collect a tray of drinks for the table, that someone leans over you and refills your glass with more champagne. Initially, you guess it's just one of the event workers, but then those damned Arsenal earrings jump into view and your senses are overcome with her perfume. If she asked why there were goosebumps on your arms, you'd shrug and blame it on the chill of the hall. But, your question is, where the fuck did she get a whole bottle of champagne from?

She leaves as quickly as she arrived, leaving only a trace of her signature scent in her wind. You jut your tongue into your cheek momentarily - that was a bold move by the defender. It obviously caught the attention of the people on your table who were feeling as if they may have interrupted perhaps a private moment, but you wave them off and swiftly switch topics.

To their rather inquisitive annoyance, they demand you go get the drinks you'd offered to get since you weren't going to tell them about... whatever had just happened. So you do, you take your champagne flute with you and wander over to the bar with a focused look on your face, waiting for the right time to strike and get your payback.

That happens sooner than you could have guessed, and it forces a smirk upon your face as you approach your prey that's trapped in a seemingly boring conversation, judging by the unimpressed look on her face. She doesn't see you coming, her arms are crossed over her chest and her mouth is down-turned into a frown, another beer bottle in her hand. You see her sigh as you get closer, her head on a swivel but looking in entirely the wrong direction.

The set up is perfect, perfect for you to be able to walk past her straight to the bar with a little taunting. However, you're feeling bolder now, urged on by the alcohol in your system. Instead of a simple brush along her body, your free hand drops down to slide under her blazer and sleaze dangerously low across her toned back. It's a lingering touch, you don't pull your hand away until the very last second. You don't have to look back at her to know she's watching you go.

To both your individual irritation, the next hour or so of the night doesn't allow for anymore sly digs and heated encounters. It's so unbelievably dull, just ramble after ramble of people bragging and kissing each other's ass as they speak. It gets to around forty-five minutes of this bullshit before a spiteful plan forms in your head.

A few of the people on your table had switched seats, ensuring they get the most out of the night. You didn't care for it all, zoning out countless times so far, but when the guy beside you turns to you with a blissfully oblivious smile on his face, you know what you have to do.

The next however long, you converse with this guy more and indulge him in pointless topics that really are so fucking stale and tedious, but you have to play the long game here. And before you'd even done anything half as interesting yet, there's already daggers being forced into the side of your face.

It all comes to a head when you laugh and swat his shoulder in an exaggerated manner, giggling like a school girl at... honestly, you couldn't even remember. But he lavished in your amusement, shuffling his chair ever so slightly closer and throwing an arm around the back of your chair. He brushes his hair back with his other hand, exposing his less than favourable hairline, and really you have to hold back a gag at the fact you're doing this.

At that point, you decide you have to get away from him and his dreary, lifeless, and nonexistent charisma. So you throw one last look at Leah's direction, stifling a grin at her flared nostrils and completely unimpressed demeanour, before excusing yourself from your conversation and sliding out from your seat. Whether Leah had the guts to follow you or not, you weren't sure, but you were just glad you were away from that guy.

Unbeknownst to you, Leah had suddenly gotten up from her chair the second she saw you rise, and she was marching through the room to pace after you. The game was entirely forgotten for her at this point, the image of you with him tattooed on her eyelids. Immaturely, she had to stop herself from spitting at him as she walked past, settling for a warning glare instead.

You have all of two seconds to yourself in the bathroom, checking yourself out in the mirror, before the door slams against the wall with a resounding thud. A gloating smirk is on your face from the moment she walks in, and you stare at her for a moment then turn back to the mirror, pretending to fix your lipstick.

"Really?" Leah shrugged her shoulders more aggressively than you had ever seen anyone before, holding her hands out in an outraged gesture. "You really did that?"

"S'just the game, Leah. You know that." You replied simply, resisting the urge to meet her stare.

It's silent between you both then, possibly the most charged silence you've ever found yourself in. Leah takes a few mindless steps around the room without a particular direction, eyes flicking back to you every second. At once, she stops, just off to your side, and slips her hands into the pockets of her black slacks, kissing her teeth and raising her eyebrows at you. The moment she goes to say something, there's voices coming from the corridor leading to the bathroom. You turn to look at her then, daring her to act first.

She does.

She takes full advantage of the moment, gripping your upper arm tightly and tugging you into one of the cubicles. You gasp quietly in shock, caught off-guard by her actions, and you grumble unintelligibly at the triumphant grin on her face. Her hands are tight on your hips, meanwhile yours are crossed over your chest in disapproval.

"Flirting with a guy? That's a new low." Leah taunted, each stroke of her thumb unintentionally raising the fabric of your black dress.

"Says the one that's so riled up, she dragged me into a toilet cubicle." You hit back, refusing to give in. Leah just shrugs, purses her lips, and takes a quick glance down to your now exposed thigh before looking back at you.

"I'm not riled up. You're the one getting antsy here, you know I'm winning and that's why you had to start feeling up that scraggly arsehole out there. Think again, sweetheart." Fuck, she might have gotten you there.

"Maybe I found him attractive." It's a weak defence, even you know that. Leah knew it too, if the slight raise of one eyebrow was anything to go by.

"Okay. One, you're in a relationship. Two, you're in a lesbian relationship. Three, you hear that?" She looks around in feigned confusion, cupping her hand around her ear briefly before turning back to you in what looks like a stupid, cartoon light bulb moment. "Oh yeah, you're pretty fucking gay!"

You roll your eyes and huff, shaking your head at her idiocy and turning your attention to the wall behind her.

"What was his name? Tell me about him, if he was attractive enough to feel the need to flirt with him." She was picking and choosing every teasing remark from the file in her mind to get under your skin.

"...his name was Dirk." The bark of laughter she lets out at that makes you flinch a little. Maybe his name was a little amusing, but right now to you there wasn't a single funny thing on earth.

"Dirk? Really? Did he come with a Swiss army knife and a granola bar in his pocket? Did he have a flannel shirt under his knit sweater? And a tent in his car, ready for a hike through the Grand Canyon?"

As it turns out, your last thought was a little far off.

The giggle bubbles out of you before you can think to stop it, and you lightly push Leah's face away from you with a hand to her cheek. She turns back to you with a grin, knowing she had won this evening. To be fair, she has won nearly every evening so far. She was on a winning streak you really had no plans of stopping. Not when it got you to this moment here, at the end of it.

"Out of all the guys in the room, I chose a pretty shit one." You surrendered in a murmur, Leah nodding.

"It's alright, look who you get to go home with."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper as she stepped further into your space, her nose nudging against your jaw where her mouth rested just above your pulse point. The shivers you got without even barely being touched were enough of a reaction for her. But, she was greedy when it came to you.

One arm slipped around your waist, holding you to her tightly as her large hand splayed out across your lower back. Her head dipped further down, her lips moving to press open-mouthed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

"Let's get out of here. I'm done now." She murmured into your skin, turning her face more toward your neck and leaving softer, slower pecks there.

"Don't you wanna get your payback? Otherwise you're giving up the win. I was more than ready to get back out there, the night isn't over." You were lying, you were more than ready to get the hell out of here, but you also weren't going to pass up on the chance to tease her just once more.

"I'll get my payback when we get to the hotel."

That's all she needed to say.

These nights had a certain characteristic to them, and that was possibly the most anticipated time of the evening. As the hosts draw out the end of the event, thanking people you've never heard of and have a large lack of care for, you and Leah were already gone.

Normally, it was a fierce wait, hanging on to the other's every move, everything else in the room simply just background noise, as you wait for who blinks first. Who gives in to the tension and ends the night before the lights come up, before the eyes of the room see you chase one another to the exit.

Tonight though, neither of you have the patience.

Regardless of the time you leave, it's the same situation every time for your organised driver; he drops you off and, under strict instruction by his management, waits for you to come back so he can drive you to the hotel or wherever you want to go. Except, you never come, he doesn't see you for the rest of the night once you enter the building. He's used to it by now, a little in love with it since he's getting paid for nothing, he just has to wait for your inevitable apology text telling him you won't be needing a ride home.

Tonight is just like the others - Leah ushers you into the back of an Uber with a hand on your waist, sliding in beside you and slamming the door shut with a smirk on her face after she gives one last glance around. There's never anyone watching, nobody knows where to look and nobody probably even cares, but she does it anyway. She could imagine the articles that might get written about her if the pair of you were ever spotted, and that fuels her even more. Maybe that's the alcohol in her system, but the thoughts run through her veins and she can't help but turn to you, grab your face, and dive into a kiss that's desperate and hot, and the tension of the night reaches its peak.

The cab driver just shakes his head, pulling away from the curb as the pair of you stay stuck in your own world. It's a few minutes later when you both pull away, cheeks flushed red and lips a tad swollen as you put your belts on. Straight away, Leah's hand falls to your lap and you hold it tightly with both of your own, looking up at her with a certain feeling swirling through your eyes that drives her crazy. Her hand moves, then, to the back of your neck as she pushes you towards her for another urgent kiss.

"You're lucky I'm not really the jealous type. I could have done a lot worse in there when you started flirting with Dirk." She comments breathlessly after, a displeased quirk to her mouth that hints she is in fact somewhat jealous.

"I'll make sure to do a better job next time then." You tell her in a feigned nonchalant way.

Leah stared at you then, her hand clutching the back of your neck as she gave you a look that warned you to not even think about such things. To be honest, you couldn't. You were hers just as much as she was yours. There was no other way to live than like that.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

midnight sun by merils

Who would win: four men with guns who just happened to get Red Robin to walk into a trap, or one royally-pissed Kryptonian juggernaut?

Yeah, it's not even a contest.

reasons are better than rules by destiny919

"No one will actually explain Father's rules to me," Damian blurts out. "They tell me we don't kill, and killing is wrong, and Father would never do it, but no one ever actually says why! As if repeating the rule is the same as explaining it! As if I am supposed to just know, when I do not!"

Drake is quiet, eyes on something in the distance that Damian cannot see. "Damian, may I tell you a secret?"

Marvel

Thirty Hours by polaroid15

The sun sets. Peter breaks three toes and hits his head hard against concrete. There’s a steadily bleeding wound in his side that he’s staunched with his webbing and tries not to acknowledge it when it burns. He can still walk in a straight line, which is good. He’s starving and tired and cold. It’s been fifteen hours.

Or, Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Clone Wars

An Hourglass In Hand by ecarian

“I thought daemons didn’t eat,” Rex noted once, during a celebration feast, as he and Cody watched Boga devour her meal with some fascination. Varactyl she may be, but she was a tiny one. There wasn't much interior space for the truly momentous amount of meat she was ripping into.

Boga daintily rubbed her beak against a folded serviette that looked kind of like a bird, and said, prim, “I can do anything a human can do.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan said mildly, from where he’d been tapping at a datapad. “Shall I save you a portion of these reports then?”

Set My Mind at Ease by Eightbitpale

Marshal Commander Cody - clone commanding officer of the 7th Sky Corps, second in command of the 212th attack battalion and, currently, the proud caretaker of one still-warm lightsaber - was having a very long day.

Actually, fuck that. It had been more than a long day. Long days were Cody’s bread and butter, practically his comfort zone. Marshall Commander Cody ate stim shots for breakfast and every shiny this side of Coruscant knew it. Long days were his bitch.

No, this had been more than a long day. Today had been a bad day.

———

The one where Cody and his general try their best to tell each other that they care. At least they’re trying.

Your Smile In Stone by ecarian

Wooley: can we arrest people for yelling this early?

There were two figures standing at the foot of General Kenobi's statue with their backs to Wooley, an adult with a hood, and a child with light hair. The child was pointing at a puddle of Temple tookas who were curled up in General Kenobi’s lap, lounging in the stone folds of his robes, the bend of his knee.

Wooley: belay that. Child nuisance.

The Goblin Emperor

Sweet Hope by baladric

Maia Drazhar arranges a festival, meets his gay aunt, falls in love with his secretary, and misses his mom through it all.

"In the way of true stories, there was no discernible beginning. Perhaps it had begun that first day, in the shabby receiving room at Edonomee; in the cockpit of the Radiance of Cairado; at the mooring mast of the Untheileneise Court, with that first smile.

The pith of the matter was that Maia Drazhar was wildly, tremulously in love, and love had made fools of much wiser men than he."

In All Its Forms by Anonymous

Before his father ruined everything, Nurevis Chavar only thought to introduce the new emperor to all the most beautiful things life could offer.

When he found himself free from relegation again after his father's death, would the emperor whose friendship he had sought so long ago wish his presence at court? And, if he could return to court, would his emperor wish his friendship again?

[tasteofthedivine93]

The Beauty of the Beast - Messmer x F!Reader - Elden Ring Fic - Part 6

TasteOfTheDivine // Masterlist

Ao3:archiveofourown.org/works/57094387/chapters/145882585 Fic Rating: Explicit🌶️🌶️ (Chapter: Teen) Category: F/M Fandom: Elden Ring // Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erd Tree Relationships: Messmer x F!Reader // Messmer the Impaler x F!Reader Warnings: None Words: 2286 

MASTERLIST // <- Part 5 // Part 7 ->

Author note: This is an angst chapter, you are warned. I didn't expect it to go this way but I'm in a mood so here we are. Also some mention of adult themes, so will see where it goes.👀👀

I'm not the best writer but its fun and still a few more ideas in this noggin of mine.

The next morning you awake to birdsong outside the window, a small beam of the rising sun hits your weary and tired eyes, blinding you. You rise slowly and realise your back in your bed, your brain slowly waking up, you remember Messmer carrying you from the library. You recall how gentle he was with you, how warm he felt and made you feel safe. How contrast he’s become since your first encounter. You raise your hand and touch your cheek, ghosting over his touch from the night before. 

You wish you knew more about him and his past, you wish to understand him better. 

You slowly rise from the plush soft bed and head over to the armoire, you scan over the rack of dresses again, eyeing the colours and feeling the fabric between your fingers. You desire something comfortable as you hope to go back to the library again and read. In the back of your mind you wish to ask Messmer to join you, if he wants to. You pull out a dark emerald green linen dress, another perfect fit as if by magic.

You open the bedchamber door to be hit with the smell of cooking, your stomach growls remembering you didn’t eat last night. Another pang of guilt hits your throat as you have yet to accept Messmer's invitation to be his dinner guest. You follow the delicious scent downstairs and try to recall how to reach the dining room, each hallway looks identical.

Finally you reach the room, the door wide open and you see Messmer sitting at the head of the table. A small platter of food on silver plates and cloches sparkle under the morning sun that penetrates the room. 

You tip-toe into the room and stand behind Messmer.

“Thank you for taking me to bed last night.”

Messmer chokes on his rada-fruit juice, droplets spurt into the air. The snakes rise to attention around him and look at you in equal shock. You stand back as he abruptly stands, towering over you, he turns sharply and clears his throat. 

“Good morrow,” He greets you, you watch as his one golden eye scans you up and down and you see his ashen cheeks turn pink with blush. His right hand tenses and flexes, as if he’s stopping himself from reaching out to you. He clears his throat again. “How did thee knoweth twas me?” He asks through a weak laugh. 

You smile wide at him looking down and returning the laugh. “Who else would it be?” You walk around him to the chair next to his, you sit down and place the maroon serviette on your lap and look up at him innocently. 

Messmer feels his heart beating harder and faster in his chest, he’s seen countless battles, war, been in the most intense situations and been able to remain calm, but you, you make him feel extremely nervous. He looks you up and down, how gracefully you seat yourself as if you’ve been living here for centuries, how the emerald green dress hugs your curves perfectly, you add light to his sombre abode that he’s never witnessed before. You shine brighter than the grace of gold itself. 

Messmer closes his eyes for a moment to bask in his thoughts, he lets his shoulders drop and rolls his head to the side as he soaks in your radiance. 

He suddenly feels your soft skin in the back of his mind like a phantom, as he opens his eyes to see Fidi and Ophis nuzzling up to you, you pet the snake and say good morning to both of them. You gently giggle as their tongue tickles you and you scratch them under their chins. He feels something sweet on the back of his tongue, his neck tickles and spine quivers.

For a moment the shuddering pace of his heart stops, the air around him turns thick and he can’t breathe. He grasps the back of his chair and squeezes so tight the wood splinters in his palm. 

The snapping sound makes you jump in your seat, even Ophis and Fidi seem shocked at his spontaneous action. You feel the temperature in the room rise once more, something you’ve become familiar with and accustomed too already. You stay in your seat, not moving an inch. 

Messmer breaths heavy, slowly releasing his grasp on the broken chair. 

“I sincerely apologise, I…” he trails off. You place your serviette back on the plate and step over to him, without hesitation you take his large right hand in yours and inspect his palm. Its black in the centre, charged from years and years of fire power. You’re shocked you never noticed it before. You gently trace your fingertip over the mark. Luckily there was no damage to his ashen skin. You feel him shake under your touch. 

“It’s okay, are you okay?” Looking upwards you see his flame red hair fall in front of his face shielding his one good eye from view. He turns away from you out of shame and snatches his hand from yours.

“I am well, leave me. You should not touch these wretched hands.” You furrow your brows at him, curious as to what he means. 

“Forgive me…” he stands under the portrait of his mother, you can hear him breathing through his gritted teeth. Ophis and Fidi slither over the man's shoulders, around his arms and legs as if to ground him. You stand back and watch, feeling a thin sheen of sweat on your brow from the increased temperature in the room. 

You let him stand there for a moment, you toy with the fabric of your dress nervously.

“My lord?” You stutter, nervous not to spook him. You step a little closer, but Fidi turns and hisses at you, the first time since your arrival. You stop in your tracks and shield yourself with your arm. You start to feel tears in your eyes and your throat becomes tight.

“Messmer?” You speak loudly, causing him to raise his head and turn to you. 

“Thee shouldst not beest be here” He hisses at you, a tear falls down your cheek. Not again, you think. You want to run, run away and never return but your find, this time, your feet remain planted solidly on the wooden floor. 

You quickly wipe away the tear stain on your cheek. “No.” you grunt. 

Sharply he looks at you over his shoulder. “Nay?” He repeats back at you, you see small licks of flames around his form, Ophis and Fidi’s eyes narrow slits and their scales shimmer. You frown at him. “I'm not going anywhere, Messmer.” You raise your voice at him slightly despite the tightness in your throat. 

Finally he turns back to face you, hands fists at his sides and glowing red with fire. 

“THAT’S LORD MESSMER TO THEE.” He hisses, the glow in his eye now dull, the veins under his skin once again glowing red and orange. “Or doth thee wish to calleth me by what they hath called me during the war?” He scowls at you. You don’t reply, just press your lips into a line.

“Messmer. The. Impaler” he hisses each word, emphasising as he goes. 

You swallow hard at hearing his title, your stomach sinks and you feel your skin turn pale. You heard him mention a crusade yesterday, but you weren’t entirely sure what he meant. You’re shocked to hear him be called something so vile and cruel. The castle houses no weapons, no spears, no swords even for decoration. You don’t understand how he came to have such a name.

He towers over you, hair covering his sharp features once again, but you don’t turn away. You stare into his full golden eye and see a small flicker of light shine through the slit. You try to stand your ground but you feel your breathing labour, sweat drips down your back and you finally realise you’re suffocating in the heat of the room. 

You wobble on your feet, eyes fluttering close and you begin to fall. 

Messmer snaps out of his rage-induced trance seeing you faint. Quickly he bends down and grabs you, cradling your mortal fragile body once again. He starts to panic, looking around at what he can do to help. He feels a tug behind him as Fidi gestures to the window and the snow outside. 

Scooping you up against his chest, he rambles to the window and smashes the glass with his foot, shards fly in all directions but he ignores them. A blast of cold air whooshes into the room, sucking out the hot air. A cloud of snow dots the floor below like stars in the night sky. He kneels down and positions you near the window, hoping the cold air will cool you down. Your cheeks and forehead are red and sticky from sweat.  

His snake companions hover above his head looking down at you, sharing the same concern and their master. He shuffles closer to the window, picking up a handful of crisp cold snow and places the crystals against your cheeks. Your eyes flutter at the temperature change. You raise your hand and cover his resting on your cheek, you press into his large palm as you feel the snow drip and melt between his fingers and roll down your neck.

“What happened?” You mutter coming out of your haze. Messmer lets out a sigh of relief. 

“I madeth the room too hot and thee fainted.” He tightens his grip on you slightly, pulling you closer to him. “I beg thy forgiveness.” 

You let out a puff of air from your nose. “It’s okay.” You squeeze around his fingers, confirming you’re okay. 

Messmer tenses his jaw, “It’s not.” he signs and bows his head, his soft vibrant hair tickling your face. You feel a smoothness run along your legs as Ophis and Fidi join in cradling you. “I feeleth I should bid thee about who I am, mine own past.” 

You shake your head at him, raising your other hand to his face, you run your palm along his cheekbone close to his closed eye. The pair of you gaze deeply at each other, cupping each other's faces in a tender embrace. 

“You don’t need to tell me anything, that’s not who you are anymore.” You bite your lip. “Is it?” you sound unsure. 

Messmer shakes his head; “No, tis not, not since the war ended.” You feel him lean into your touch, you continue to caress his cheek and his body shivers. 

‘He said No not Nay," you think to yourself. 

“Then that’s all that matters to me.” You smile gently, “You can tell me another time.” 

He nods and stands up, still cradling you as if you could break at any moment. He takes you over to your chair and places you down onto the soft seat. He passes you a cup of something, you drink down the liquid quickly, slipping some over the seal of your lips. Messmer watches the drip glide over your skin and down your throat. He licks his own lips in response but sharply stands away from you. 

“How doth thee feel?” He asks.

You nod, rolling the cup in your hands; “Much better, thank you.” You smile, “Again.” You place the cup onto the table with a light thud. “You do so much for me, you’ve rescued me, shown me the impressive library, let me wear such beautiful clothes, care for me…” you play with a loose strand of hair between your fingers anxiously at your confession. “I have done nothing for you, except got you hurt and bandaged you up.” 

Messmer looks down at his arm and cradles the bandage, letting his fingers run over the rough fabric. He shakes his head at you, gently he reaches out and tucks the loose strand you were playing with back behind your ear, letting his fingers glide down your jaw and he tenderly cups your chin. 

Your lips part slightly as his golden eye shimmers like never before, you feel hypnotised by it slightly. His beautiful lips curve into a smirk.

“Thee has’t done so much, thee don’t even know.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. The two of you pause for a moment and just stare at each other. Your stomach blooms with a warmth you’ve never felt before and you feel a small wetness pool between your legs. You close your lips and swallow, while Messmer drops his hold on you.

“Eat, prithee. I hast something I need to taketh care of.” He nods at you and before you can reply he’s already leaving the room. You feel your spine shiver, but unsure if it was from Messmer or the cold draft still blowing through the window. You press your thighs together and let out a small moan.

You blink a few times, trying to comprehend  your emotions. You reach over the table and pick up a few Rowa fruit berries and roll them in your palm. You sink in your seat and place one into your mouth, letting the juice pop on your tongue while your cheeks blush once more at the thought of your savour.  

***

Messmer leaves you to settle down in the dining room, he hates leaving you but after feeling your soft skin and warmth, he had to leave. As soon as he exits the room, he leans against a side table and palms his stiffened member under his tunic. He lets out a whimper at the pressure, his mind thinking only of you. 

He brings his lower lip between his teeth to stifle his noises. 

Embarrassed, he looks up and sees his pets looking away at the ceiling. He lets out a frustrated growl deep in his chest and starts to march heavily down the hallway.

[fayes-fics]

Moments: Like Father, Like Son

Moments Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader

Summary: One-shot set in the Moments universe. Thomas inherits a rather embarrassing trait from his father...

Artwork credit: @margowritesthings 

Warnings: none... this is pure fluff and humour.

Word Count: 1.8k

Author's Note: It's been AGES since I did anything in the Moments verse. This idea has been kicking around in my drafts for six months, maybe more. Thanks to @chaoticcalzoneranchsports, who came up with this idea with me all that time ago. This is very silly, light-hearted family nonsense. Enjoy! <3

“What the…?”  Benedict’s voice fades out, standing by the window.

“What is it, my love?” you ask mildly, taking a bite of toast as you read the newspaper.

“Thomas… he is running full pelt down the lawn… absolutely nude,” he answers, perplexed, “.... and there goes Abigail…” he adds, referring to your nanny, “she can barely keep up, poor thing.”

Wiping the toast crumbs from your fingers onto a serviette, you get up, walk over to join your husband at the window, and have to stifle your giggle behind the back of your hand as you observe the tableau before you.

Out in the early morning sun is your youngest child, now four, running circles around his nanny, giggling loudly. As naked as the day he was born.

“You know you could go help her. Round up your son?” you twist your mouth into a bemused pout and look up at him, bumping him gently with your shoulder.

“She seems to have it in hand,” he responds as you both watch her change direction and fool Thomas, catching him and picking him up to bring him back indoors. “I do hope this doesn't become a habit,” Benedict comments airily as you retake your seats at the breakfast table.

“What makes you think it would?” you frown.

“No reason…” he responds, a little too hasty. 

Something in his tone makes you think there may be more to that story.

_____

“Mummy, Thomas has taken all his clothes off again.”

“Amelia, what are you talking about? And what do you mean by ‘again’?” you question your daughter as she throws herself into the chair next to yours on the terrace outside your home.

“He is always doing it, Mummy. Last week he lost a game of tag and took off his clothes in protest. Nanny Abigail had to give him bonbons to put them on again before you and Daddy got back from your walk,” she breezes, pushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Hmm, I never heard about that.”

“Well, now he’s done it again,” Amelia rolls her eyes.

“Where is he?” you ask.

“He's down by the fish pond. He's upset about something,” she shrugs.

“And his answer was to take his clothes off?” you check.

“Apparently,” she says dryly, with an almost world-weary expression of someone who has seen such a thing far too many times.

“Let's go find out what is going on, shall we?” you offer your hand to your daughter and round the garden to the pond where sure enough, your son is naked—and looks absolutely furious.

“Thomas,” you call gently, “what on earth is the matter, my love? And why are you without your clothes?”

“Frogs.” He opines—as if that one word explains everything.

“Explain to me, please, and put your clothes back on.”

“Do not want to,” he pouts.

“That was not a suggestion, Thomas,” you warn firmly and raise an eyebrow. All your children know better than to argue when you use that tone. 

Thomas stomps back to the pile of clothes and starts to redress with tantrum-like dramatic flair, and again, you have to stifle your giggles about his antics behind your hand.

“Now come here, my love,” you kneel now he is back in his shirt and trousers, holding your hands out wide for a hug, “and tell me what the problem is.”

“The tadpoles are not frogs yet, and Daddy said they would be soon. I want to see frogs Mummy,” he huffs into your shoulder as he accepts your embrace.

“Of course, Thomas. As soon as they are frogs, Daddy will show you. But why did you take off your clothes?”

He just shrugs as if even he doesn’t know why.

“Next time, rather than take off your clothes, please find me or Daddy, and we can talk about whatever is upsetting you,” you soothe.

“Alright,” he grumbles mutely.

_____

Later that night, as you lie in bed, you raise it with your husband.

“Thomas took off his clothes again,” you comment casually.

“Why?” Benedict puts down his book and frowns deeply as if he appears very troubled by the idea.

“He was upset about the tadpoles not being frogs,” you sigh, nonplussed.

“And his answer was to remove his clothes?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell him?”

“To come and speak to you or me before taking off his clothes next time.”

“Let's hope that works,” Benedict hums thoughtfully. Again you get the sneaking suspicion there is something he is not telling you.

_____

You are hosting a party the following week with all the Bridgerton clan visiting your cottage when it happens again. The dinner table chat is lively and convivial as dessert is served. Suddenly the door swings open, and in runs your youngest son.

“Mummy, where is MooMoo?” Thomas calls loudly, asking about his favourite cow toy.

Everyone stops talking, their attention drawn to your child, completely unphased by his audience as he stands there. Once again, completely naked. 

Hyacinth snorts so loudly that apple juice shoots out of her nose just as Benedict slumps his head into his hands, mortified. As you go to stand and move him, Abigail bursts through the doorway, out of breath.

“My sincerest apologies, my lady,” she puffs, “he managed to unlock the nursery door somehow,” she adds very contritely, curtseying and picking Thomas up, bundling him out of the room before you can reply.

“Apologies for the interruption, everyone,” you call a vaguely embarrassed smile painted on your face as you gesture for them to continue talking as they were before. 

Conversation restarts, but as you take your seat at the far end from Benedict, you notice that Violet sitting next to you is trying valiantly but failing to control a bout of silent giggles. When she sees you looking at her, she attempts to school her expression and calm herself to speak.

“Oh my. I was wondering if this would ever come to haunt my darling son,” she stutters between laughs.

“What do you mean?” You ask, genuinely baffled.

She clutches her sides and dabs her eye. “Your husband was quite the nudist himself as a child,” she says drolly. “He would embarrass Edmund and me by bursting into soirées completely without his clothes. And he was so fast no one could ever catch him, the little scamp.”

Your eyes drift to Benedict at the head of the table, who looks deep in conversation with his eldest brothers, almost like he knows what his mother is saying and wants to look very much otherwise occupied to avoid the topic.

“I KNEW IT!” you exclaim quietly. “He keeps saying things like ‘Oh, I hope this doesn’t become a habit’... I just knew there was something he was not telling me,” you shake your head as Violet continues giggling in sympathy. “How on earth did you get him to stop?!” You quiz with a touch of desperation.

“He grew out of it,” she shrugs, reaching over to pat your hand, “I'm certain Thomas will too.”

“And in the meantime, I just need to accept this will happen?!” you decry.

“Or a stronger lock on the nursery door,” Violet suggests, giggling louder.

Just then, Benedict glances down the length of the table to you; you shoot him a look of daggers that makes his brow knit in confusion.

_____

“What was that look for?” Benedict asks as you guide your guests into the parlour after dinner.

“Thomas. It's all your fault, this nudity thing,” you scowl.

He has the decency to look contrite. “Mother said something?” he guesses, looking sheepish, folding his lips under his teeth and averting his eyes. 

“Yes, she did,” you volley, “why did you not inform me?”

“I did not think such things would be inherited!” he argues defensively.

“Well, I need you to think back. What would have stopped you from doing this when you were a child? Your mother seems to be under the impression nothing can be done. That we should merely wait for him to grow out of such behaviour….”

“I… was three… I honestly cannot recall,” he confesses.

You sigh. “Fine, but next time this happens? It is all upon you, husband.” You raise an eyebrow indicating the finality of your opinion on this topic.

“Understood.” he nods, chastened.

_____

The following day you are all gathered around the lake, having a relaxed afternoon watching the children all playing together spiritedly - Simon and Daphne’s, Kate and Anthony's, as well as your own.

Isobel and Amelia tag out of the games and come to sit with you under a parasol with Violet.

“Hello, darlings,” you kiss them both on the head as they snuggle against you, panting a little from their gameplaying, reaching gratefully for the glasses of water laid out for them on the little table behind.

“Mummy,” Amelia begins, “why did Daddy just give Thomas bonbons and tell him he can have more if he keeps his clothes on?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can already see Violet shaking with laughter behind the back of her hand.

“He did what?!” you cannot prevent your outburst.

“It is bribery, Amelia,” Isobel pipes up, ever your family’s straight-talking lawyer.

“If I take off my clothes, do I get more bonbons, Mummy?” she asks, twisting to look up at you with fluttering eyelids.

“Most certainly not!” you scoff. “Girls, please remain with your grandmother here,” you add, brushing your dress and going to stand up.

“BENEDICT BRIDGERTON!!!” you yell sternly, striding purposefully towards him, your irritation barely contained. 

As you walk through the assembled family, they all move aside, smirking, already knowing what is about to happen. If there is one thing the Brigerton men are known for, it's their spirited wives.

“Now, ladies,” Violet leans in to whisper with her granddaughters, “pay great heed to your mother. If there is one thing that a man must know, it's when he has done something unacceptable to his wife.”

“Daddy said he likes it when Mummy tells him off,” Amelia answers, between gulps of water, watching you remonstrate with Benedict as he looks suitably chastised.

“When did he say that?” Violet inquiries intrigued.

“I heard him say it once when they were in bed and wrestling noisily,” Amelia sighs, matter-of-fact.

Violet turns bright red and almost chokes on her tea.

“I had left the nursery to ask for biscuits when Nanny Abigail was sleeping, but they didn't hear me, so I just went and got some from the kitchen myself,” Amelia continues, finishing her story with a shrug.

“The lock on the nursery is broken, by the way, grandmama,” Isobel adds, as if sensing this is the right time to announce such a thing.

Just then, Thomas wanders over, fully clothed for once. “Grandmama, more bonbons, please?” he grins toothily, nodding to the glass jar next to her, his eyes so hopeful.

Some family moments are very entertaining indeed.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover@corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit

[pinkydevil16]

I would love a scenario where the Reader constantly flirts and flashes Tyler her boobs/bra/panties by wearing super short skirts and bending over or pressing her heavily exposed chest against him while hes at work

Altering this slightly to Perv! Tyler

Y/n walked into Weathervane in her usual uniform, beige polo and black pleated skirt that ended at the middle of her thighs with her red apron tucked in her arm as she walked past Tyler tapping his arm as he served a customer, Tyler smiling at her as she walked past trying not to concentrate on the fact she wasn't wearing tights. The cold weather had started ease up so Y/n had decided she could ditch her regular tights and go bare legged since the coffee shop got pretty hot anyway, coming out the back room she walked around to Tyler before spinning around with a smile facing the back of her apron to him as she held her hair out the way.

"Tie me up?" Tyler handed the customer their drink before nodding, he did this every shift with Y/n and wondered if she got any of the other servers to do it but whenever he's tried to ask Y/n would say he was being silly, his hands smoothed around her waist pulling on the apron so it fit snugly how she liked folding it a bit so it laid only an inch under her skirt. Y/n loved this part of her day, Tyler's warm hands on her and the way he pressed into her back as he tied a pretty bow, Tyler smoothing down her apron feeling her hips under his hands as he looked at her exposed legs. He'd gotten used to Y/n wearing her tiny skirt with those thin tights, they hadn't been so busy this winter so he's gotten to stare at her more than normal, he loved whenever she wore the skirt since she seemed to always wear a thong underneath and the way she's bend over to clean things, bend down to change the filters he loved working with her. Y/n turned around smiling at Tyler before grabbing a cloth and moving to start cleaning the tables since everyone had gotten their morning coffee and ran off to work as normal, it wouldn't get busy for another hour once the mum's dropped their kids off at school and met to talk loudly about their affairs and sex life like they weren't sat in a coffee shop with two 20 years olds behind the counter. Tyler leaned on the counter watching Y/n as she wiped down a table, bending over slightly as her skirt rose up Tyler's jaw almost hitting the floor as he realised she was still wearing those tiny thongs, he'd expected some shorts or something underneath that skirt but he was mesmerised as he watched her bend further cleaning the corner. Tyler covered his mouth with his hand as he watched the tiny black thong press against her, he could practically see everything he wanted, with the tights there was always that hint of a thong whereas now he was sure if she bent over anymore it would slip and he'd be able to see everything. Y/n smoothed down her skirt as she stood back up, a habit she'd always down staring at the table for a moment before placing the serviettes, sugar and stirrers back onto the table, she knew her skirt was a little short but had gotten used to wearing tights and hadn't thought much about it when she dressed this morning. She'd asked Tyler before if the skirt was appropriate and he'd told her it was fine, she was happy because she got nice tips and Tyler seemed to like her skirt so she never saw an issue. She only picked up shifts when Tyler worked since he'd stuck up for her once when a customer got handsy and his dad had put the man in jail for a night after Tyler called him. "Hey Y/n come here a sec." Y/n turned around smiling at Tyler as she walked around the register towards him before stopping with a small bounce, Tyler repressing a groan as her chest bounced. He thought to himself either she was the master of innocence or she was an amazing actress because somehow she always managed to make him want to bend her over the counter. Moving his hands to her hips he pulled her closer with a soft smile Y/n smiling back as he faced her towards the counter leaning on her shoulder and caging her against it, Y/n letting him since she thought it was sweet and he just wanted a cuddle, Tyler always thought he was lucky with how much he got away with. Leaning against her he inhaled smelling her perfume as she turned her head letting him place his head in the crook of her neck like usual, one of his hands dropping to just below her skirt where he usually rubbed his hand up and down her tights but now he only felt skin and Y/n let out a small gasp at the contact.

"Where are your tights?" Tyler whispered, Y/n swallowing as she went to answer Tyler placing his other hand on her upper thigh his thumbs sitting below her butt grazing her underwear as he held her thighs tightly pulling them apart gently and letting go watching how they jiggled back. Y/n held onto the counter as Tyler looked down running two fingers between her legs feeling along the lace as her breath hitched, his other hand pushing her butt cheek so he could see better as he kept moving his fingers along the lace waiting for Y/n to answer.

"It's not as cold out." She breathed out, staring at the door as she worried about a customer coming in, Tyler smiling sweetly at her as he kissed her neck pushing her underwear to the side and pushing his fingers into her folds continuing his previous actions barely grazing her clit as she clenched her thighs together.

"Did you not think this was inappropriate Y/n? What would you do if someone tried to take advantage of you, bending over in this tiny skirt and thong begging for someone to press you down and fuck you." Y/n gulped loudly her hands gripping the counter tightly as she tried to talk Tyler pushing two fingers into her as she squeaked, his hand coming to hold her hips as he rolled her hips into his hand as his thumb circled her clit Y/n biting her lip to hold in a moan.

"I thought you liked my skirt." Y/n whispered, she didn't want to admit she had been bending over more whenever it was just them she enjoyed how he'd flush red but she always thought he was more sweet and innocent rather than fingering her at work type of guy. Tyler quickened his fingers Y/n moaning as she bent forward her skirt riding up higher so he could see his fingers fuck in and out of her.

"I do, i don't like you showing off my pretty little pussy to every guy who walks in here so they can cum in their pants and leave you $5." Y/n whimpered as he spanked her, her body jolting as he rolled her hips back into his hand Tyler feeling her tighten around his fingers as she screwed her eyes shut ready to cum, pulling his fingers out quickly making her whine as she whipped to look at him. Tyler cleaning his fingers before sweetly at her, nodding his head as the mum's all began flooding in, Y/n moving to go to the staff room but Tyler raised an eyebrow at her.

"We have the morning rush Y/n, take orders." Y/n nodded trying to calm her blush very aware that her underwear didn't cover her at all now and each time she took an order she worried one of them would want a drip coffee and she'd have to turn around. Tyler waited until the last lady sat down before handing Y/n a tray, her eyes wide as she tried to stutter out but he gave her a cheeky smile Y/n walking slowly unable to adjust her skirt as she placed down the tray, bending over to do so as Tyler leaned against the counter with a smirk as she quickly rushed away holding down her skirt and hiding behind the counter. His hands coming around her waist and pulling her back into the same position, Y/n freezing as she felt him rum his fingers along her folds again.

"Tyler, they'll hear." She whispered Tyler spinning her around with a mocking look as he looked cast his eyes over to the mum's too busy talking about whatever rachel had done to be kicked out or some other bullshit. "Be quiet and they won't know." Y/n looked at him for a moment before nodding Tyler giving her a wide grin as he turned her around to face them pushing his fingers into her as he placed his other hand next to hers on the counter, her hand covering his as she tried not to moan at the brutal pace he set, her legs shaking as she bit her lip staring at the counter. Tyler looking at the mum's before sucking on Y/n's neck making her whimper as he watched her knees almost give out wrapping his arm around her waist as she came, Y/n whispering his name as she screwed her eyes shut making him smirk as he kept going. Y/n's eyes snapping open as she heard chairs scrape, all the mum's slowly filing out as they waved and said goodbye.

"Come again ladies." Tyler said with a smirk as Y/n tried to smile at them feeling Tyler swirl his thumb over her clit as she choked back a moan trying to wave and grip the counter as he pulled his fingers out of her and pushed her thong back into place.

"Be careful in that skirt or everyone will see the cum on your thighs." Y/n nodded her face red as Tyler pressed a kiss to her cheek.

[avocado-writing]

don’t have to write anything if you don’t want, but i think aziraphale is the absolute king of reassuring you your body is beautiful no matter what size you are. he finds the human shape so fascinating and wonderful he simply can’t imagine it that you don’t think so, as well. feeling self conscious? skipping on your favorite dessert? he knows just what to say to make you feel better. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

notes: what a sweet prompt! this is 100% true as well

pairing: aziraphale x reader

rating: M

cw: negative self image, discussion of weight

The two of you are having lunch, which is one of your favourite things to do. To be honest anything with Aziraphale is your favourite thing to do. Just being with him makes things better. The two of you polish off your plates at the same time, and he delicately wipes his mouth with the edge of a serviette, acting as if he hasn’t just wolfed down enough ravioli to feed a small family. 

“Gosh, that was delicious,” he says, grinning. You can’t help but agree. 

“You do have the best knack for picking out places to eat, Aziraphale.”

“One of my hidden talents,” he says with a wink. It makes you feel a bit warm and flustered, and you’re thankful when the waiter comes over to clear the table. 

“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” he asks. 

“Ooh, yes,” Aziraphale says, at the same time you reply “not today thank you.”

Aziraphale looks surprised, before turning to the waiter. 

“Sorry my dear chap, can you give us a moment please?”

The waiter nods and heads off. Aziraphale fixes you with a look that makes you feel scrutinised. You squirm inwardly in your chair. 

“You always get dessert,” he says, confused. You shrug. 

“I don’t fancy one today.”

He narrows his eyes. 

“You say it’s your favourite part of the meal.”

“Yes, well, I can change my mind!”

“Something’s wrong,” he states, and he’s right. “Tell me what, my dear.”

“I just… feel like I don’t need it.”

“Don’t need it?”

“I just think I’m a bit fat.”

Aziraphale looks at you like you’ve just kicked a puppy. 

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” you beg. Your angel furrows his brow, utterly bemused. 

“I don’t understand, love. Why would that be a problem?”

You flail for an answer, but end with a shrug. 

“Do you mind the weight you are?” he asks gently. 

“I don’t know. Not really, I suppose.”

“So why try to change it?” He looks absolutely horrified for a moment. “Is it because you think I care?”

“No! I know you don’t mind about silly things like that.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. 

“I feel like I ought to be thinner, is all. I don’t know. I just… do.”

Aziraphale looks around furtively before scooting in closer. His hand sits on your knee, comforting, but something else too. Something a little more raw. 

“Do you think your weight has any impact on your worth, my darling? On your soul?”

“Well—”

“Do you?”

“No,” you admit at length. 

“And does it not make you feel good to eat? Do you think that your body doesn’t deserve nourishment, that you should starve yourself?”

“… I suppose I shouldn’t do that.”

“And,” Aziraphale adds, voice low, closing the gap between you even further, “do you not think I’d worship you no matter what size you were? Do you not think that I enjoy sinking my hands into you, leaving marks, feeling your thighs wrap tightly around me when I make love to you? Do you not think I see every roll as a piece of art, every stretch as a mosaic? You’re the finest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Aziraphale!” you giggle, swiping at him with a napkin. He catches your hand and kisses it. 

“I’d have you here on the table if I could. Show everyone just how much I love your body. Love you. But management might have something to say.”

You laugh and accept the kiss he offers you, just shy of indecent. 

“Have dessert with me. Damn what they think.”

And so you do. 

taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan @lxsm2@clarina04@wtfhasmy-lifecometo@mrgatotortuga@wereallbrokenangels @night-affiliate @silcosmoke@kimqueenofhell@chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t@am-i-obsessed---maybe@bakerstreethound

[b-does-the-write-thing]

general incivility, chapter six

- a brienne x jaime pride & prejudice retelling -

chapter one l chapter two  l chapter three l chapter four l chapter five l chapter six l now on AO3

At the end of their first month in the Stormlands, a letter appeared from King’s Landing. Bronn, no doubt curious, brought it to the breakfast table, where he might be able to linger and ascertain its contents. A savvy move that Tyrion could applaud if it were not for the fact Cersei and Jaime could not help but notice the royal seal.

At its appearance, Cersei fell uncharacteristically silent. Though at the rate she was straining her neck, she’d be out of commission for the upcoming week’s assemblies. His dear brother pretended he had gone blind, deaf, and dumb, but Jaime was not leaving either, showcasing his interest in the missive. Tyrion would have preferred to retire to read it in peace; he already guessed at its contents, but there was nothing to be done other than to face the music. Cracking the seal, Tyrion’s suspicions were confirmed within the first few words, and the following ones compounded his headache.

Outside, the evening clouds had not departed, and the trees were whispering to each other in the breeze. A storm was imminent, not one of the gentle spring rains that had come and gone in their few weeks here, but a proper tempest, the true namesake of the region. Judging the entire thing to be more trouble than it was worth, Tyrion tossed the letter away. It landed on top of the porridge and, under the weight of the royal seal, began to sink. Cersei shot her cousin a filthy look before ordering one of the footmen to fish it out for her. Receiving it with the utmost care, Cersei devoured the soggy paper’s contents. A smile bloomed across her face until her smile was the only bright spot in the breakfast parlor.

When Cersei finally deigned to lower the letter, a footman rushed forward to offer her a serviette. “But this is wonderful,” Cersei said, seemingly unaware she was daintily wiping her hands on the footman’s jacket and not the offered napkin. To think, the king—here of all places!”

Jaime stirred to life. “What fortuitous reason do we have to thank for such an honor?”

Tyrion rubbed his forehead, running his stubby fingers across the odd ridges of his skull, letting the familiar sensation soothe his threatening headache. “He claims to visit Lord Stannis, but no doubt he has heard father’s succeeded in running me off finally.”

Jaime did not argue. Everyone knew there was little love lost between King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, and Tywin Lannister. The vaults of King’s Landing were rumored to have long since run dry, but perhaps with a son of Casterly Rock at his side…

Cersei stood, pressing her skirt down, her eyes staring past both her cousins, fixated on something far in the distance that only she could see. “I’ll have to send word home at once. I barely brought anything suitable for court-”

“Were you not still planning to depart within the next fortnight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Cersei snapped, this time directing her glare at Jaime. “The King is coming to Storm’s End, and he will, of course, call here.” Her eyes darted to Tyrion. “You’ll need a lady to lead the house, plan the ball-”

“Ball?”

“Host His Highness, and well he mentions his Kingsguard will be attending. No mention of any courtiers, but of course, the usual toadies will be in attendance- “

“Cersei, if you would like to play lady of the hall, by all means, my home is at your disposal, but do me the very great courtesy of not looking like the cat who caught the canary. It’s very disconcerting.”

“Only you would have the king send him a personal letter and look as if the world was coming to an end.” Tyrion did not think his brother looked any happier about this development, but Cersei seemed determined to ignore Jaime. “If you will excuse me-” and with that, she swanned out of the breakfast parlor, looking all the world as if she already had a crown upon her brow.

“She’ll be insufferable,” Tyrion lamented. “Robert’s no tactician, but he’s not going to ignore a lioness laying down on her back for him-”

“Tyrion,” Jaime hissed. “Have a care for how you talk about our cousin.”

“You should be glad she’s not eyeing your neck for the noose at the moment,” Tyrion continued, tearing into the pastry to find it still warm and steaming. The manor might be considerably smaller than the Rock, but he quite enjoyed the new proximity to his kitchens, even if his belt protested. “Perhaps Robert's visit will allow you more time to pursue your interests without hindrance?”

Jaime’s eyes darkened in displeasure. “There is nothing of interest in this desolate corner of Westeros. I am only here because of you.”

“Interesting,” Tyrion continued, “I, for one, have thought you rather intrigued by our resident beauty.”

Tyrion had not seen it at first. He had been so taken with the odd Miss Tarth, finding her to be one of the truly most unfortunate people he had ever seen besides himself, that he had almost missed the way his brother’s eyes tracked her around the room, how Jaime moved after her when she passed by as if caught in her wake and drawn after her despite himself. He was not sure if his brother was even aware of his interest, if not for the odd way his lips quirked whenever Miss Tarth was mentioned.

“You are referring to which renowned Stormland beauty, Tyrion? Miss Tarth or Miss Baratheon?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Cersei has had your ear again, I fear. Miss Baratheon is not yet eight and ten. Her brush with death has added to her character, but I am not one for unaged wine.”

Jaime considered him across the table. ”And Miss Tarth?”

Tyrion grinned. “You know I am a great lover of beauty.”

His brother’s lips thinned, face darkening into a pensive glower until he looked just like their father. “Surely you of all people would think to look past appearances-”

“Have you?”

Jaime’s eyes shuttered, and he looked pointedly away to the storm gathering outside. “I have barely spoken a word to the party in question.”

“On the contrary, I believe you’ve spoken more to her than anyone else in the Stormlands.”

“If I happen to stand by the only other person who has less desire to speak than myself-”

“Happen? Jaime, you followed her around the length of the ballroom last week.”

Jaime shot up from his seat. “I should make haste if I want to get a ride in before the storm-”

“Jaime-” But his brother was already gone, leaving him alone with the great feast. Tyrion looked over at the footman nearest to the table, his cravat still smeared with oatmeal. “Do we have any blackberry jam?”

[thebibutterflyao3]

“Coffee Shop”

@pandalilymicrofics - 1260 words

Pandora didn’t even like coffee, so it was rather difficult to explain to her friends why she returned to this specific coffee shop at 7:15 on the dot, two mornings a week, every week. Especially considering she spent an absurd amount of money on a cup of tea every Monday and Friday, only to abandon it half-finished.

They were even further confused when she brought a book or magazine along with her, just to summarily ignore it. Her standard excuses were, “I’m admiring the scenery” or “It’s just a guilty pleasure.”

I doubt they believe me, but what am I supposed to say? I’m obsessed with a mum?

It started innocently enough. A month ago, Pandora spotted a curvy redhead with an impossibly cute toddler on her hip walking into this shop. She followed curiously, intending to say “hello” and possibly ask for her number. Except, she didn’t.

After showing up at this same time every day over the next week, she determined the redhead’s schedule. Internally, Pandora acknowledged it was slightly unhinged behaviour. She could have approached any one of those days, but couldn’t bring herself to interrupt their adorable mummy/son dates.

Then, he showed up.

Pandora sat in her usual seat, fuming. She hadn’t even tasted her lavender and cinnamon concoction yet. Instead, she assuaged her disappointment with a pastry.

Although the redhead didn’t wear a ring, she should have assumed she was seeing someone already. No one as pretty as her stayed single for long. Her only consolation was in how much the little boy favoured him, he had to be the toddler’s dad. She hadn’t missed her chance then, there wasn’t one.

“Panda? What’s wrong?” Dorcas asked, sliding into the booth next to her and slipping her arm around Pandora’s shoulders.

Pandora forced a smile, then dropped it when Dorcas stared back at her. “All the pretty girls are either taken, straight, or both.”

“Preaching to the choir, doll. Who are we glaring at?”

“See the redhead?” Pandora asked, nodding subtly. “She comes in here twice a week at the same time, so I do too. I was working up the courage to ask for her number, but…well.”

Dorcas eyed the couple thoughtfully, then shrugged. “No rings. Maybe they’re exes?”

“Don’t get my hopes up, Cas.”

“Do you want me to scope them out?” she offered.

Pandora turned to face Dorcas fully with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you mad? No, I don’t want you to annoy a perfectly normal—”

The front door of the coffee shop slammed shut, cutting Pandora off. Suddenly, Dorcas laughed as if she’d said something hysterically funny. Startled, Pandora didn’t even get a word out before a blonde mullet in combat boots stomped over to their table.

“What the fuck, Cas?” the woman hissed. She kicked the leg of a chair and when it popped out from the table, she flipped it around and sat on it backwards. Prooping her arms on the chair’s back, she glared at Dorcas, then Pandora. “Who are you?”

Dorcas smirked. “This is Pandora.”

When she didn’t introduce the woman, Pandora rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I didn’t catch your name?”

“Hey Marlene, what’s up?” a deep voice asked. It was him.

Marlene ignored Pandoras hand and scowled up at him. “I don’t need your help, James. I’m perfectly capable of confronting my girlfriend without back-up.”

“G-Girlfriend?” Pandora choked out. She swatted Dorcas’s hip when she regained control of herself. “You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend!”

“That’s because I don’t. McKinnon here is just a clinger. The one-off that won’t leave.”

“One-off? We’ve been on three dates! In lesbian land, we’re practically engaged.” Marlene pounded a fist on the table in protest, upsetting Pandora's cup and spilling it on the floor. “Oh shite! I’ll buy you another one.”

“Nice one, Marls.” James tossed serviettes at the spill and started cleaning it up. “I’m James, by the way. Her—”

“My future step-son,” Marlene snarked.

James sighed. “Don’t ask.”

Pandora exchanged curious glances with Dorcas, then shrugged. “Alright then.”

Marlene opened her mouth to speak and was promptly interrupted by James. He plopped on the seat beside Pandora and asked, “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?”

“I’ll be real quick. Just need to text someone,” James insisted. “I’ll give it right back.”

Pandora reluctantly unlocked the phone and handed it to him. “Fine.”

He held it for all of thirty seconds before giving it back. “Thanks!”

She glanced at her texts, but didn’t see any new messages sent to unknown numbers. Before she could ask, a cup was held out in front of her face. Attached to that cup was a small child with an eerily familiar grin, and by extension, his mother.

“Oh, thank you,” Pandora said, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

The redhead smiled when she accepted the cup, and Pandora’s heart pounded in her chest. Everything else faded away, as though they existed in a space and time all their own. She’d seen that smile from afar, but up close, it was radiant! A sparkling jewel amidst a pile of stones.

“Lavender chai tea with cinnamon, right?” the woman asked.

“Yes! How did you know?”

“You order the same thing every time you come in.” Her freckled face was even prettier with a slight blush. She adjusted her son on her hip and ruffled his unruly curls. “I’m Lily, by the way, and this is Harry. I noticed your drink hadn’t been replaced after Marlene’s tantrum.”

“I’m Pandora. Nice to—”

Dorcas snorted a laugh. “Tantrum is right. She thinks if she pouts prettily enough, I’ll give in.”

“That’s because you do,” Pandora deadpanned.

Marlene rolled her eyes, but was once again interrupted before she could speak. A blur of dark hair rushed into the shop at a full sprint, nearly colliding with Lily and Harry. Pandora flinched, but James lunged forward and caught him. It wasn’t until he settled back into the booth with Regulus in his lap that she registered who it was.

“Reg?” Dorcas said.

Regulus scowled. “Don’t look so surprised. You just texted me, Panda.”

Pandora pulled out her phone and checked. Sure enough, James had texted Regulus from her phone. Your not-so-secret boyfriend is at the coffee shop with his ex.

“Ah, that’s why you borrowed my phone,” she said, shaking her head.

“That was you?!” he huffed incredulously, swatting James’s shoulder.

James buried his grin in Regulus’s hair. “I missed you. Besides, your friend was staring daggers into the back of my head.”

Pandora turned to defend herself, but Lily was gone. Her heart sank in her chest. I lost my chance.

“Why?” Regulus asked.

“She has a crush on Lily,” Dorcas answered.

James chuckled, then reached out to turn Pandora’s cup around. “That’s convenient.”

Written in loopy cursive were four words, “Same time next week?,” followed by a phone number. Lily asked her on a coffee date! Pandora quickly added the number to her phone and texted, Yes! I’d love to have coffee with you and Harry.

“Wait, so you’re not—” Marlene said, sitting up straight.

“No, she’s a friend. You threw a fit for no reason,” Dorcas taunted, looking awfully pleased with herself as Marlene all but crawled in her lap. “Jealous twat.”

Boxed in by the couples on either side of her, Pandora focused on her phone as three little dots danced across the scene. When the response came through, she nearly melted on the spot.

We can’t wait. xx

[goroaix]

〘 As eligible of a bachelor as he was, there was nothing more interesting to him than a certain foreign diplomat.〙

Hendery x gn reader. Yandere themes and general lack of consideration for someone else's feelings. ! not a reflection of who he is irl !

♕ It was hardly a secret that Kunhang was reaching the age where betrothal was on the horizon - something closer to reality than a fantasy that had seemed so distant in its implausibility. He was the prince of this empire, of course, but he was also a bachelor (as his mother so often pointed out).

♕ He used to dread It. The idea of being with someone he barely knew, of having to awkwardly shuffle around the fact that he would always be their superior even when the dynamic should have made them equal. Looking for a spouse was hardly in his list of favourite activities, and neither was looking through the choices his mother had.

♕ If she were to have it her way, he would have married at 18 to a distant heir of the land. His mother, as much as he loved her, hardly understood the intricacies of romance. But, could he blame her? Kunhang, himself, hardly understood what it meant to feel this thick pool of desire and want until he'd attended a ball in the neighbouring country of Kheya just last year.

♕ It had been like every other ball, something he attended out of obligation and because his sisters didn't particularly want to attend. As the youngest, he had to hold tight on to the short end of the stick no matter how thorny.

♕ And who was Kunhang if not the dutiful younger brother? The one that saw his sisters as the young women they were with the burden of the world on their shoulders. He didn't want to add to this weight, to have them sag under his incompetence.

♕ He'd smiled, waved and was polite to everyone and everyone that glanced his way. People flirted, gossiped and said things that he didn't understand. Nevertheless, he persisted.

♕ Kunhang turned to the buffet table, gazing at the pastries on display with his heart set on something sweet but not too sweet. But he didn't know what was what and he didn't quite have the heart to ask someone.

♕ "Are you having trouble deciding?" You'd asked and Kunhang turned, eyes falling on one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen. Your features were foreign to him though no less gorgeous. Every soft little curve, the slope of your nose and the delicate beauty mark here and there, caught his eyes.

♕ "A little," he had managed to say, feeling like his throat was suddenly parched and the hours of fruitless speech had caught up to him. "I wanted to try something sweet."

♕ Your eyes looked over the table before gently picking up a fried pastry with a serviette, the dough chewy and deliciously familiar. It was exactly what he'd wanted. "This is Binangkal. It's extra delicious with some tea," you informed in this way that felt genuine rather than condescending. "It's one of my favourites."

♕ He could hardly call himself one for pointless idle chatter when it wasn't required. Even so, he found his lips moving, glossy from his food. "Are you from here?"

♕ "I'm here on business," and your reply was vague enough to make him want more, to sink his teeth into the flesh of your cheek while he pretended it was this new and tasty dessert he had in his hands.

♕ (Kunhang was sure you'd taste even better.)

♕ He took the bait. "What kind?"

♕ "I don't want to bore you while you eat."

♕ The corners of his cheeks started to ache with how hard he was trying not to smile. It was so stupid to be thrilled by this small exchange. It was hardly anything crazy, either.

♕ Did you know he was a prince?

♕ "You're not boring me. May I know your name?"

♕ he memorised the syllables, mouthing them to himself until they'd engraved themselves into his DNA, wound into the very fabric of his being.

♕ "And you?"

♕ "Wong... Hendery."

♕ "A lovely name." So you didn't recognise him. "Have you also travelled in?"

♕ He took another bite, the dough still warm in the centre. "Am I so obviously a tourist?"

♕ "A little," you smiled and he just wanted to bask in it. Was it stupid to like someone so fast? (The answer was unimportant.) "Don't worry. It happens to the best of us. The first time I was here, I ate unripe jackfruit and had an upset tummy for three days."

♕ It was through some careful dancing, the kind that involved a mental goalpost for the conversation: your name, your job, and where you were from.

♕ There was no such luxury as growing up in the royal court and remaining ignorant. I'm a world of murder or be murdered, the poison always had to remain in his chalet to distribute.

♕ And, through just an hour of conversation beside the table, his eyes on your lips as you licked away delicate crumbs and droplets of sweetened tea, he found out all that he wanted to know.

♕ You were close to his age but experienced. 'A diplomat,' you'd shared, who specialised in 'facilitation of trade and human resources.' Just hearing you talk about it had him fantasising about things that were too forward - too fast.

♕ Just from the way you gestured, how you spoke, Kunhang could tell that you were assured in your capabilities. Someone like you was incredibly valuable just from a political standpoint.

♕ What little hunger he had in his stomach had been replaced, coaxed into something larger, more voracious.

-

♕ To protect his people was his sworn duty. He had to be aware of the important and influential figures that moved in and out of the country. Hence, ordering a detailed background check on you was hardly concerning.

♕ Everything from your institution of education, family, tax compliance, previous jobs and even your favourite food had been noted down for him by the palace scribe.

♕ No less than excruciating detail would be presented. Kunhang made sure of it.

♕ "What do you think, Jiejie?" He asked, eyes wide and shiny like a dolls. How could someone say no to him?

♕ He was their baby.

♕ The eldest two exchanged glances. He'd learnt by now to decipher these looks with pinpoint accuracy and his heart felt fit to burst.

♕ "They're a good choice," the youngest sister of the three said, her nod of approval punctuating her sentence. "I think Mama and Baba will be happy to hear about this."

♕ After what better way to save their grey hairs than to find himself a spouse?

-

♕ There was no way he could lie under another false pretence. Meeting you for the umpteenth time at these social gatherings was far from coincidence, and you were smarter than to think so.

♕ "I have a feeling there's something you want to ask me."

♕ You were right. When weren't you? Kunhang had calculated that atleast 86% of all of your proposed ideas had gone through to be a success.

♕ "Would you be willing to negotiate jade trade between your country and mine?" He asked, proposing this faux call to action that he had only half an intention to stick by. "I've been wanting to speak to you about this."

♕ "I see." Then you laughed, and he thought he'd lose composure there and then. "I was waiting for His Highness to say something along those lines."

♕ "You knew? Why didn't you say so?"

♕ "I thought it would be rude to not let you have your fun."

♕ This was nothing short of unfair. Not in the traditional sense. He'd be foolish to think you'd be blinded for long.

♕ No. It was unfair because all he could think of was how nice it would feel to kiss you, to throw inhabition to the wind and let himself act out of want rather than strict regulation. Sometimes, the feeling of his nails digging into his skin was the only thing grounding him from blurting out something he would regret.

-

♕ To be honest, your to-be-spouse was none of his concern. Kunhang hadn't even blinked when his servant had informed him of such, telling him that they had proposed just a week before you were due to arrive at the palace.

♕ Instead, the only thing that had come of it was the knowledge that he needed to act in haste. Everything was meticulously filed and sorted, the contracts ready to be brought to life.

♕ It was nothing short of torture to hide his smile as he changed the terms of the contract to better suit them both. Trade would be easier when both parties were aligned in matrimony. This was politically beneficial, he told himself.

♕ Marrying a diplomat would strengthen their country's bond and knew that it was one of the better choices for a spouse he could make. There was nothing appealing to him about wedding a person who had no navigational, or real world skills. To him, there was no worse moral failure than being useless.

♕ He dressed to the nines, using a hanfu that had been specifically made to order in advance for this occasion. His engagement clothes were royal in red, embroidered heavily with a red sash that wound snuggly around his body. Kunhang had requested you wear your finest clothes, and he knew you'd listen.

♕ He knew your proficiency in spoken Cantonese was far from what it could be, let alone the written version that only natives really used and understood. It was easy to get away with it, to bite the inside of his cheek raw and pinch his thigh over his clothes while you signed your name and wove that red string around both of your souls.

♕ Maybe he should have felt remorse upon seeing your confused expression at the congratulations - his sister's and parents teary eyed at the sight of their only son finally married to someone that would help him prosper. The youngest and the most fragile was now in good hands.

♕ But you'd kept a sweet smile on your face regardless, ever poised. Oh. How he loved this trait of yours.

♕ Hardly anyone ever had a bad word to say about you and this was why. He couldn't feel anything other than pride.

♕ "I think there's been a mistake," you murmured, fingers gripping tightly onto the paper he'd given you - translated in your language with the altered version of what you'd just signed. "We were supposed to sign a business partnership, Your Highness."

♕ "I prefer Qin ai de."

♕ For the first time since he'd met you, you looked confused and at a loss for words. It made him want to pinch your cheeks.

♕ "I'm sorry, I'm confused."

♕ And he was happy to explain. "It's okay. I know it's a new thing to get used to, but the contract has no mistakes. We're married now!"

♕ "What? What do you mean...? I am already promised to someone back home."

♕ Your composure cracked, fine lines appearing under the pressure.

♕ Nonetheless, Kunhang had quite the hand at pottery. They didn't matter. They'd never matter. Who could compare to the prince of an empire? And who could deserve you more than himself?

♕ "I can't- I can't accept this, I apologise. I had no idea. I didn't mean to sign something like this-"

♕ "Will you contest it?"

♕ He hated being stern. There was nothing that gnawed at him more than having to bring out this part of himself that he preferred to keep burrowed in the depths. Kunhang liked playful, upbeatness that kept his spirits high. This was their wedding day, and he didn't want to hear any objections to something he'd so meticulously planned.

♕ "...Your Highness, I must leave."

♕ "If you leave, I'll take it as a declaration of war." Your movements stilled, muscles tensed. "We both know your economy can't handle such a blow."

♕ But, he was no monster. He couldn't bear to turn a blind eye to the frustration in your eyes. You poor thing. From now on, he'd kiss away all your tears and make sure that your talents were recognised with the reverence they deserved.

♕ He'd cup your face in his hands and look into those endless eyes of yours. The heartbreak would ease eventually.

♕ After all, your king wouldn't mind exchanging one person for the masses.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Intimacy

Just when I am in the middle of my speech, I hear some sniffing in the wedding hall. I look up. Everyone is tearing up. I see some people wipe their eyes with the serviettes.

Why? Did I do something wrong? No! I had spent the whole morning writing a speech for John's wedding.

Selecting and altering the words here and there carefully, with Lestrade's help, so that I would not give myself away in a room full of two hundred guests, about my true feelings for the groom.

And now everyone is crying. I messed it up, again.

It is just like the university days. I would say something with good intention, but without any filters, and everyone would interpret it the wrong way. They would distance themselves from me eventually. I would be left alone.

I knew I was going to be left alone anyway after tonight's reception and dance. That was inevitable. I hadn't expected the isolation to come so soon, though.

Perhaps everyone had picked up on my feelings for John. I had ruined the day with a slip up somewhere.

Breathing deeply, I square my shoulders and spit everything out.

"What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that?" I turn to look at John, the only source of sanity in my life. "John?"

John looks up at me with tearful eyes. (No, please don't cry!)

"Did I do it wrong?" I ask again.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson is tearful too.

Shit. She knew about us. Me. There was never an 'us'. She knew how I felt for John. Everyone obviously knows about my feelings now. Nobody can be so stupid.

Which means John does too, and now he is going to kick me out in the middle of the speech.

John screws his eyes shut and opens them again as he gets up from his seat.

"No, you didn't. Come here," he says and pulls me close before wrapping his arms around my back.

A huge round of applause erupts in the room. Everyone is cheering.

Unsure of what to do next, I awkwardly place an arm on his bicep.

John doesn't let go of me. He keeps holding on to me, and his hand goes up to curl around my nape. He holds me gently.

In this moment, I cannot help but notice the intimacy between us.

I'm not experienced in romantic relationships, but the way John keeps holding me with so many people watching, I feel even closer to him than I already did.

It's rather ironic that I feel this on his wedding day, with his wife watching us with a smile. But I can't help how I feel.

"I haven't finished yet," I say.

"Yeah; I know, I know," he replies and slowly lets me go.

I immediately feel the loss of his touch. I long for him to hold me forever.

I know this is irrational, so I pull out my phone again to continue with my best man speech.

I still have to take care of my words, should I accidentally reveal my heart in front of the man I love in public.

***

Prompt: Intimacy by @onesmallfamily

Sherlock September Challenge.

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @lookingforlifeoutthere @peanitbear @a-victorian-girl @curlyjohnlock @calaisreno @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @jawnn-watson

[no-side-us]

The Invisible Man, Ch. 1

Before I get into it, I want to make note of the full title of the story, The Invisible Man: A Grotesque Romance, which is a lot more enticing and evocative and leads to much more imagination for what happens. It implies something at least somewhat disturbing and fanciful, which fits well I think.

Anyways, here are random thoughts I had while reading the first chapter.

There's a lot of references to white objects: the snow, the serviette, his bandages, the muslin, it's all very pale. And the obvious connection is to Griffin's albinism, which doesn't get mentioned until much later (along with his name). If I had to analyze, all of these objects are there to obscure Griffin in some way. The snow covers him, he uses the bandages and serviette to hide his face, and the muslin helps block the view through the window. It's sort of taking the pale features that make Griffin stand out and which he now uses to hide himself, doubly so because his albinism was key to his invisibility.

Also, I had to look it up but a muslin is some sort of fabric which here is used as a smaller window curtain. Like so:

Moving on, the conversation between Mrs. Hall and Griffin about his bandages is just the beginning of all the gossip and rumors which will arise in the following chapters. One moment I like was this exchange:

“He was afraid, one time, that he’d have to have an op’ration—he was that bad, sir.” The visitor laughed abruptly, a bark of a laugh that he seemed to bite and kill in his mouth. “Was he?” he said.

Not only is it just a good line, but knowing what Griffin's own "operation" entailed meant that I laughed along with him at how "bad" scythe boy's accident was in comparison. But if you don't know and you're reading this for the first time, then it comes off as very rude. And Griffin is rude, but in this chapter he's also trying to be polite cause he's in need at the moment, so it's interesting to see the efforts he makes to do so and when it comes through.

Also, he pays two sovereigns (or two pounds) for his room, which is £213.93 today according to the Bank of England's inflation calculator.

Overall, the first chapter is very mysterious. If the book wasn't literally titled The Invisible Man, then we the reader would most likely be as curious as Mrs. Hall as to why this strange person was in bandages and acting so peculiar. I don't think we even see his invisibility until a few chapters in, so we're left hanging for a bit.

Finally, having watched the 1933 film before, I want to say that the first scene of that movie is very accurate to this chapter: Griffin continually staring out the window, pulling down the blinds, telling Mrs. Hall to leave the hat, Millie and the mustard, lines taken straight from the book, it's fun to notice! The film's on Internet Archive if people want to watch. Though be warned, it goes off-book in the very next scene.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Eight

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Eight: Bloody Guardsman

Summary: Sherlock tells a story of one of John, (Y/N), and his cases.

A while ago…

            Sherlock stood in front of the wall of wedding information he’d compiled for the wedding. He had approached preparation like a case, with categories for wine, catering, transport, and rehearsal. Sherlock had been so honored that John had chosen him as his best man that he had decided nothing would stop him from making sure the entire day was perfect (which inevitably meant it wouldn’t be, but the heart was there).

             Mary had a 3D model of the reception venue in front of her, John was on his phone (the stress was getting to him), and (Y/N) had the guest and RSVP list in front of them.

            “Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin,” said Sherlock.

            “Ah, the orphan’s lot. Friends—that’s all I have. Lots of friends,” said Mary. She smiled, and (Y/N) cocked their head. There was something in the muscles that twitched in her face, something in the size of her smile, that put (Y/N) off.

            “Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) focused back on the task at hand.

            “But the rehearsal’s not for another two weeks,” said Mary.

            “I thought people wanted everything to be ready soon,” said (Y/N), looking up from the lists they were correcting.

            Mary sighed. “Let’s get back to the reception. (Y/N), there’s John’s cousin. Top table?” she asked, gesturing to the RSVP card.

            (Y/N) glanced at the name and card. “No, she hates you. Doesn’t even like thinking about you.”

            “Seriously?” asked Mary, surprised.

            “Second-class post, cheap card bought at a petrol station, last minute, the stamp has three attempts at licking, so she unconsciously retained saliva. All signs of dislike,” said (Y/N).

            “Ah. Let’s stick her by the bogs,” said Mary.

            (Y/N) tossed the RSVP card into the pile that had been designated as the worst guests (aka: should be shoved as far away from the bride and groom as possible)

            “Who else hates me?” asked Mary.

            “(Y/N) made a list,” said Sherlock. (Y/N) held it out silently.

            “Oh, great—thanks!” said Mary with faux-brightness as she took it.

            “Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting,” said John, looking at his phone.

            “Table four?” said Mary, looking at Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “Done,” said Sherlock.

            John chuckled as he looked at another case in the inbox. “ ‘My husband is three people.’ ”

            “Table five,” continued Mary.

            “Major James Sholto. Who’s he?” asked (Y/N).

            “Oh, John’s old commanding officer. I don’t think he’s coming,” said Mary.

            “He’ll be there,” said John.

            “Well, he needs to RSVP, then,” said Mary.

            “He’ll be there,” said John firmly. He looked at Sherlock and repeated the latest case possibility he’d found. “ ‘My husband is three people.’ It’s interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin.”

            “Identical triplets—one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat,” said Sherlock, and then he got back to the wedding planning. “Now, serviettes.” He reached under the coffee table and pulled out a tray with two folded napkins. “Swan or Sydney Opera House?”

            Mary stared in surprise. “Where’d you learn to do that?!” she exclaimed.

            “Many unexpected skills required in the field of investigation—”

            “Fibbing, Sherlock,” said Mary, calling him out immediately.

            “I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of—”

            “I’m not John, I can tell when you’re fibbing,” said Mary.

            “Okay—I learned it on YouTube,” said Sherlock.

            “You’re very good,” said (Y/N). Mary had surprising skills at times. She was…smarter, or at least more preceptive and aware, than most people.

            “Thanks,” said Mary, smiling. She looked at Sherlock. “Um, Opera House, please. Ooh, hang on. I’m buzzing.” She pulled out her phone and headed towards the hall.

            John stood. “If that’s Beth, it’s probably for me, too. Hang on.”

            “What do we do while they’re gone?” asked (Y/N).

            “Fold,” said Sherlock, tossing napkins to them. They had watched the videos while he did, so they could do it.

            The pair sat down and mechanically began folding. (Y/N) liked the repetitive motion. In the midst of all the chaos and planning, it was calming.

            John finally walked back into the room and stared at the mass of Opera-House-napkins piling up around the father and kid.

            “That just sort of…happened,” said Sherlock in response to the stare.

            “Sherlock, (Y/N), um…I’ve…” John sighed and sat down. (Y/N) and Sherlock exchanged glances and followed him. “I’ve smelled eighteen different perfumes. I’ve sampled nine different slices of cake, which all tasted identical. I like the bridesmaids in purple—”

            “Lilac,” said (Y/N).

            “—Lilac. Um, there are no decisions left to make. I don’t even understand the decisions that we have made. I’m faking opinions, and it’s exhausting,” sighed John. “So, please, before I have to do anything else, pick something.” He held out his phone to them, on the page to show case offers. “Anything. Pick one.”

            “Pick what?” asked Sherlock.

            “A case. Your inbox is bursting. Just…get me out of here,” said John.

            “You want to go out on a case? Now?” questioned Sherlock.

            “Please, for me. I just need a break,” sighed John. (Really, he knew (Y/N) and Sherlock needed one since they were working way too hard on this).

            As dutiful friends as ever, Sherlock and (Y/N) nodded.

            “We’ll get you out of this,” said (Y/N) while Sherlock looked at the options.

            “ ‘Dear Mr. Holmes,’ ” he read aloud. “ ‘My name is Bainbridge. I’m a Private in Her Majesty’s Household Guard. I’m writing to you about a personal matter one I don’t care to bring before my superiors—it would sound so trivial—but I think someone’s stalking me. I’m used to tourists—it’s part of the job—but this is different. Someone’s watching me. He’s taking pictures of me every day. Don’t want to mention it to my major, but its’ really preying on my mind.’ ”

            (Y/N) hummed in consideration and flipped over their lollipop.

            “Uniform fetish,” decided Sherlock. “All the nice girls like a soldier.”

            “I think the phrase is ‘sailor,’ ” said John. “And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke.”

            “It could be a gay man, but the odds aren’t exactly in that idea’s favor,” said (Y/N).

            “Let’s go and investigate, please?” said John, looking between the two detectives.

            “Elite guard,” mused Sherlock.

            “Forty enlisted men and officers…Wonder why this grenadier is special,” said (Y/N).

            John grinned. They were in. “Now you two are talking.”

            “Okay,” said Sherlock, handing back the phone to John.

            (Y/N) stood up from the ground and walked to the door with John and Sherlock. Mary entered the room at the same moment.

            “Bye,” she said into the phone.

            “Er, we’re just going to…I need, um, Sherlock and (Y/N) to help me choose some, uh, socks,” said John.

            “Ties,” said Sherlock at the same moment.

            “Pocket squares,” said (Y/N) simultaneously.

            “Why don’t we go with ties?” said Mary, obviously amused.

            “Yeah…” said John, laughing nervously.

            “I mean, I know (Y/N) still hasn’t bought one,” said Mary.

            “I’ve been a bit busy,” said (Y/N), shrugging and going along with the lie they all knew was one.

            “And you want it to go well with the theme of the wedding,” said Mary.

            “Right,” said Sherlock, nodding.

            “It’ll take a while, right?” continued Mary in amusement.

            “My coat in there?” asked John, walking to the kitchen.

            “Yes,” said Mary, smiling.

            “Just going to take him out to run him down,” said Sherlock.

            “You said you’d find him a case,” said Mary, grinning. She was playing them all (though, by the look on their face, (Y/N) was a little more aware than the others that Mary was orchestrating time for John and Sherlock to relax and have fun).

            “Come on, you two,” said John, pulling on his coat and opening the door.

            “Coming,” said (Y/N) and Sherlock going after him.

            Mary gave them a thumbs up and happily closed the door for some peace and quiet of her own.

l

            The trio arrived at the barracks, and Sherlock and (Y/N) let John walk ahead since he was the veteran among them. He held up his military ID to the duty sergeant at the barrack entrance.

            “We’re here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge,” said John.

            “He’s on duty right now, sir, but I’ll certainly let him know when he’s free,” said the sergeant.

            “And when will that be?” asked Sherlock.

            “Another hour,” said the sergeant.

            John, Sherlock, and (Y/N) left the door to the barracks and headed to a bench facing the gates. They sat down, leaned back, and waited.

            Eventually, Sherlock spoke up and remarked upon something that had been on his mind since the morning. “So, why don’t you see him anymore?” he asked.

            “Who?” asked John.

            “Your previous commander, Sholto,” said Sherlock.

            “Previous commander,” repeated John.

            “You ex,” said (Y/N).

            “Previous suggests I have a current commander,” said John. He eyed Sherlock. “Which I don’t.”

            “Sure,” said (Y/N).

            “He was decorated, wasn’t he? A war hero,” said Sherlock.

            “Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle,” said John.

            “Crows?” asked (Y/N).

            “New recruits. It’s standard procedure, break the new boys in—but it went wrong,” said John. He looked down. “They all died; he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you.”

            “Probably not from worse people,” remarked (Y/N), and Sherlock nodded in agreement.

            “Why have you two suddenly taken an interest in another human being?” asked John suspiciously.

            “Just chatting,” said Sherlock. John raised an eyebrow in complete disbelief. “Won’t be trying that again,” decided Sherlock.

            “Changing the subject completely,” said John, saving everyone from embarrassment or vulnerability. “You two know it won’t alter anything, right, with me and Mary getting married? We’ll still be doing this.”

            “Oh, good,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) nodded.

            “If you two were worried,” said John.

            “Wasn’t worried,” said Sherlock.

            John sighed and looked down at his hands. “See, the thing about Mary—she has completely turned my life around, changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years there are three people who have don’t that…and the other two are—” He looked back up and found that Sherlock and (Y/N) had disappeared. “—complete dickheads.”

l

            (Y/N) and Sherlock marched behind the guards playfully to get into the building. Honestly, (Y/N) was surprised the guards weren’t guarding that well, but they weren’t about to complain.

            The pair took off the hats they’d put on and fixed their flattened hair before continuing on through the halls. Two guards in khaki army uniforms were on patrol, and (Y/N) and Sherlock hid around the side of the stairs until they were gone. They crept onwards, and they came across a room with voices within. (Y/N) opened the door for a moment and peeked inside. It was a group of soldiers chatting and relaxing. They closed the door, shook their head, and continued on with Sherlock.

            “Hey, you two!” shouted a guard.

            Damn, I guess some of them are good at their jobs, thought (Y/N).

l

            “Sir, caught these two snooping around,” said the sergeant who had found Sherlock and (Y/N) as he shoved them into the changing rooms of the guards.

            A body lay on the ground, wet and soapy, clearly having died while in the processing of showering. John was already standing inside, and judging by his and Major Reed’s (they had noticed his office earlier, and seeing as he was the man in charge, it was definitely him) expressions, they were all in trouble.

            “Is that what all this was about?” demanded Reed, glaring at John. “Distracting me so these two could get in here and kill Bainbridge?”

            (Y/N) cocked their head. Their client was dead, and that meant there was something more to this case than met the eye.

            “Kill him with what? Where’s the weapon?” said Sherlock, instantly dispelling the idea they had killed anyone (and making sure (Y/N) wasn’t pushed around anymore).

            “What?” asked Reed, furrowing his brow.

            “Search us. We don’t have any weapons,” said (Y/N).

            “Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When’s this supposed to have happened?” asked John.

            “Those two obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower,” said Reed.

            “No,” said (Y/N).

            “No?!” cried Reed incredulously.

            “He’s soaking wet, and there’s still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower, and then someone stabbed him,” said Sherlock.

            “The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open,” said the sergeant that had come across the body.

            “One of you must’ve climbed over the top,” said Reed stubbornly.

            “We’d be wet, too,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms.

            “Major, please,” snapped John, his voice full of authority and irritation. “I’m John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital. Let me examine this body.”

            Reed stared at John for a moment before looking at Bainbridge’s body and then back again. He nodded sharply.

            “Thank you,” said John in exasperation, and he knelt beside the body. Sherlock and (Y/N) leaned over him.

            “Suicide?” asked the duty sergeant.

            “No, the weapon again—no knife,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) cocked their head as they noticed someone and leaned closer. “There’s a wound in his abdomen, isn’t there?”

            John nodded. “Very fine, but yeah.”

            “Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of there,” mused Sherlock.

            (Y/N) peeled back one of his eyelids to check for any other signs of death. A soft breath landed on their hand. They blinked. “He’s still breathing.”

            Everyone’s head snapped towards them.

            “Oh my god!” exclaimed the sergeant.

            “What do we do?” asked Sherlock, looking at John.

            “Give me your scarf,” said John, in complete doctor mode.

            “What?” asked Sherlock.

            “Now,” said John, and Sherlock unwound his scarf and handed it to John. He looked at the sergeants and Reed. “Call an ambulance.”

            “What?” asked one of the sergeants.

            “Now!” ordered John, and the sergeant jumped to obey while John pressed the scarf to Bainbridge’s wound. “Nurse, press here, hard.”

            “Nurse?” said Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “I’m making do,” said John, reaching out with one hand and dragging Sherlock closer so he could put pressure on the wound. “Keep that on there.” He moved back to Bainbridge’s head. “Stephen? Stephen, stay with us.”

            (Y/N) looked at Sherlock and John as they saved Bainbridge’s life. Their eyes flicked from his face as he tried to breath to the wound Sherlock was pressing on. It was in a rather specific place. Long, thin, precisely made…If only (Y/N) could put it together.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

[helloescapist]

Hello. I read your Shinobu in a relationship post and honestly I'm speechless at how in depth it is. Wow! Can I ask for more? I need more. Like perhaps more info about them quarreling? The gifts. Or or they are newlyweds and reader got badly hurt and forgets about her. Will her live be stronger and how will she deal with it? Thank you so much!

SO, because of how much I love the “reader got badly hurt and forgets her”. It just pierces me through the heart, and it, it just deserves its own individual attention. I love it. I really do. So, this will be a two-part answer. With the second part to follow later (I'll come back and link it when it's up as well as put it on the masterlist as well!).

Quarrelling and Gifting Headcanons | Shinobu Kocho

Word Count: 2270

Setting: Shinobu Kocho x gn!reader

Content Warnings: SFW, we beat around the bush.

[image is not mine]

It’s so important to note that, Shinobu really will avoid unnecessary conflict in her relationships. It’s not that she’s afraid of a fight, or even the risk of “losing”. Because to be honest, she doesn’t think she will lose the argument. Rather, she really just feels that they can be completely avoided. Which is… ironic as conflict tends to find her.

Let’s be honest, as adorable and sassy as her remarks often are, they have the tendency to rub others the wrong way.

When it comes to disputes of any kind, Kocho has a strong preference for facts, rather than allow her emotions to run the discussion. She knows nothing good will come of doing that. In an attempt to keep the smile on her face, and further suppress her frustration (This woman has stomach ulcers I swear), she will focus her attention on the overall picture. How this argument will play into the enormity of your relationship. Is it something small such as mistakenly utilized a decorative towel?

The practically of her brain screams in agony. It. Is. A. Towel. Therefore, her usage is appropriate, but for all that her logic wails at her, you really do adore those cutesy towels. She’s sorry. She’ll take better care next time to leave your prized serviette be. A dispute over who’s turn it is to tend to the dishes? No, she distinctly remembers that she did in fact scrub them the night before, but, she’ll note the small bags under your eye. The languid movement, and stifled yawn. You had made her dinner despite your fatigue from work, and she knows you hate the task.

She’ll do it.

Now, let’s be clear. Shinobu is not a pushover, nor is she a placemat. You will not often find her compliant, but you will discover that she does try to understand your perspective. To notice when you’re sore from having carried too heavy of a burden, exhausted from running errands, or whether the heat has gotten to you. She will take this with a grain of salt, and accept that you are human.

However, she will go to great lengths to ensure that the same dispute, does not happen twice. You may see a chore chart in your near future, or she may simply request enacting a rule that states, whoever doesn’t cook will do the washing, and your decorative towels will be accompanied by more practical towels. She will keep implementing solution after solution until one is successful.

That being said, in every relationship. There comes a point when you will be tested. Blows will be traded, petty remarks, and snippy behavior, and a fight is just unavoidable. (Shinobu knows, as she tried her damnest to dodge it).

To be in a bond with the Insect Hashira is to know that these blows are not common place. They’re rare, and far and few between. In fact, your love has likely avoided such a dispute for a noteworthy passage of time. You had even begun to wonder if she was capable of expressing anger. When it happens, you were likely knocked entirely off kilter. D-Did Shinobu raise her voice?

Understand that it will never be anything small that has drawn the preserved woman’s ire. As I have mentioned, she is a woman of solution, and prefers to mull things with rationale. With great consideration. But just because she is not as trigger happy as other partners, does not mean her patient is limitless. There are a few things that could make your relationship tense.

You may find yourself humiliated by Kocho’s inability to keep her tongue and cheek in check. To an extent, she understands that you have to play into your boss’s ego. She will tell herself time and time again that it is all a part of the corporate ladder (both in the modern world and the taisho era), but there will come a point when an ignorant employer will push her too far.

It may be that they pushed off their duties on you for yet another time without the slightest clue as to how to perform the task, and yet to continue to berate you for the smallest of infringements. It may be that once again, they have pronounced your name wrong at a social gathering, or they have allocated the blame to you of an incorrect order even though it is clearly their own hand writing. Regardless as to how you arrived here, her tongue has betrayed her. It has written a carnet you cannot afford.

“[YN]. It’s pronounced, {YN},” while she glowers at the man. The cut of his eyes, shocked that she would dare to do correct a man of his station. A social gathering to promote a new item at your place of work, a tea shop having already driven you ragged for the month. The buffoon of a man so incompetent that he could not work off the necessary mathematical equations to determine the quantities to order, so he had pushed all of his duties on you. Late nights dragging you through the mud. Questioning your competence, degrading you so openly. Unashamed of his own ignorance, far too content to place the burdens on you. To play you the very fool he was, and while she had tried to convince herself that it was necessary, you loved your job. You were not in over your head; you understood the importance of boundaries in your work life. Oh, she had tried, she really had, but to have heard the botched symbols roll of his tongue, butchering your name to the owner of the tea shop. "Excuse me," his voice appalled, a note of warning flicked across his tongue. Completely ignored despite the obvious widening of your eyes, and the touch of your hand against her arm. Lightly tugging. Far too late for that, the rage immolating from every pore of her being. Her teeth gritted, her pragmatic existence whispering for her to cool her temper. To remember her place, to remember your job, and the attention from others she has garnished. Alas, it’s too late. Amongst tea shop attendants, business owners, and members of the community, she had drawn the line in the sand. Stood her ground, as she hissed. “[YN]. You should be well aware of how to pronounce it. You have only had them working like a dog the past few days.” The insistent tugs and coos that you attempted to reassure her were wasted. She was too far gone. Somewhere between insisting he prove his competence, revealing his competence, and fallen curses that near shattered her teeth in her attempt to restrain, Shinobu had realized. She had gone too far.

Shinobu will recognize that her temper had gotten the better of her. That she not only (successfully) told off your boss, but in a public setting amongst your peers, community members, and even strangers. She’s (sort of) embarrassed. While the Insect Hashira still feels that she was correct—the man obviously deserved a tongue lashing, she can acknowledge that it was neither the time, nor the place.

She won’t apologize for how she felt, but she will apologize for how she had conducted herself.

Another situation that you may find yourself in a dispute will come of Shinobu’s own social battery. Bare in mind that while she is willing to engage in the occasional social event, especially if you are a social butterfly, she is still an introvert by nature. She needs time between each outing to recharge her own social batter, and if it’s not given, you will find Kocho snippy. Even a little petty.

When the poison wielder is up for the social interaction, she works over time to ensure she sticks to social expectations. They don’t come naturally to her, and if you recall, she often spills her own thoughts without even realizing that she had insulted someone. This will only be amplified if her social batter is overtly drained.

Except, she’s no longer trying to behave.

She will look your friend dead in the eye and ask why they insist on clinging to you. Do they not realize that as lovers, you would like time alone together from time to time. Third wheel.

Yet again, she needs a moment to realize why you’re upset—she’s dating you not your friend. Ugh, but your friends matter to you. [insert the annoyed groan]. Okay, she was wrong. She handled this poorly. She’s sorry, Shinobu will try another approach next time.

She’s aware that her turn of phrase is not always… the nicest.

And lastly, Kocho is not attached to drama. Overtly emotional situations, and individuals can often times be draining for her. It requires a bit more of herself to follow your train of thought in these situations. She’s tired, but for the most part, she will accept your emotional needs—that’s what a partner does.

However, intentionally setting herself into drama induced scenarios such as power struggles, fighting for your attention, attempts to elicit jealousy as her lover, etc. These will never end well. You will find her tongue sharp, poised, lethal, and ready. Emotional Manipulation of even the smallest level is difficult for her to sort through, but to discover you had outright forced the situation on her will have her seething.

Such situations such as intentionally allowing her to believe that you have slept with another person, will elicit unburden rage. She will rely on the facts, you. Manipulated. Her. She will withdraw, cold calculated. Lethal.  You’re sorry? Yes, yes you will be. Atonement is the only solution.

It’s war.

She is emotional, irate, and irrational.

Even if it means taking herself out, she will drag you with her.

In a fight or flight response, she loses all sense of herself. Backed into a corner, Shinobu’s insticts to survive is what captivates her. Drags her to make impulsive moves, to decimate all in her path to safety. She… hates this about herself. Her carelessness for self-preservation.

In more explosive situations (like genuine abusive, yandere behavior), the Insect Hashira runs the risk of simply cutting bonds. Severing ties, burning bridges in her rage. Pack her things in the middle of the night, disappear into the moonlight.

You will never see her again.

She saw the problem and provided a solution.

Ultimately, that’s Shinobu’s goal. A dispute is really just a problem masquerading in emotions. She feels that as your lover, it is her duty to help find solutions. To ensure the success of your relationship. Her affections will drive her to deeper lows and higher highs than she could have ever imagined, than her spirit will even confess.

That being said, even in times of heated disputes, if you are able to maintain your wits. TO remain logical and reliant, calm despite her storm, you will find that Shinobu is almost always, willing to compromise.

Gifts from Shinobu I believe would very. They may feel extremely diverse, and often times, completely unrelated. H-How could the same person who had affectionately gifted you a small stuffy of a Japanese macaque monkey also gift you… a fish head? Or perhaps the better question is, why did she give you a fish head?

You will find that no matter how far apart you are from one another, Shinobu’s thoughts are always with you. You are always on her mind, the small ways you fiddle with your hair. The touch of light across your cheeks, the small way you bite your thumb when you’re thinking--- you are always present in her thoughts regardless of her task. Because of this, she will bring you some of the most… obscure tokens of affections from her travels.

She had gifted you a delicately weaved snow monkey stuff because while she had been passing through, she happened to come face to face with one in the bath. The relaxed way the little one’s features grazed in the onsen. It’s small puff of hair, and the way the anima’s eyes closed in deep satisfaction to meet the warm water---- ah how cute, you often made such a face in the bath. When she would wash your back.

When Shinobu passed by a food stall in a port region on her way home, she could not help but notice the lavish cloth. The blonde who’s speech was unfamiliar, and overtly friendly seller at that, drew her attention. You had recently taken an intrust in foreign books. Spoke of how lovely the details had appeared. She brought one of his confections, a cake? He had delicately wrapped the sparkling treat in cloth, a translator ensuring that the symbol a roze—no, rose had significant meaning in his culture of romance.

Picked up a new pair of sandals for you, delicate little weaves of flowers carefully placed into the making. You express that it really wasn’t necessary, a simple replacement shoe would have been more than enough, but she’ll disagree. The color is the exact shade of pink that blossoms on your cheeks when she praises you.

The Lavender hair pin that she has placed into the intricate wave of strands of hair. The embellishment admittedly flashy enough to draw Tengen’s attention, blow glass and meticulously crafted. A special order that she had placed upon your anniversary, the small touch of her smile as she places it into your hair. “Do you know what lavender symbolizes?”

The Fish head in all of its peculiarities. While it’s true that that it’s usage avoids unnecessary waste, her medical book had expressed that it would increase your serotonin levels, and assist in sleep. She had noticed the way you tossed and turn at night, drifted from bed to warm your self water in the hopes that sleep would follow. Shinobu will prepare a fish head for you, and wish you sweet dreams.

Her gifts while… unique all serves a purpose. Her devotion to you.

Secured in every package.

Part two of Request: Wisteria Bound Promises

[ohtobealady]

October Prompts

3 October: Time

Sybbie glanced again at the fob watch that dangled from her pin, and she sat up straighter. 

Granny had said she’d be here at noon, exactly. “For luncheon,” she’d said in her posh little way, though Sybbie -- only fifty years or so separating the two women -- had told the other nurses thirty minutes before that she was “stepping out for a quick lunch.”

“With Countess Granny?” they’d teased, but it was all in good fun. They’d been surprised, that was all. And the older Sybbie grew, she'd begun to understand it.

She shifted in her seat again. She looked around the dining room. She picked at the hangnail bothering her ring finger. And then, again, Sybbie glanced at her watch. It was nearing a quarter-after, now. She’d have to be back at the hospital before they’d be able to place their order. And truth be told, she was starting to feel a little self-conscious sitting here, in the Ritz dining room, wearing her nursing uniform. There may be a war on, but it didn’t yet prevent the table cloth that she now wriggled with her bouncing knee from being whiter and crisper than her apron. 

“Excuse me, Miss?” 

She drew in a breath, in surprise, and glanced at the waiter now standing at her side. 

“Would you care for a drink while you wait? Perhaps you know what your companion would like as well?”

“Oh,” she pushed her hands into her wrinkled lap. “I believe a glass of water, for now. For me. And then a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for Lady Grantham? Who will be joining me very soon.”

That had done the trick. The waiter smiled, bobbed his brows and nodded. “Very good, madam.”

Sybbie smirked. Miss to Madam in the matter of a minute. What a snob, she thought, and sighed. Now all Sybbie had to do was wait for Granny. 

Again, she glanced at her pendant watch, the seconds ticking by; but then, out of no where, “Oh, darling. We are so sorry.”

Sybbie glanced up and found, to her relief, her tall, slender grandmother. And she looked every inch the countess she'd promised the waiter she'd be: her cream colored silk shirt, her tailored tea-colored coat, the pearl earrings dangling at her throat. She smiled. Yes, the countess, but still very much just … Granny. Her granny.

But then, “Wait, ‘we’, Granny?”

“Yes,” she sighed as she sat, rolling her eyes. The host behind her pushed in her chair. “I did try to dissuade him, but he was so determined.”

Oh. Donk.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread at seeing his flustered entrance, his quick thanks to the host for bringing another chair, the nods to people Sybbie supposed he might know, all the while Granny looking up at him with her crooked smirk. 

“How does anyone get anywhere with the absurd number of cars?” Donk grumbled, nodding again as a different waiter placed a menu and serviette before him. “Doesn’t anyone walk anymore?”

Across the table, Sybbie caught her granny's eye and laughed as they grew larger and then rolled, again, but more dramatically.

“Well, yes,” Sybbie answered. She took her napkin and placed it in her lap. “I did, in fact. And I still managed to get here on time.”

“Ah, I’m not suggesting that I’m late, of course.”

Sybbie heard as Granny grunted a small chuckle under her breath, and she watched her grandfather also take his serviette and sniff as he draped it into his lap.

“I see,” she volleyed. “Is that perhaps because you don’t believe lunch should ever be as early as noon or,” Sybbie lifted her chin, “is it because you cannot possibly be late to something you were never invited to in the first place?” 

“What do you mean I wasn't invited?”

Sybbie tipped her head. “This was meant to be a girls’ lunch, Donk. Just for Granny and me.”

“Oh, well that’s impossible.” Donk lifted his chin back at her. “We come as a pair, you know, your grandmother and I.”

This time it was Sybbie who rolled her eyes, but her chest felt warmer all the same.

“I know,” she admitted, glancing between her chuckling Donk and her glowing Granny who, laughing, shook her head. “And let no man put asunder.”

[magicalrocketships]

not me discovering this fine evening that you wrote other parts of Won’t Get To Space here on tumblr 0.o that fic is like *my fic*: i read it probably once a month, i like it that much (plus - me and liam may have something in common and this fic doesn't make me feel pathetic like i sometimes feel - even if i'm in my 30s) .. so, thanks to that anon for talking about this fic and for you to link the other snippets: you just made the (what was supposed to be an early) evening for an European <3 if you ever want to share anything else in that universe, please do <3 i wish you an amazing day / night and thank you *very much* for creating this AU

oh, thank you! I'm so glad <3 It's so lovely to hear that it resonated with you.

I went looking for the sequel file in the depths of my dropbox, it has a last modified date of 2015, it was created in 2013, I don't have the original program I wrote it in anymore so I don't know if any of the formatting is messed up as I really haven't looked it in years, but here's the contents of the file. There's no ending and it's just bits and pieces, but please know that of course they end up happily, and I don't think I ever posted it in its entirety here.

I hope you see this, anon!

won't get to space because I haven't got a rocket part 2 (harry/liam/louis)

(first part here)

Like the sky is blue (all the things that stop you dreaming)

Come to London this weekend, we miss you xx

Liam grins down at his phone. He's on his break, eating two ham salad sandwiches and a bag of cheese and onion crisps in the back of the garage, flicking through The Mirror.

Your both in the paperrrrrrrrr, he texts, once he hits the 3am pages. Did u rlly fall out of a clubbb??????

Shameless lies !!! Louis texts back. we stumbled gracefully !!!!

His phone beeps with a message from Harry. I fell out of the cab not the club. lou just fell over me.

Liam laughs at that. What u uptooo?

Hanging around the record company !! Meetings . Boring !! Louis this time. They must be together, and reading each other's texts. Liam sort of likes the idea of them both peering down at the same phone, together.

Maybe touching all the way down one side.

He really likes thinking about them touching.

Gud luck xxxxx Liam hasn't got long left of his lunch. Mums berthdaaay this fri so cant come down :( sozzzzzzz :(

He has to get back to work anyway, so he stuffs his phone into his pocket before the reply arrives, and heads back across the garage to get on with Mrs Holloway's oil change.

~*~

Liam spends Friday night in Garfunkel's with his mum and his dad and his sisters, eating dinner in honour of his mum's birthday. He orders the chicken even though he normally gets the scampi, just like his dad, but it's nice to spend time with his parents and his sisters and just eat together.

Nicola tries not to talk about her wedding, but it's hard, since there's such a lot to organise, and everyone wants it to be great. His mum has been fretting about what to wear since Nicola first came home with her engagement ring, and she's pushing Nicola to try and find out what Graham's mum's wearing so that they don't clash.

Liam's dad makes the same grimace of 'these Payne women, what are we supposed to do with them' that he's been making at Liam since he realised they could have a secret club of two, and Liam makes the same face of agreement he's been making since he realised he could join in.

"Stop it, you two," his mum says, flicking Liam in the arm with her serviette. "It might not matter to you if we both show up in salmon pink from Debenhams, but it'll be embarrassing for our Nicola. And me."

"I know," Liam says. "What if I showed up in salmon pink from Debenhams too, it'd be terrible. I might cry."

"Liam," his mum says reprovingly, but Nicola smacks him in the arm.

"You'll be dressed like all the other ushers," she says, and Liam is very quickly reminded that Nicola is fast losing her sense of humour when it comes to her big day.

"I was only joking."

Nicola rolls her eyes at him. "I'm turning into a proper little madam," she says. "I know, you'll be all calling me Bridezilla the moment my back's turned."

"Of course we won't," his mum says. She leans over and pats her on the hand as the waiter comes over with their food. "It'll be perfect."

It takes a couple of minutes for everything to get sorted, and his dad's already tucking into his scampi and chips before Nicola turns her attention to Liam, and his Peri Peri chicken. "Have you got your eye on anyone, our kid? Anyone you might want to bring to the wedding?"

Liam immediately thinks about Louis and Harry, Louis sprawled out naked on his bed, laughing, and Harry bringing them both cups of tea. He wants to bring them, but firstly, there's no point banking on a future where they're concerned, and secondly, how could he ever explain that he's bringing two boys to his big sister's wedding? He's not even sure he could tell them he was bringing one boy to the wedding, let alone two.

"Ooh," Nicola says. "There is someone, isn't there? I can see it on your face."

"Is there?" Ruth asks.

Liam tries to school his face into something that won't give anything away. He rather suspects he fails. "Nah," he says. "Nothing that'll come to anything. Single pringle, that's me."

Ruth makes a sad face at him. "You'll find someone. You're brilliant, Liam."

Those people on OK Cupid who ever bothered messaging him back didn't think he was brilliant, and neither did all of Andy's friends. Nobody had, really, until Louis and Harry, and Liam was half convinced that they'd be off again given the slightest chance. Why would boys like that settle for a trainee mechanic from the midlands when they could have anyone in London town? It just didn't make sense. He fakes a smile for Ruth, and one for Nicola and his parents, and tries to turn their attention back to his mum and her birthday.

He's not sure it works.

~*~

His mum does a roast chicken on Sunday, and Liam rocks up at half eleven with a bunch of flowers for her, because it's her birthday weekend and she deserves flowers. He's in a good mood; Louis had rung him up at half past one in the morning to tell him that they missed him and trying to have sex without him there was rubbish and boring.

Liam hadn't believed that for a second, but he likes to be remembered, and Harry and Louis just keep on remembering him, like he isn't invisible, or see-through at the edges, but like he's real.

(talking about Nicola's wedding and asking Liam if he's bringing anyone, and Liam wanting to say yes but not being able to. Texting Louis and Harry from in front of the telly and his family thinking there's a girlfriend) Birthday weekend.

~*~

"What time do you finish work?" Louis asks, as soon as Liam picks up, and Liam’s so used to Louis and Harry constantly using each other’s phones that it doesn’t bother him that it’s Harry’s name that flashed up on his screen. It’s a picture of all three of them that comes with it, anyway, Harry in the middle with Louis on his back with his arm in the air, Liam holding the camera out and pressing in so that he’s in shot. It’s one of Liam’s favourite pictures. 

"Half five, why?" Liam asks. He’s supposed to be seeing them at the weekend, but it’s only Thursday. They have half-arsed plans to go and see the new Captain America film, and Liam’s desperately trying to cover up his desire to see it sooner rather than later. 

"We’re coming to pick you up," Louis says. "We’ve got plans for you."

"It’s Thursday, though," Liam says, puzzled. He has plans for tonight that involve putting a load of washing on and eating beans on toast in front of the telly. It’s the part of his life he tries to hide from Louis and Harry, who are surely only here for the exciting bits. 

"We know," Louis says. "You’re not busy, are you?"

"Nope," Liam says, although he’ll have to figure out when to do the washing now, so he’ll have clean pants for work on Monday. He’s very much in love with Louis and Harry, but he does have a Monday to Friday job he has to work the two of them around, which they don’t. 

"Brilliant," Louis says. "We’ll see you at half five. Love you."

"Right," Liam says, still puzzled, but Louis has already hung up. 

Half five shows up, but Louis and Harry don’t. Liam sits outside the garage with his jacket zipped up, and passes his phone from hand to hand, waiting for them. He doesn’t want to ring in case they’re driving, so he sits outside and hopes that he hasn’t got the day wrong. 

They don’t show up until ten to six, by which point Liam is already about ready to leave to go home. Harry pulls his Range Rover up in front of the garage though, parking it totally skewiff, and Louis is already tumbling out of the passenger door even as Liam is standing up to meet them. 

"Hello," Louis says, bounding over and pushing Liam up against the wall. "Happy Captain America Day, Steve."

"What?" Liam says, but Louis is kissing him hello. Liam can’t quite bring himself to be bothered about who might see. 

"Captain America Day," Harry says, carefully pushing Louis out of the way and kissing Liam gently. "Here, we got you a t-shirt in honour of the occasion."

Louis pulls open his denim jacket to display a t-shirt with Captain America’s shield right there in the centre. Harry is wearing one with a giant Avengers A in the middle. The one they’re holding out for Liam is royal blue, with a white star in the middle and red and white stripes at the bottom. 

"What—"

"Suit up," Louis says. "Here, preferably. Where we can stare at how hot you are."

Liam swallows, and looks down at his t-shirt. “Why are you here?” he asks, because ninety-five per cent of the time, he has no idea why Louis and Harry even bother with him. 

"Because Steve’s your favourite, and because you’re our favourite, and because we wanted to take our boyfriend out," Harry says. "We’ve got tickets for the eight o’clock showing, we’ve got a table at that burger place near that bowling alley that we went to first, and then we’re all going to go back to yours afterwards and let you talk about how hot Captain America is whilst we fuck you."

"That last part’s my favourite," Louis says, leaning in. "That was my idea, that bit. You can talk about how you’d like Steve to fuck you, if you like. Whilst we jerk you off. Make you come all over yourself."

"Oh," Liam says. Luckily he works on a nice, quiet road. It’s good, that, because he’s sporting a semi. "Right. That’s good, then."

"Brilliant," Harry says. "Now, are you going to change your top, or what? It’s been a whole week since we’ve seen you topless, and we’re getting withdrawal symptoms."

"All right," Liam says softly, and pulls open his jacket. 

(weekend at Liam's)

~*~

MINI BREAK

Plan to go away for a mini break, rent a house for the bank holiday weekend – Frisbee and piggy in the middle on the beach, bacon sandwiches, watching dvds and fucking, joking about singing together, Liam thinks it's a silly joke, they're not joking.

"We should go away," Liam says, without really thinking about it. It's either late one night or early one morning, but his watch is too far away for him to check, and anyway, he doesn't care enough to move. It's dark outside and he's naked. Anything else is just details.

"We're away now," Harry points out, from where he's lying, cheek pressed to Liam's chest. He's playing with Liam's nipple, grazing his fingertips over Liam's skin, thumbnail catching. Liam slides his hand down Harry's side, down towards his hip. He's too sleepy to initiate sex again, but he's not tired enough to fall asleep right this instant. "Well, me and Louis are."

"Don't suppose many people actually holiday in Wolvo, Haz." Louis, for reasons known only to him and at best impenetrable to Liam, is standing by the side of Liam's bed, wearing one sock and steadily eating his way through a packet of chocolate HobNobs. "You are talking about a holiday, right?"

Liam shrugs. He hadn't exactly thought about options. He'd barely got as far as thinking through what he'd actually said. "It might be nice," he says, as carefully as he can. Holidays and mini-breaks are what couples do. People in relationships. He's still not entirely sure that this counts. He's half-convinced that every time he sees Harry and Louis, it's going to be the last.

~*~

LIAM WANTS TO TELL HIS PARENTS, he just wants people to be happy for him like he's happy with them. Is convinced they're going to take it well because they've always loved him and supported him and wanted him to be happy.

I told my mum and dad about the 3 of us, Liam texts, on Thursday night. He's careful with his spelling, for once. It takes him about three goes to get it right, and at least two and a half of those he can put down to his hands shaking.

It's about thirteen seconds until his phone rings.

"You all right?" Louis demands, as soon as Liam answers.

Liam lets out a ragged breath. "No?"

"God," Louis says. "You idiot. Why didn't you tell us? We could have, I don’t know, been there. We're like, two and a half hours away. Harry's gone to the shop for a Cornetto and a banana."

Liam tries, desperately, to get a handle on his breathing. "You don't have to—" he says, but then everything he's been trying to keep inside just comes rushing out, and he doesn't mean it to, he really doesn't, but he's crying. He's crying down the phone because his mum and dad don't want him. They don't want him, and they're everything to him, and he really, really thought they'd understand. "They don't want me," he manages, after a while. "Lou, they don't want me."

Louis' breath catches. "Oh, baby," he says. "Sweetheart."

"What am I going to do?" Liam can't think. He can't do anything. He's already been sitting here for the best part of an hour.

"Wait for us to get there," Louis tells him. Liam can hear him moving around. "We'll drive up as soon as Harry gets back from the shop. I'm so sorry. Liam, I'm so sorry."

Liam hates crying. He knows it's weak, and he should be past this, but he can't. It's so hard. "Haven't you got stuff tonight? You're going out. You said."

"Fuck that," Louis tells him. "I'm putting stuff in a bag. You're more important than any stupid party."

"I'm not."

"Oh god," Louis sounds like he's going to cry himself. "Liam, sweetheart. Please. Don't say that. We're two and a half hours away."

"Sorry," Liam says, automatically.

"No—" Louis lets out a breath. "Look, are you going to be okay for two minutes? I'm going to phone Harry, get him to get his arse back here. I'll call you straight back, I promise. Please don't cry, baby. It's going to be okay. I promise. It's going to be fine. Your parents are going to come round, I swear."

His parents had asked him to leave the house so that they could 'think about what he'd told them'. They'd used words like weird and disgusting and ashamed.

Liam's always had a lot of feelings, but right this second, he wishes he could tear his heart right out of his chest, just so that it would stop hurting, if only for a minute. "All right," he says, softly, and when Louis hangs up, he buries his face in his sleeve and lets himself cry.

Andy's there when Louis and Harry pull up outside in the car, looking awkward and a bit useless in Liam's kitchen. Liam has to send him to answer the door because he's on the phone when they bell goes; his mum is crying down the phone at him, and Liam's having enough trouble trying to figure out what she's saying in amongst the tears without having to worry about whether Louis' going to lamp Andy when he's not looking.

Liam can't think about that. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Mum—" he says. "Mum."

"I don't understand," his mum's saying. "We don't understand, me and your dad. How can there be three of you?"

"There just is," Liam says, over the sob in his throat. He hates crying in front of Andy. He knows what Andy thinks about lads crying, but Andy's been good enough not to say any of that in the hour he's been here. He'd given in and texted him whilst he was waiting for Louis to phone him back, a garbled evryyhgings gon 2 shit can u cumm overrrr plese.

This is why Andy's his best mate; he'd turned up forty minutes later with two portions of chips from the chippy and a four pack of Heineken.

Once he'd seen Liam's face, he'd dumped them all on the counter by the Baby Belling and punched Liam in the arm, before pulling him into a one-armed hug.

Andy still looks shell-shocked, and it's an hour later. He might not understand Liam and Louis and Harry either—and he doesn't, because Liam's had the questions to prove it—but at least he's still here. He's grown up with Liam, and he's grown up with Liam's family, and he doesn't know what to make of it either.

He's still here, though. His best mate.

He feels Louis and Harry

~*~

wakes up to find Ruth in the kitchen talking to Louis

When Liam wakes up, he can hear the soft burr of voices coming from the kitchen. He doesn't open his eyes, staying curled up on the couch instead, Harry's hand in his hair. It's Ruth's voice, and Louis', and Liam can feel himself freezing up all over.

"—I just don't get why," Ruth's saying, over the rumble of the kettle boiling. "You're both—you're in the newspapers. What are you doing here?"

"Because we both love Liam," Louis tells her. "Because it might be weird, and no one might get it but us, but he makes us happy and I think we make him happy too."

"But what are you doing here? You must have a proper posh place in London. What are you doing in my brother's shit flat?"

It's a question Liam asks himself a million times a day.

"Because this is Liam's life, and we love him, and we want to be a part of it. And his life is here, and in this flat, so yeah, we're going to be here. With him."

Ruth's quiet at that, and Liam stays where he is on the couch, his heart thumping. Harry's hand in his hair has stilled.

~*~

Liam is sad and alone; his parents want to try, and they all go for a barbecue at Liam's parents.

Louis comes to find Liam in his mum and dad's kitchen after a while, coming right on in and wrapping his arms around Liam's shoulders, pressing a kiss to Liam's neck. "You've been gone a while," he says, not loosening his hold.

"I'm making more salad," Liam tells him, chopping a tomato into eighths. "You lot have eaten all the rest."

"More salad's always good," Louis agrees, but he doesn't let go of Liam, and Liam's grateful because he feels like he's about to explode.

"Where's Harry?"

"Turning on the charm," Louis says.

"It won't work," Liam says, and he doesn't want his voice to catch, but it does nevertheless. His knife skitters over the tomato and down onto the chopping board. "They won't ever understand."

"It'll take time. To everyone who isn't us, this is probably really weird."

Liam shakes his head. "It's not weird," he says stubbornly. "I love you and I love Harry. I don't understand why that's not easy."

Louis lets out a breath, and drops another kiss to Liam's shoulder. "I think you're probably the most honest person I've ever met," he says, which is a lie. Liam lies to people all the time. Louis and Harry don't even know that Liam failed at the X Factor. One day they'll find out that he's lied to them all this time and that will be the end. He lies about how much he needs them and how much this means to him and how much he's desperate for them to love him like he loves them. He lies all of the time, every day, and one day it'll catch up with him and it'll all be over.

"I'm not."

Louis ignores him. "I see you, and you're always just—whatever you feel, you just—you're the most brilliant person I've ever met. You and Harry, but you differently. God, I'm crap at this. I'm trying to tell you that you're so open, and so honest, and that means you get hurt sometimes. If I could, I'd make sure you never got hurt again."

Liam's chest aches. "Louis—"

"People disappoint us," Louis goes on. "Sometimes people we love, they disappoint us. But that doesn't mean they don't love us."

Liam drops the knife. "I want them to love you like I love you," he says, and he sounds all choked up. He tries not to, but he can't help it. "It's not weird, and it's not wrong. We fit."

"I know," Louis says. He shifts, hooking his chin over Liam's shoulder, and wrapping his arms around Liam's waist. "You're fucking marvellous, Liam Payne. Like, fucking brilliant. Me and Harry are going to keep on telling you and telling you until you just know, okay?"

Liam nods, but he doesn't believe it.

When they get back to Liam's flat after the disastrous barbecue at his mum and dad's, Harry and Louis lead him wordlessly into the bedroom, and pull him into a hug. Harry presses his mouth to the corner of Liam's.

"You're brilliant," he says softly, sliding his hand into Liam's hair. "And when we met your mum and dad, we could see just where you get that from."

"They were rude," Liam stumbles over his words. "They barely spoke to you."

Louis slides his hands around Liam's waist, and under his t-shirt to rest his palms against Liam's stomach. "What do you say to the two guys who are having sex with your son, exactly? It's weird for them."

"I wanted them to love you," Liam admits. Louis keeps stroking his fingertips over Liam's tummy, and Liam wants to stay like this forever, in their arms.

"We'll make them love us," Harry says. "Just you wait. You've not seen our long term attack yet. We're excellent winners-over. We've got, like, plans and strategies."

"Just you wait," Louis agrees, mouthing at the sensitive skin beneath Liam's left ear.

Liam tells his parents that his relationship isn't going awawy and then Louis and Harry take him back home and look after him, but they have to leave to go back to London

Liam has to be by himself and Louis and harry are meeting together with Simon Cowell about singing in a group. Liam doesn't think they're serious.

~*~

Liam has never, ever been prouder of his sister than he is when he watches her say her vows at the front of the room. He stands there in his charcoal suit with his fuchsia buttonhole, being her usher, and he cries as she says I do. He can see Ruth doing the exact same thing from her pride of place as maid of honour, but he can't help but glance back over his shoulder, gaze going straight to Louis and Harry, half way back on the bride's side. They're probably holding hands, and Liam wants that so much it hurts, but he's promised Nicola and his mum and dad that he'll keep it quiet, this threesome he's in and trying to call a relationship.

It isn't like he doesn't know how weird it is, but he wishes the people he loved accepted him like Louis and Harry do.

Harry gives him a little half-wave, and that catches Louis' attention. He winks at Liam, bumping his shoulder into Harry's.

Liam turns back to the front. His heart is full.

Nicola comes over later. She's drunk and plump and beaming and beautiful. "I'm so proud of you, little brother," she says, leaning over to wrap her arm around his shoulders. Her wedding dress is the size of about three people. She looks gorgeous, and like she's had the best day ever. Liam only wanted that from today, so he can't help but consider it a job well done. "And I'm really pleased you're so happy."

Liam goes a bit red, but he risks a glance at Harry and Louis anyway. They're all sitting out of the way of the dancing, because if they can't be openly together then sitting in the corner together and tangling their feet under the table is enough of an alternative to capture their affection.

Louis winks at him, and Harry just grins. They've got matching button holes, the three of them, Louis biting his lip and swapping Liam's fuchsia one for a cream rose once the dinner and the speeches and the photographs were all done. Liam had wanted something that marked them out as a threesome, a trio, even if he couldn't offer them both more.

"Seriously," Nicola says, her arm still round Liam's shoulders. "I've never seen you so happy."

Liam knows he's blushing more. He wants to reach over and curl his fingers into Louis', and have Harry come over and wrap his arms around him. "Well," he says, only a little awkwardly. "I am."

"It's been a good day, hasn't it?" Nicola goes on. She waves her arm in the air. "Everything's gone right."

"It's been perfect," Harry says. "And you look beautiful. Thank you for inviting us."

Nicola leans over and takes Louis' hand. "You are being good to him, aren't you?"

"Nicola," Liam hisses, but he can't do anything; it's her wedding day, she can hold whoever's hand she wants to. "Stop that. Put him down."

"Shush," Nicola says. "I'm talking to your boyfriend. One of your boyfriends." She giggles. "I never thought you'd have more than one boyfriend, Lee. Never thought you'd have a boyfriend, come to that."

"Well, I do, and they're perfect," Liam tells her. "But will you put him down and stop embarrassing me for two seconds?"

"No, but seriously." Nicola lets go of Louis' hand and reaches for Harry's. Harry lets her take it, and flushes in what Liam can only think of as a ridiculously cute kind of a way. "This is my little brother," she says, not letting go of Harry's hand. "Like—me and Ruth are really protective of him. Cos he's our little brother. And it's like you are too. Not like Andy."

"Nicola," Liam warns.

"Seriously. I'm trying to tell you something, so shush, Liam." She shakes her head, and turns her attention back to Louis and Harry. "If you hurt him, either of you, then I will personally hunt you down and kill you, and Ruth will help me."

Liam isn't so sure of that, since Ruth is still not quite on board with the Liam-has-two-boyfriends part of proceedings. This is still the most embarrassing experience he can quite remember, so he leaves the Ruth part of things to one side for now.

"You don’t need to worry," Louis says, shooting a glance at Liam. "We're the last people you need to worry about when it comes to Liam. I'm pretty sure we're committed to making sure everybody in the world realises how great Liam is."

"Yeah," Harry echoes. "We think he's brilliant, and we love him."

Liam knows he's doing his best impression of a bright red, on fire tomato but he can't look up. If he looks up he'll do something stupid like kiss both of them, and he'd promised. He'd promised.

"Do you three want to dance?" Nicola says suddenly.

Liam looks up. "With you?"

"Well, I suppose. I just meant—I meant do you three want to dance, together."

Liam looks over at the dance floor. "But everybody will know," he says. "I promised you and Mum and Dad."

Nicola raises her shoulders in an inelegant shrug. "I haven't seen you this happy, like, ever. It's like—I don't think it's very nice of us to be like, come to my wedding, but pretend you're not totally in love for the sake of Auntie Dora and all the cousins and the neighbours or whatever. So I think maybe that you should dance. All three of you."

"But Mum and Dad—"

"Leave them to me," Nicola says. "Anyway, whose wedding is this? It's bloody mine, so you three, get up there and do something romantic for me, all right?" She kisses the top of Liam's head. "Go on, scram. I'm going to find Ed and get him to dance with me too. We'll make a right show of it, us Paynes on that dance floor. Where's Ruth?"

"You're not a Payne anymore, Nic."

"Once a Payne, always a Payne," Nicola tells him, winking at Louis and Harry. "Go on. Up you go." Liam watches as she threads her way through the tables and her wedding guests in pursuit of her new—and quite remarkably drunk—husband.

"Well," Louis says. He smiles at Liam. "What do you want to do?"

Liam smiles at that. "I want to do what I always want to do. Be with you guys."

Harry blinks at that, looking away. "God, " he says. "Fuck, stop making me cry."

"So," Simon Cowell says, when all five of them are in his office, sitting in deceptively low cushioned chairs in front of his desk, "What have you got to say for yourselves."

"This is Liam Payne," Louis says, pointing at Liam, "and he's fantastic. And we think we want to record as a band—"

"I know who Liam Payne is." Simon cuts him off, sitting back in his chair, tapping his pen against the arm. "Long time, no see, Liam."

Liam can't bear to look to either side of him. "I didn't think you'd remember me."

"I'm good with names and faces," Simon says. "It's part of what got me to where I am now. That, and I looked you up."

"What's he mean?" Louis hisses, kicking Liam in the ankle.

Liam shakes his head, and doesn't say anything. This is what the end feels like: this. So close to his dreams, and yet so endlessly far away.

"Didn't I tell you to come back when you'd grown up a bit? Done your GCSEs?"

Liam juts his chin out. "I couldn't afford to," he says. "I needed to work."

"I literally have no idea what's going on right now," Niall says, from Liam's other side.

"I auditioned for the X Factor," Liam sits on his hands. "Two years before you did, when I was fourteen. I went to Barbados with Simon. I didn't get through."

There is no silence like a horrified, wounded silence, and Liam can read this one like a book.

"God," Niall says.

"Shit," Louis breathes, next to him. When Liam looks, Harry just looks horrified. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Liam draws his shoulders up. "Dunno," he says. "Didn't want to tell you I'd failed where you'd all passed. Didn't make any difference anyway, not back then. Then it got too late to tell you. I didn't think Simon would remember me."

"I remembered you," Simon says. He's still tapping his pen against the arm of his chair.

AND THEN: happy ending of course.