#like. it would ABSOLUTELY suck if you as an elf had a kid that had the lifespan (metaphorically) of a cat

[carooosa]

A Chance to be Normal

Word count: 2.3k Rating: Fluff/Hurt Pairing: Ascended Astarion x GN Resist Durge/Reader  Warnings: None AO3 link: A Chance to be Normal

Summary: After the Absolute has been defeated, Astarion wishes to fulfill your every desire. However, he didn't expect your desires to be so pedestrian.

A/N: This is literally the day after The Absolute has been killed. I’m going with the Vampire bride/husband theory, however I’m slightly changing it. Since Astarion has yet to fully understand and grasp his power, he isn’t able to fully extend all of the blessings that came with Ascension to you. This can be read by itself or as a prequel to the other works in my "Bound by You: Love is Power, Love is Weakness" series. Also yes this was part of a February fic prompt and yes it is now March. Life sucks sometimes ok.

“Just one day of normalcy.”

That’s the only thing you requested when Astarion asked what you’d like to do now that the Absolute was banished. He had been prepared for you to ask for anything in the world. You seemed hell-bent on taking revenge on any remaining Bhaalists, although you were worried that you may see familiar faces and turn back into your ‘Slayer-form’. You were ready to jump into Avernus with Wyll and Karlach, but a shared whisper between the three of you ended with them plunging into the hells together and you staying behind.

He meant it when he’d said, “Of course, my love. Anything you want, you shall have.” 

Even for a creature with such immeasurable power, what you desired was trivial in comparison.

Although, he would have to admit that the last month was more adventure than he had ever wished for. Perhaps a day of being a normal elf and a normal tiefling would be a nice change of pace.

When he tried to question what you wanted to do with the day, you simply smiled and whispered, “It's a surprise.”

And a surprise it would be. 

He wakes to hear you frantically running about the room you’re staying in at the Elfsong. You’re mumbling something to yourself before starting to giggle like a school kid. He turns on his side and opens his eyes, only for you to screech at him and slap your hand against his face to obscure his vision. “What are you doing awake?!” you shrill at Astarion.

He tries to gently remove your hand from his eyes, but you retaliate by placing your other hand on top of the first and pushing against him harder. 

“Darling,” he says with a breathy chuckle. “It’s hard to stay asleep with you running around like you’re covered in timmask spores.” Although he can’t see it, he assumes by the way that you fidget that your cheeks acquired a deep blush. 

He takes one of your hands and brings it down to his lips, placing his lips against your palm as he speaks into it. “My pet, what’s got you acting so strangely this morning?” 

Your hand flexes against him and for a second he thinks you’re going to relent. If there’s one thing about you that’s true, though, it’s that you’re as stubborn as a donkey (although Astarion would never say it to your face lest you unleash your ‘gift’ onto him).

“I told you last night,” you respond with a cheeky grin. “It’s a surprise.”

“Very well,” Astarion says while letting your hand drop. “If it must be so, then I suppose I’ll have no choice but to surrender.” 

He grimaces at the words as soon as he says them. He’ll need to keep his tongue in check upon returning to the Crimson Palace; it wouldn’t do to let anyone think there’s someone with power over him.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat before rummaging through the nightstand next to the bed and moving your hand so that only one of Astarion’s eyes is covered. “I still have some prep that I need to finish but I can’t trust you to not peek, so I’m gonna blindfold you.” Astarion smirks at you and raises his uncovered eyebrow. “Does your day of normalcy include a certain kind of exercise?” 

His eye flares at you, and in response, you blush even harder. You shake your head violently at his implication, and he can’t help the genuine smile that forms on his lips. For someone who thoroughly enjoyed his body, you were quite shy whenever he teased you.

“No, I have something special planned. It has to be a surprise though.”

He thinks for a second that he may continue to rile you up, but ultimately he decides against it. This ‘day of normalcy’ was the only thing you asked from him, and what kind of lord would he be if he couldn’t grant his consort’s first wish? 

So with a dramatic sigh, he says, “Alright, get on with it.”

Your other hand falls from his face to hold the handkerchief and he waits for the fabric to wrap around his eyes but it never comes. Instead, you’re focusing intensely on the blindfold, rolling the fabric between your fingers. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when you answer before he has the chance to.

“Do you trust me?” you ask him, your eyes round and full of vulnerability. 

You always asked these questions at the strangest of times. How could he say no? If anything, you were the only being he trusted. 

You could have killed him two tenday ago back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands in order to ‘fulfill your Bhaal-spawn duties’, but you didn’t. 

You could have forced him to drink from that blood Drow to gain a powerful potion, but you didn’t. 

You could have left him to perish in his old master’s ritual, but you didn’t. 

You stayed, you released him from the ritual and helped him to ascend instead. And later that night, you gave over your life.

You were so, so selfless and devoted to him. You could have stabbed him in the back many times, but you stayed by his side. 

It was quite foolish on your end, honestly. 

Astarion didn’t have much before the ritual, and even though he’s now the Vampire Ascendant, all he has is that empty mansion. All of the old servants were either dead or had escaped into the shadows, leaving behind a mess that would take days to clean up. Astarion Ancunín was unknown amongst the elite, nothing but a whisper of a pretty face with a nice body. 

Yet…for some untold reason, he was all you wanted.

It's been a few seconds since you asked Astarion the question, and you fidget beneath his silence. He plasters on a confident smirk to hide his insecurity, answering in the only way he knows how. 

“More than anything in the world,” he whispers. 

Grabbing your hands, he places a kiss on your knuckles before lifting them up to his eyes to put the blindfold on, and his world goes dark.

After you finish preparing your surprise and help Astarion get dressed, you lead him out of the tavern and around the bustling noise of celebrations in the town. All the while, he’s still wearing the blindfold. You pull him along, weaving in and out amongst the crowd. He’s not able to do much whenever he bumps into someone, and he’s convinced he must look the part of a bumbling idiot.

Suddenly, you yank him hard to the side and continue on as the noise from the city fades. The sounds and smells of nature start to flood Astarion’s senses when you stop moving without warning and he stumbles into you.

“My love, can I please take this wretched thing off?” Astarion whines. He’s unable to see your reaction and you don’t answer, but he can still smell your scent so he knows you’re nearby. He waits a few more seconds before asking, “Darling? Are you there?”

His newly beating undead heart starts to quicken as all he’s met with is silence. Has something happened to you? You were just pulling him along not even a minute ago, surely you were fine. 

But what if you weren’t? 

What if in the one moment he let down his guard you had been taken, or worse? 

He’s about to rip off the blindfold from panic when he feels your presence behind him removing the handkerchief.

As his eyes adjust to the brightness of the sun, you let out a big “Surprise!” before wrapping your arms around him. 

On the ground in front of him is a red blanket with golden lace trim; arranged on it are two glasses filled with an expensive champagne, an ornate plate stacked with chocolate-covered strawberries in a precise circular pattern, and a single rose in a small glass vase.

Astarion lets out a sigh of relief and kneels down to the arrangement on the blanket. “What’s this?” he asks while looking up at you.

There’s a smile plastered on your face and your eyes are full of pride. He realizes that he hasn’t seen what you’re wearing yet and his eyes trail down to your body. You’re wearing a simple outfit that’s the same color as the blanket, and looking at himself, the same color of his shirt as well. It’s not something he would have picked out for the two of you (as it’s far too plain), but since this was a day for blending in, he supposes it’ll do.

“This,” you say while plopping down next to Astarion, “is a picnic!” 

He laughs at your straightforward response and he can’t help but admire the blush that spreads on your cheeks. You stick out your bottom lip in a fake pout and cross your arms.

Astarion wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a tight embrace while whispering soothing words in your ear. “My sweetness, you never cease to make me smile. I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you.” You push him away with an eye roll. “I wasn’t laughing, Lord Ancunín.” Astarion tuts his tongue at that response. “Ah, ah, ah. Today I’m just Astarion.”

You quickly envelop his face with your hands and move closer so that your lips are just out of reach from his. Your eyes are full of love as you say, “My Astarion.”

His mouth goes dry at your proclamation. 

Was he really yours? If he was, would that be a bad thing? 

Of course, he would need to make sure that no one ever found out just how deep the bond was between the two of you, lest they use it against him. Or worse yet, they use it against you. His thoughts begin to race but before he can spiral into his insecurities, you snap him back to the present with a gentle kiss on his nose.

Astarion blinks once and you smile, grabbing a strawberry and holding it up to his mouth. 

“Open,” you say while pressing the fruit against his lips. 

He obliges and takes a bite of the fruit, staring at you as you watch him intently. The flavors dance in his mouth, the bitterness of the dark chocolate melting on his tongue combines with the sweetness of the strawberry to taste like pure bliss. It’s been centuries since he tasted food that didn’t immediately cause bile to form in his throat.

You fidget from his silence. “You haven't had anything other than blood in over two centuries, so I thought I'd share my favorite food with you. Although saying that out loud, I probably should have asked what your favorite food was instead of –” 

Astarion cuts off your rambling with a hungry kiss, pushing his tongue against your lips. You let him in and almost immediately you push him away, retching and coughing. 

“I-I’m sorry, let me just get something to drink,” you hurriedly reassure him as you grab a glass and drink some of the champagne. 

You spit out the drink and begin to retch just as before.

Astarion quickly jumps to your side and reaches out to rub your back but hesitates for a moment, looking around to see if anyone else is watching. Noticing that no one is nearby, he begins to rub soothing circles against your back, similar to how he noticed you comfort others during the last few months. Tears threaten to spill out from the corners of your eyes; whether it be from the pain or from something else, he’s not sure.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks while peering over to look closer at you.

It takes you a few more seconds to catch your breath before you respond. “The taste… it’s horrid.”

Astarion’s head begins to spin at the revelation. When he was just a mere spawn, anything other than blood tasted vile. But you weren’t a spawn, you were more. You were his consort; hells, you drank some of his blood. Maybe it wasn’t enough blood, maybe you needed more of his life source flowing through you.

Or maybe he wasn’t as powerful as he originally thought.

Yes, he was able to protect you from the sun, however, it wasn’t to the extent of total invulnerability. You were only able to last under the direct rays for a few hours before your skin would start to simmer and bubble. It was a bittersweet end to the celebration of the Absolute’s defeat. 

In exchange for your complete devotion, Astarion had stolen your freedom in the sun.

How many more of his weaknesses would afflict you? Your reflection was still visible, but without the need to traverse through moving water or eat food, it hadn’t crossed his mind that you were affected in negative ways.

His inner monologue is cut short as you still his comforting arm on your back. “I’m okay, really. Why don’t you enjoy the treats I brought? We wouldn’t want to make my time out in the sun today to be for nothing, would we?” 

You look at your love with a heartbreakingly pitiful smile.

While he has always admired your strength, he could feel the sorrow emitting from you. Quite literally, he was overwhelmed with a sadness unlike his own. His stomach began to twist in knots and the edges of his eyes became damp. 

“No, we wouldn’t want to do anything of the sort.” He plastered on that fake smile of his and looked into your soulless eyes, your mind miles away as he agreed. “Come, darling, lay your head on my lap.”

The rest of the picnic was quiet, and later that night once you both returned to the Elfsong, Astarion impatiently waited for you to fall asleep. Once he was sure you wouldn’t stir, he quickly scribbled a correspondence to Waterdeep. If he was going to protect you, he needed to have more power, and there seemed to be a saying about knowledge leading to power.

Special thanks to @starryjuicebox and @enterthedreams for helping me finish this fic!

[moonblossom7]

(Aged up) Percabeth as your parents headcanons

Genre:fluff/comfort

-reader is adopted

-gender neutral reader

A/N: this is rlly kinda stupid but it's cute I think.

🍼 Toddler years(~1-4)

- Percy is great with kids, obviously, but he's rlly worried that you'd get into something while his back was turned so he's CONSTANTLY watching you. Can't get away with anything.

-stay at home dad Percy is so real, actually

- Annabeth likes reading you bedtime stories, even though she struggles with it

- they're both of the opinion that Disney has gone down hill, but they take you to the cinema every time a new movie comes out.

- Annabeth gets stressed out a lot about whether or not they make you feel like you belong, since she knows how much it sucks to feel alone within your own family, and she thinks it's gotta be even worse since you're adopted (that worry never really went away)

-  Percy made "monster spray" for when you're scared of the dark.

🖍️ Little kid (5-8)

- Annabeth takes you on museum trips a lot. It's important for kids to experience things, and of course she has to pick something the both of you like

- Percy cried like an actual baby when you lost your first tooth. He didn't expect something like that to effect him, but how could it not? You're growing up and it's happening a lot faster than he thought it would.

- loyal customers at your imaginary restaurant. (Yk those play kitchens with the plastic food? Those.)

- very emotional about the little art projects you bring home from school. They can rarely bring themselves to throw any away,so they have a little tote to keep them in when the fridge gets too crowded.

-speaking of school, you are very much THAT kid. The one with the character pen cases and the sparkly folders and notebooks with that Lisa Frank dolphin on them. (I WANTED ONE SO BAD!!) Percy and Annabeth decided you could only have the absolute best stuff.

- around this time they explain the whole gods, monsters, demigods thing. You had already met Grover and Tyson and some of your parents' demigod friends,so you knew some of it, but up till now they'd never fully explained.

🎮big kid (9-12)

-at this point, Percy is officially banned from helping you with homework. He's one of those "math is math, that's still the right answer!" dads, so when you got to the age where you had to learn and use different methods he noped out. Annabeth takes over from that point.

- if you get into sports, obviously they're your biggest fans. They show up to every game, they give your friends a ride home from practice, they probably wear those cringey T-shirts with shit like "soccer mom/dad" printed across the front in mismatched fonts. Percy's probably even an assistant coach. (Bonus for my softball girlies: Annabeth is totally the type to give you cool braids with the team colors weaved in)

- Again Percy cried over you loosing teeth. But this is your last baby tooth! You aren't little at all anymore! (It's even worse for him if you don't believe in the tooth fairy anymore by then)

- alas,the time has come. The last Christmas you believe in Santa. You told them they didn't have to put the elf up that year, that's how they found out. It caught Annabeth totally off guard. She'd tried to be very sneaky and very clever about maintaining the Christmas magic.

- you're having a Minecraft phase rn(everyone does at this point, don't fight it) and Annabeth is THRILLED. she doesn't play many video games, but she does like Minecraft and Animal Crossing,so she was so excited to have that in common with you. She gets especially excited about all the houses you build even though they're really basic at first.

📱Teen (13-19)

-went very all out on your 13th,16th, and 18th birthday. So much food, and confetti and probably invited all of their friends on top of everyone you invited. (For my summer birthday friends: paid for you and your friends to go to the water park for at least one of those,on top of everything else they had planned)

- very chill about your first partner, actually. I know that a lot of parents aren't, but I honestly don't see Percy and Annabeth being the track your phone and shotgun prom pictures type. As long as your partner was respectful and treated you well, they had no reason to be upset.

-coming back to the sports thing, Percy would be upset if you got to be embarrassed by them going to your games and stuff now. It happens for some kids, obviously (and him and Annabeth have gotten a lot more excited and a little obnoxious about everything the better you got), but he'd be upset that he's not cool anymore.

- proms and homecoming dances are such a big deal. They never really went to any school dances, unless you count when they were trying to find Nico and Bianca, so they're super interested in yours. They want you to have a good time, but they definitely might be projecting a little bit.

- On that note, for my long haired friends, Annabeth totally does your hair for you for those events. I personally think most Athena kids are good at doing hair, since weaving is part of Athena's whole thing and like doing complex hairstyles definitely requires that, and  Annabeth would really enjoy that bonding experience.

- Percy originally wanted to be the one to teach you to drive, but you scared him so many times that he couldn't be alone in a car with you for a long time. Everyone makes mistakes while they're learning, and he's usually a brave guy, but it's a million times scarier now that it's you. Maybe he's just worried about you getting hurt.  Maybe he doesn't want to have to pay for any repairs. Could be both.

- your graduation was so emotionally devastating for them. Gods, they're just so damn proud of you. Highschool isn't as easy as some people make it seem,and even if it was, it's still such a big deal. And it was also so bittersweet because you really aren't a kid  anymore, and they're so excited for you to experience the adult world, but they also miss their little baby.

-also,if you go to a school that lets you decorate your cap,I just know they'd want to help. Obviously they'd follow whatever your idea was but I could see y'all being an arts and crafts family, y'know?

- I don't wanna say that Annabeth has earned a reputation that could get you into any colleges without much effort because I don't think she'd let you get away with not trying, but like...if she wasn't like that, you could.

-also, they'd be really chill if you didn't want to go to college,as long as you were doing something safe and that makes you happy. They know that extra school isn't for everyone and they also know there's a lot of jobs that don't need any degree that can make more money than jobs that do (not that money's all that matters, but it's a good motivator.)

A/N(number 2):Lord I love thinking about Percy and Annabeth getting to have a nice normal-ish life. Let me know if u guys have any specific scenarios you wanna see with parental Percabeth,I get such a hit of nostalgia and happiness from this dynamic

[thedomesticanthropologist]

Here I am back with some hot takes about what I, personally, would do in the BG3 universe were I yeeted into it and forced to be... the Main Character

First of all, I love the idea of having played the game before getting sucked into the world because it adds a layer of horror that I don't think would even benefit you one bit. Knowing exactly what's going to go down would be DISABLINGLY horrific.

But OK. OK, so let's say I'm there. And I get granted like, main character abilities. Sorcerer makes the most sense cause like, you just HAVE powers. Gucci. We good.

I would gay panic the minute I met Shadowheart. Sorry. End of world what? Half elf with twinkling eyes and a swaying braid just told me to be her leader. Im- hghhh

Laezel I honestly think I could hold my own against. When it comes to fight or flight I am a flightless bird and her particular brand of bullying in the first act I know I could assert myself.

Gale... besties. I married my partner partially because I love info dump. As a kid I watched a movie about robots who rich people had in their homes like a Google or a Alexa but human shaped and you could ask them questions all day and I was like, I want one. Gales that guy. I wanna listen all day. But if he fell in love with me I'd be so mad 😠 no, wizard. Sit down and tell me fun facts. No thirsting.

Because I'm traumatized with a deep desire to feel safe I think I'd gravitate to Wyll a lot for organizing the camp, spending time together, easing fears, etc. He's also really safe to physically be around so I can see myself being quick to instigate hugs and stuff. No getting a crush on me tho, Wyll, no. Down boy.

Karlach probably would intimidate me more than Laezel. Lemme just say, not because she's bad, but because she's a firecracker. Her explosive rage in her personal quest would probably have me hanging back but then when we get back to camp we'd be chill pretty quick

I'd be all over Halsin because he'd make me feel safe, also. I have this thing about safety. He's also so concerned with the shadow curse I wouldn't worry about his crush at all but would very much enjoy his warm presence by the fireside

At the Goblin Party, I guarantee I'd not sleep with Astarion, mostly because HOW he comes on to you would be a big nope for me. Gale with his "pay attention to only me tonight or else I'm not gonna show u a magic trick would have me being like k bye, I'd comfort Wyll and give him space, I'd walk past Karlach and wish her well partying, I'd ignore Laezel and if she told me I smell good sweaty I'd go bathe in the lake.

In fact, sorry, but I am NOT engaging in a big party until after I get a bath at the druid camp. Maybe I saved the tieflings just to be able to make them make me a hot bath. I'm just saying.

I'm walking into that party CLEAN and I'll sit with Shadowheart at the waterfall and I wouldn't be allowed to drink because I'm sober 😭 but I think my entire horny ass party would be very disappointed

Then I'd go and dance like an absolute hoe on a rock to let off steam in the middle of camp, still sober, and pass out by the fire.

[crystalelemental]

So I guess you don’t have much positive to say about Stranger of Paradise, particularly it amounting to the Garland backstory no one asked for. Also, if you don’t like 7, which I understand as being one of the most loved games in Final Fantasy, then is there ANY Final Fantasy you would define as “good?”

Oh man. Stranger of Paradise fucking rules. I haven't played it, but I watched a playthrough of it after seeing the Bullshit scene and reading a synopsis and thinking this would be the most cringe shit ever and telling my wife we absolutely had to watch this, and for most of the game it definitely pushes into an earnest "this is so goofy I can't hate it but it's certainly not quality," but then you hit the pivot and it's like am I having feelings about fucking Astos the dark elf right now? That game exceeded every expectation. Jack Garland is unironically cool as hell.

Anyway, there are others, but more under the cut because unfortunately I am in a chatty mood today.

I think part of my answer to this has to come with the caveat of "I've mostly played re-released that made the games substantially more accessible, so if you're asking whether I think any are good it's like...yes but also no."

I think Final Fantasy XII is the best one. I think the story is fantastic, I love the cast, I think Vaan is out of the way enough to not really be a problem, I think the world itself is really neat, I think the concepts for Gambits are a lot of fun to set up and see run. I also think if I tried to play a version of it that isn't The Zodiac Age and had to deal with everyone having the same grid and no speed up function I would stab myself, and even with the updates all the weird MMO-esque low drop rates for certain items in chests is extremely intolerable, into a really poorly designed superboss fight in Yiazmat. Though the phrase "poorly designed superboss" applies to like. Every Final Fantasy superboss.

Except 5's, which I think are legitimately fun and interesting. Five is probably the one I consider the highest quality. Despite being goofy, it's honestly got a really poignant narrative, and an extremely endearing cast. The class system is divine, and I love the creativity available in its systems. I hated it as a kid when I sucked at video games because holy shit is this game kinda hard, but now it's an easy favorite.

I really respect 3. Not the DS version so much, but the pixel remaster actually made me fall in love with the game. It's less refined than 5, and I think it very strongly railroads you into like five actually useful class options, but it's a really fun and very streamlined experience, and the transition from the initial overworld to the Boundless Ocean just really impacted me personally, I think that's a great reveal.

I like four, but I don't think it's good, that's just pure nostalgia. I really latched on to Rydia as a kid, and I thought Cecil having to fight his Dark Knight self and winning only by refusing to fight while the Dark Knight used its HP sacrifice move until it KO'd itself was peak ludonarrative. It's still really good. I just also have to be honest that a lot did not favor it as I aged.

FF1 is pure neutral, because it's not really doing much to have a strong feeling in any particular direction. It's fine. Pixel remaster is the best iteration because you can turn off encounters, turn on 4x EXP and gold, and just boss run the entire game, improving it immensely.

FF2 sucks, but I will admit some story beats are, in my opinion, wildly under-appreciated. You kill the emperor and he conquers hell and comes back. That rules.

FF6 and FF7, the beloveds of the series, are lukewarm for me. FF7 I haven't played recently enough to fully articulate why, I just can't remember anything interesting going on from when I played it way back when, and I am personally less invested in SciFi, which is what that game feels like to me more than fantasy. My wife would probably tell me it's urban fantasy, but the point remains: I want my fantasy to be vaguely old timey. FF6 is a very well crafted narrative that I think takes zero risks on anything. I think it's so well loved because it didn't really push anyone to consider anything they didn't already believe, which is why people think it's super powerful that Celes and Terra, the only two adult women in a cast of 14 playable characters, start to understand their human heart by finding the most boring hetero romance partner or adopting children. Also everything Kefka is about what Exdeath was about, but Exdeath is cooler. "Oh but Kefka doesn't have any kind of sympathetic backstory to-" he kinda does, they explain he was subject to Cid's experiments and that broke his mind. Even if you don't count it, Exdeath doesn't even get that, he's just evil for its own sake. I don't think either of these are bad, only that I don't remember enjoying 7 much, and having recently replayed 6, was not as dazzled as most seem to be.

Listen. I cannot tell you about FF8's plot. I just think about the word "junctioning" and start convulsing. I hate that system so much. I hate that levels scale to Squall's level, so the best way to play is to never kill anything but convert them to cards for the stupid minigame, then use good cards to earn more good cards to convert to spells to junction to stats. I couldn't beat the final boss when I played normally and reached level cap, because I didn't junction all the best spells at 100 uses. I had to restart and play to the junctioning in the slowest, worse grind I've ever known. There's probably a midpoint somewhere that makes the game tolerable but I do not know it. It's the only one I legitimately don't know how people can enjoy. Even 2 has some nonsense going for it, but 8 I cannot remember a single positive memory of.

FF9 was fine, I actually remember liking the general story (apparently I have an affinity for "kinda goofy but very sincere"), but as mentioned, that game solidified my general stance of "Do not ever split the party on me I will kill you." Because they took Garnet at a critical moment, leaving me with no healer, relying on Potions when we barely had money because you can't sell equipment because it has unique skills to pass on, but you can't really grind money either because you'd take damage negating what you earned anyway, until you can push far enough without issue to get Quina and figure out how to learn White Wind, and I hated that entire section so much. Maybe it's not as bad now that I'm older and can take it. But the memory burns within me.

FF10 is really fun to play for the main campaign despite being best described as "immature" on a story level. It's a shame about postgame being the most extreme and tedious grind-fest out there with completely shitty superbosses.

I never played past 12. My step-brothers had a PS2 so I got 10 and 12, with 10 kinda being my entry point, but when the console upgrades happened we didn't get the PS3, so I didn't keep up with 13 onward. I have seen tidbits of 16 and am not impressed. I could not tell you a singular detail about 15 despite knowing I've seen things. No one ever had a positive thing to say when 13 came out, but recently I hear a lot of defense for it but couldn't tell you why.

Anyway, call it contrarian, because I am severely so, but I don't think something qualifies as "good" because popular consensus says so. I think even the games I don't like have merit, and there's a reason that they resonate with people, but I'm not about to defend something that I don't enjoy or find as profound. There are a few Final Fantasy games I consider really good, but they are...definitely not the ones most people agree on.

[beaubambabey]

Now that I've finished BG3, I have Thoughts

I had to turn my beautiful first Tav Mr. Robbie Roh-Tane aka the time I accidentally made Shadowheart her very own big brother and got too attached and made up a backstory where he went off to bard college to bring smiles to the children of Faerûn because he found joy and purpose in making his little sister laugh but came back to find his family home massacred and his family nowhere to be found which led him to a sad slippery slope where he used drugs to cope for decades until the nautiloid forced him into the Absolute's rehab program and then proceeded to role-play as this strange reunited sibling dynamic... into a mind flayer. which is so fucked up

Robbie aka Rhysander who I will proceed to call Rhys for the rest of this post was made to look pretty and convince people to not fight him. This meant he was Not Very Good At Not Dying which is Bad

Rhys and Astarion broke up after the brain went down because I didn't want to force Astarion to stay with a mind flayer who's slowly losing himself when he came into this relationship for a pretty boy half-elf that championed personal freedoms above all else and encouraged him to think about what he wanted. Which is Fucked

THE FACT. THAT IN A GAME WITH SO MANY CHOICES. IT CAME DOWN TO BECOMING A MIND FLAYER. OR LETTING THE ONLY HOPE OF AN ENSLAVED PEOPLE BECOME FOOD FOR A MIND FLAYER. OR MAKING SAID HOPE BECOME A MIND FLAYER. IS F U C K E D

LIKE. Fuck The Emperor man.

Why can't you manipulate him back this fucking sucks

He was LITERALLY BALDURAN HIMSELF. HE FOUNDED THIS LITTLE HELLHOLE. HE WAS A HERO ONCE AND HE FUCKED OVER THE PEOPLE WHO CARED ABOUT HIM IN THE SERVICE OF MORE ILLITHID POWER AND NOW YOU TOO CAN CONTINUE THE CYCLE YAY FUN FUN

Like yeah I know you can pretend you're still yourself after all this time even as a mind flayer and that you're not gonna make the same mistakes but like??? Y'all

I personally think it would be cool to have come to a compromise with The Emperor where he can eat as many Absolutist brains as he wants on his way up and we help him dominate the Netherbrain but Orpheus goes free but that's just me and my love of No Sacrifices Here Except Your Own Ego

Like honey. It's not my fault the Elder Brain evolved with the addition of an incredibly powerful magical artifact. That's just gonna happen whether we like it or not

I cried when Lae'zel thanked Rhys for his sacrifice. That felt so fucking meaningful and made it all worth it. For a while at least

Maybe I should've put more worms in my brain. Would I still have needed to go full illithid if I became part illithid with the Astral-Touched Tadpole? Much To Think About

It's really sweet that Halsin would still willingly kiss your squiddy face. I love him. Thanks, Daddy Halsin. May you and your nine cartloads of kids you adopted live a long and peaceful life

I cried every time someone hugged Rhys as a mind flayer. It must be such a lonely existence, becoming a monster and cutting off contact with the people you've come to care deeply for.

Shadowheart's ending where she and her parents build a little homestead with so many animals is so cute. She's so happy and delightful. I would become a squid a million times over to give that to her

In roleplay context, it's so bittersweet if you think about being reunited with your sister and parents only to have to stay away from them so you don't subject them to the monster you've become. They live their happy life together and you steer clear of it because you can't bring yourself to ruin it by staying long enough for the hunger to catch up to you. But when you come to the reunion party six months later, the sister you've searched for through the fugue state your loss put you in, the one you saw in every child you've saved, who fought by your side this whole time while you unwittingly mourned her, who you rebuilt your sibling relationship with during this adventure, finally gets to know the parents you got to know. Finally gets to live as herself and be happy and free. And she hugs you sweetly, in spite of your monstrous appearance. She got to have a big brother to protect her when it mattered most, and now she's grown enough to walk her own path in life. I couldn't be happier.

I ran out of inspiration points trying to dominate the brain like an IDIOT and couldn't feasibly convince Gale to NOT become a God. Poor Tara. Poor Mrs. Dekarios. Poor me for having to stare at Gale's chrome nipples. We will discuss this tragedy with Morena over tea.

I made sure to go back and do the Iron Throne rescue before fighting Ansur just to make Wyll into the Blade of Avernus so Karlach wouldn't die. And I'm happy with that decision. Seeing Karlach's face as she reports her findings and compliments your squiddy mug is so fucking sweet.

I was sobbing after we killed Gortash hearing about how her revenge just didn't feel worthwhile and how she was gonna die anyway and. I'm so glad she's still alive in this run

Talked with my buddy who romanced Wyll and made him Grand Duke and he said he made Karlach into a mind flayer and she was chill about it. Idk how to feel but it's nice there are options. Don't know if Rhys would let that happen since it's taking her freedom away and sacrificing her feels wrong but since I'm doing the Netherbrain fights again I'll see what I can do

I'm genuinely tempted to get the No Party Limit mod because it feels wrong to take people out for the final boss.

WHY DON'T WE HAVE ANY GOOD REACTIONS TO ORPHEUS PUTTING YOU ON BLAST FOR FUCKING THE EMPEROR

SERIOUSLY

"You fornicated with an illithid!" And nobody says shit? Not even your partner??? Fucked up

You can ask for one last kiss before the final boss. I didn't realize it would be the last kiss Rhys and Astarion shared

I'm still fucked up about that but. I'm glad to see him happy. My Radiant Hopeful ❤️

Lae'zel chose to go with Orpheus at the end. Didn't try to steal Rhys away from Astarion to fight in the war. Probably because Rhys turned squid. Sad

I'm so exhausted. But by the gods that was a good game.

[powdermelonkeg]

Apologies in advance for the wall of text but I love lore debates!

So, I'm going to take issue with those counterpoints because the first quote in particular is missing a significant piece of context, including the last sentence of the paragraph which was left out in your post:

"Their appearance and their nature are not their fault, but the result of an ancient sin, for which they and their children, and their children's children will always be held accountable."

The player's handbook is referring to the ritual done by the Toril thirteen prior to the Spellplague and Asmodeus' ascent to godhood. The long and short of it is that the ritual took the majority of pre-existing tiefling lineages - not just of other devils, but also demons and creatures like hags and rakshasas - and made them ALL fall under Asmodeus' bloodline instead. This was done in advance of his ascent to godhood following the Spellplague, allowing him to have increased powers from his followers as a "racial god" since the ritual made it so that every tiefling had his bloodline, and thus contributed to his godly power. This is important to the quote, because one of the biggest side-effects to the ritual was that it had a major impact on how the infernal heritage showed itself.

Once Asmodeus became a god, the ritual took affect and most all tieflings born in from the 15th century onwards were Asmodeus tieflings, regardless of if their bloodline started with him from the start, or was obtained during the ritual, and by extension, took on the devilish physical traits. It also made it impossible to dilute the infernal blood through intermarriage, and ensured it would always take priority over other racial traits.

If grandma warlock swore her blood, she'd look like a tiefling, her child would look like one, and her child's child, and so on and so forth. If your argument is that the deal grandma made specifically came with the stipulation that the blood wouldn't be claimed for multiple generations, I don't think the poll question applies since at that point the elvish heritage is no longer relevant - the kid's basically been an infernal since before they were born. Any combination of parents and races could have been involved, at the end of the day, the bloodline's infernal and it'll show.

No apologies necessary! This is my favorite thing too.

So you're right in that I omitted that part of the quote, but that's because I thought it was referring to a different part of D&D mechanics, that being wanting to standardize tiefling appearance into the "humanoid, horned, stereotypical-devil-colored" for mechanical simplicity, and was therefore irrelevant. So now it doesn't matter if your bloodline had an orthon for a dad or an erinyes for a mom, you're still going to come out looking like a wingless cambion.

I will concede that grandma warlock likely DOES take on the transformation, based on how the lore's worded. I don't know that this retcons entirely the whole "skipping generations" bit from counterpoint 2 (it might be one of those "DM's discretion" things), but it does line up well with the whole pact deal.

However: Fey'ri.

Lore-wise, as far as I've researched for this, fey'ri are the result of sun elves trying to strengthen their bloodline by intermixing with tanar'ri (succubi specifically). That's a very specific origin, BUT, explicitly stated, they are to elves what tieflings are to humans. Ignoring splitting hairs over terminology ("tiefs are human-based, fey'ri are elf-based" tiefs are a catchall for everybody for the sake of argument), it's clear that the base bloodline at least has SOME impact as to the form of the child.

So back to my original question. Pact made so it doesn't show up for a few bloodlines. Devil spawn born to elves. Elven lifespan?

[dcmkscreenshots]

DCMK / DND Crossover Time:

(Since I’ve been thinking way too much about this figured I’d finally post it) (●'◡'●)

Shinichi / Conan: Sorcerer (with some inquisitive rogue levels). Originally had human stats, got a Nat 1 on perception and insta-killed, DM allowed Shinichi to continue on the condition he was cursed. Now has halfling stats because Conan is a VERY lucky kid and just tiny in general. Still trying to figure it out. Half the party doesn’t know.

Ran: Paladin. What more do I need to say. She protecc and attacc, because this bi queen can do it all. Aasimar because she’s a literal angel.

Haibara: Wizard. Straight up. She’s a smart, intuitive person who now controls her own magic and knowledge. Gnome stats because she’s really crafty and helping Agasa out, but probably actually half-elf as Shiho.

Heiji: Warlock (with some fighter levels). Lol his patron is his dad sucks for you Heiji. Half-Orc because they’re my favorite along with halflings.

Kazuha: Cleric with a level or two in Monk. She’s an all-powerful girl with an affinity for spirituality and the super-natural. How else did she and Heiji escape from the mermaid island cliff? Human!

Agasa: Artificer. Just an artificing gnome dude. (NPC)

Sera: Monk. The only thing that’s straight (ha) - forward about her. Half-elf, half-orc (it explains her little fangs).

Sonoko: Bard because I love her and her flamboyancy. Elf noble. (NPC)

--

Kaito: Arcane Trickster Rogue / Bard multiclasser. A flashy yet sneaky moonlit thief. Changeling (Chikage - rogue) but also Half-elf (Toichi - bard). He’s always having identity crises.

Aoko: Barbarian. She just seems like she would know her way around stuff but not always attuned to the social graces of those around her. Or ranger. Either way, go off baby girl. Human (1/4 orc).

Akako: Warlock, demonic patron. Girl sold her soul to the devil and likes it. Elf? Tiefling? Who knows but she’s really rocking it.

Hakuba: Wizard because he’s a nerd. Absolutely an elf, super stuffy.

Nakamori: Barbarian. He has in-canon rages lol. 1/2 orc.

--

Bonus:

Kogoro: Monk, drunken master subclass. Just trying his best. Human. (NPC)

Eri: Paladin, Aasimar, done with your shit.

Sato: paladin, half-elf.

Takagi: fighter, human.

Megure: fighter, dwarf.

Amuro: Tiefling Paladin.

Akai: Ranger-Rogue multiclasser. subclass is gloomstalker ranger and assassin rogue respectively. Same as Sera, half-elf, half-orc. Sneaky but also very good at ranged combat. Foil to Gin.

Gin: Ranger-Rogue multiclasser. same as Akai, except more obviously evil. Drow / Dark elf because it explains his (beautiful) white hair and why he covers up so much of his skin with his hat and trenchcoat lol.

Vodka: Rogue, dwarf.

Vermouth: ??? Goddess???? Demi-god???? Can do whatever she pleases.

Kids: they’re too little to have a job picked out!! However, Genta as orc / half-orc, Ayumi as human, and Mitsuhiko as elf/half-elf. Mitsuhiko is clearly a budding wizard.

[soijustdidthat]

i adore harry potter. always have. but jk rowling fucking sucks and i have done my best to pull whatever monetary support from her that i can - i haven’t bought any official merch or watched the movies on hbo. other than the occasional youtube clip (not official even then), i haven’t watched harry potter content in years at this point, and i think i read more harry potter fanfic than i do the actual book series. i’ve only seen the first fantastic beasts, and at that point in time i had no idea she was a fucking asshole and i don’t think she’d exposed her true views online. i haven’t seen the trailer for this new one, and i won’t go see it, and i won’t watch it until/unless there’s a way to do it without giving her money. when relatives ask for a christmas list, there’s a note attached asking to please not buy any official harry potter merch. i’ve also done my part on attempting to get her removed from twitter in order to remove her main platform that she uses to spread hate - i know that she’s a billionaire and this basically does nothing, but i’m attempting to show my support to the trans community.

i grew up with this series and do my absolute best to love it while being critical about the problematic pieces within it - of which there are many. i listen to trans creators and proceed forward based on what they say. i myself have and still question my gender and it pains me to know that someone i looked up to and wanted to be when i was little does her absolute fucking best to bring this community down. i’m not saying that if you like harry potter you’re a transphobe: i’m saying that if you like harry potter and make no effort to be critical, raise the voices of trans people within the community, and remove your support of jk rowling, then it’s pretty clear where you stand.

i also am aware that she’s racist as hell - this was less clear to me simply because the last time i read the books i was like twelve and i haven’t read much of the illvermoney? content bc that came out after i’d read them and i think i was in my percy jackson phase or maybe minecraft. anyhow, i also look toward minority creators when it comes to the representation in harry potter, and as i got older, the blindfold was removed and yeah it is NOT GOOD. like the blatant anti semitism, and whatever the fuck she was doing with the house elf story line (how did that get past editing), and so much more. there are so many red flags that would make me stop reading them now - and it’s important to listen to the communities represented and remember that she’s not just transphobic, she’s also racist and that gets left out a lot.

at this point in time, not talking about this issue is pointless - harry potter is one of those things that has completely seeped into our culture - everybody knows about it even if they’ve never read it or seen the movies. it’s different than if a smaller author were doing the things jk is - it that case, talking about it would give the author a platform; whereas with jk rowling we have a unique opportunity to address the issues of homophobia, transphobia, racism and every other despicable thing that appears within these books with a unique lens that most of us haven’t had the opportunity to use. this does need to be done carefully, as too much interest causes her value to rise, and in this capitalistic hellscape, that’s the last thing we need. this conversation can’t be lead by cis white people - it needs to be led by the minority communities directly affected, and i will take me lead in this conversation from them.

i will always be grateful to the series for giving me a home when i was a lonely weird kid who was bullied and abandoned by every friend i ever had, and for giving me hope as i battled depression. but i will not let the fact that jk rowling wrote them lead me away from the fact that i believe in kindness and basic human dignity: therefore i don’t support her and i never will again. i will take my lead from trans people as this conversation moves forward, and adjust my position within the community as they voice their values, thoughts and opinions.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I keep thinking about Silmarillion, and I was wondering : what do you think of Fëanor ?

I don’t know exactly how it should be seen...

Ooh, Fëanor. Gosh, okay, let me change the channel in my brain.

Fëanor is, at heart, a Capitalist Inventor. He's Dark Tony Stark. He creates endless things for the world to use, but what truly drives him is the bone-deep belief that he and his chosen ones deserve his most prized possessions more than anyone else. And he's willing to kill anyone on both sides to get them back. He swears an oath to fight until he gets what he wants, and thus seals the doom of untold thousands he'll never even meet.

That's an antagonist. Which is not the same thing as a villain. But Fëanor is very much an experience to be survived - or not - rather than any kind of ally. Much of what he does in the Silmarillion is imbalanced, driven by emotions he doesn't seem willing or able to control. And because he's an elf among elves, and they all live a very very long time, the effects of his choices carry forward for thousands of years. This one dude got a lot of people killed, directly and indirectly, including his whole family. For an elf was supposed to love the stars, he wasn't very stellar. Our Man in Valinor was way more into fire.

The part that bothers me about his character - and this is a modern take looking back at JRR Tolkien and his world in the last millennium - is that Fëanor is born this way. He is flawed from birth, and he's just Like That, forever. No chance to change, no encouragement to be different, to be softer, to be better, to corral his spirit of fire into something more light than heat. He's just dangerous chaos from start to finish. He comes into the world sucking his mother's spirit dry so she dies, he lives his life disagreeing with everyone around him except his sons, and he goes out encouraging those sons to hold to their unholy oath to retrieve the Silmarils or die trying. Which they do - the "die trying" part, anyway.

He's a piece of work.

He was also a brilliant, god-tier craftsman. I guess that's what happens when you study under the Vala Aulë himself, who literally shaped the physical world into existence.

He created the Silmarils, capturing the combined light of the Two Trees into three brilliant gemstones in a way no one ever did before or since.

He crafted the palantíri, which not even Sauron could replicate later.

He invented Tengwar script, which is the swirly elven writing we all associate with Middle-Earth.

He crafted the mysterious Feanorian lamps, which are crystals that emit blue light and cannot be doused.

He was constantly thinking up new ideas and crafting them. Eru only knows what he made that has been lost. You'll notice none of these things he made are swords. Yet he led an attack against the Teleri on his way out of Valinor, and the Teleri defended themselves, so I kind of assume he was also a weaponsmith, trying out new ideas in metal form if nothing else.

Brilliant and misguided, a flawed juggernaut, destined to drag the entire world and countless lives off course. The earlier these characters show up in the timeline, the more destructive chaos they end up causing.

I do not like Fëanor. He's a White Guy, doing as he pleases with no thought for the consequences, to himself, to those of his family he actually likes, or to anyone else. He holds enough privilege and power that people keep following him into disaster, and then he just goes and does it again, without learning a damn thing from his imbalanced approach. He even dies thinking he did nothing wrong ever in his life. Like... Bitch.

Having power is no guarantee that you deserve power, and Fëanor is a prime example of why.

This has nothing to do with the objects he made. Those are just tools, free to be taken and used for good or evil, as the palantíri were, and as every message ever written in Tengwar was. Would the world have been better off without the Silmarils at all, or the palantíri? Would a different language script have somehow altered the world for the better? Since it's fiction, we could just decide that Yes, Yes It Would, or No Actually Not.

What's not fictional is my distaste for presumptuous assholes with a bit of power but no self-awareness, because I've already met too many of them who weren't fictional, either.

You want my unvarnished opinion of Fëanor? He's a billionaire. And I'm glad he got eaten. It wasn't nearly soon enough.

Eat your billionaires before they get all crusty, kids. They taste best fresh and plump. Nom nom.

Still here? Oh, then it's time to compare Fëanor to TDP! Because as much as I despise him, he makes for excellent storytelling angst and conflict, and vicarious conflict is how we learn to avoid it in our real lives - if we're paying attention.

I've said before that I'd like to see some kind of Oath of Fëanor effect in TDP. The absolute horror at seeing good characters get yoinked into bad deeds just because they promised? Ahahaha, horrible, thank you, I'll have some more. If the Moonshadow assassins have something like that behind those creepy binding ribbons, I'm gonna be cackling in between my tears, fam.

But Fëanor himself? Oh, do you see, that's Aaravos! He's even got that craftsman side, since he made the relic staff, and boy is it swirly.

(Does that make Ethari a Celebrimbor type, separating himself from the dark deeds of his forebears yet still massively talented, creating amazing magical devices?)

Aaravos is the main villain of TDP, as far as we've been told. He's crafty, in both senses of the word. Did he have some angsty complex family life with half-siblings and a mother who died because she birthed him? Maybe. Stars can be born from the detritus of other stars that exploded and died, so there's a sciencey metaphor there already.

Of interest: Fëanor had seven sons, and the world of TDP has seven kinds of magic. Aaravos created at least one of them. Did he create primal magics too, from the deep magic that came before? Might there be some kind of oath involved there, with the first elves to wield differentiated magic?

How about those primal stones that look like palantíri? How many of those did Aaravos craft? Can he use one from his library to spy on people who have them or something? That would mean he could already know a ton about Viren even before he came to the Storm Spire and stole the mirror. Woah.

What about a Silmaril equivalent? Are there especially glorious magical gemstones in Xadia? Did Aaravos wear them in his crown and now he's mister Grumpy Glam without them?

Did he create the original runes that diverged into all the elven languages? With his sloppy handwriting? Heh, the other elves must've been very patient.

You know... Aaravos has been called a Promethean figure, gifting humans with knowledge and skill they didn't have. But that gift was the gift of fire. A tool. A tool employed by craftsmen.

Fëanor literally means "Spirit of Fire."

In the end, Fëanor was consumed by his own spirit. He never learned to vibe with it, and it destroyed him and many others. Sounds a lot like dark magic.

Maybe the real Oath of Fëanor in TDP is one you have to speak backwards.

[aellynera]

Accidental Anniversary (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

ACCIDENTAL ANNIVERSARY

💜💘 Happy Valentine’s Fic Exchange, @samrockweil​ 💘💜

I am your Valentine’s elf (or maybe cupid?) It was an absolute blast writing this for you!! At first I couldn’t decide which guy to write for, but Llewyn spoke to me and I ran with it and I hope you love it even half as half as much as I did writing it. Happy reading and happy beeps!

Also, huge thanks to @sergeantkane​ for putting this fic exchange together! Love you Clarke!

Word Count: around 8k oops look i had a whole MONTH okay i’m not sorry

Summary: You meet Llewyn Davis one night at the Gaslight, and soon find out that the universe has an odd sense of humor and an even weirder sense of timing.

Warnings: A few curses. Nothing else, it’s 99.999999999% fluffy fluff.

March 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a whiskey, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as your boss flips the power on.

You’ve been working there for a couple weeks, a side job to help make your rent and keep you busy on the weekends. It’s not a terrible gig, most of the time; the patrons are pleasant enough, the performers hit or miss, and Pappi, your boss, is okayish, so long as you can mostly steer clear of him.

You begin to wipe down part of the bar while the next performer sets up on the small, dingy stage. You haven’t seen him before, but whispers from the stools at the counter hint he’s semi-popular around these parts. You quirk an eyebrow; he certainly is easy on the eyes, at least.

From the minute he takes the stage, your focus is ninety percent on him (you do need a little brain power to do your job, after all) and you find that he is also very easy on the ears. Dark curls, dark beard, dark eyes, dark clothes, but a surprisingly bright voice singing lovely songs. He finishes his set, comes off the stage, and sidles up to the bar. You hand him the requested bourbon with a soft smile.

And the next thing you know, Pappi is on the ground and this stranger is holding his hand, wincing, flexing his fingers. Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “What--”

“Jesus Christ, Llewyn,” Pappi groans from the floor. “I was only kidding.”

“Yeah, doubt that,” this Llewyn person mutters under his breath, taking a seat on the stool closest to him. “Can I bother you for some ice?”

You keep a wary eye on him, and on Pappi as he gets up and wanders to the other side of the room like nothing happened, and wrap some ice cubes in a towel and hand it to him. “You decked him.”

He scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “You hear what he said about you?”

Well, no, you hadn’t actually, but having heard what Pappi has said about others in the club over the past two weeks, you can imagine. “I can handle him,” you say archly.

“I’m sure you can,” a huff of air escapes his lips, “but you shouldn’t have to.” He turns around to look at Pappi, who just glares and shakes his head. The man in front of you flips your boss off.

You refill his glass without him asking and stick out your hand, telling him your name.

He shakes it and says, “Llewyn Davis” with a sheepish smile.

April 14

Llewyn shuffles down the sidewalk towards the Gaslight, really only noticing the early spring chill that hangs in the air. It’s early, before noon, but he wants to run through his set before the night’s performance and the early hour is convenient for him to be able to do so in peace.

He’s about a block away when a sound distracts him. A voice is singing, pure and sweet - if a tiny bit off-key - and if he didn’t know any better - and he certainly does, at least most times - he would call it angelic. No, not angelic. An actual angel. That’s what it sounds like.

Llewyn stops and looks up at an open window on the third floor. He can make out the vague outline of a figure inside, but he’s unable to see any details. But that voice. A few minutes pass as he just listens, staring up at the window, thinking about calling up to get the attention of the mysterious singer. But he doesn’t, and he just stands and listens, until he finds his feet starting to carry him on to his usual destination. 

Three steps into his walk, he realizes he knows the song. It’s one of his songs. Part of him can’t believe it, and the rest of him wants to offer pitch correction. Three more steps into his walk, and his face makes very solid, very resounding contact with the light pole on the corner.

“God dammit,” he shouts.

A few seconds later, the window on the third floor slides open and a head pokes out. “Oh my god. Llewyn?”

Llewyn looks up and groans inwardly as he recognizes your face from that last gig at the Gaslight. “Hey,” he waves awkwardly, leaning on the pole.

“Are you bleeding?” you call down to him.

He reaches up near his eyebrow and realizes he is, in fact, bleeding. Quite a bit, honestly. Before he can answer, you call back down, “Come up the fire escape to the side window!” The window drops shut and he can hear another slide open.

So Llewyn Davis climbs the fire escape steps and meets you at your side window, a first aid kit in your hands as you motion for him to sit. He does and you start to patch up his wound.

“You should be more careful,” you mutter as you worked, stopping briefly to look him right in the eyes.

He holds your gaze. “Sorry, I was...distracted.”

“Mmm,” you return. You fold a gauze pad and hand it to him. “Hold this on that cut. I’m going to get you some ice.” You turn to walk to your kitchen.

He mumbles his thanks and leans his head back against the fire escape railing.

May 14

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and although Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, he takes up a spot at the end of the bar and thanks you as you pass him a drink.

“How have you been?” you ask. You’d seen him a few times over the past couple weeks, here and there in the Village, but it’s been several days. You found Llewyn’s company quite enjoyable. You’d talked a bit and even shared lunch once at the diner a couple blocks away.

His lips turn up, a shy smile lighting his face. He opens his mouth to respond, when another voice breaks in.

“He’s been an asshole.”

Llewyn’s head ships around and you follow his gaze. A slender woman with long, straight brown hair and piercing eyes stands about ten feet behind him, arms crossed and glaring. Neither of them says anything for a beat, Llewyn turns away from her, and then she’s on him, daggers flying from her lips, going on and on about assholes and responsibility and electrical tape.

Llewyn keeps his eyes down, the bottom of his glass suddenly staring back at him. “Jesus Christ, Jean.”

You bite your lip as you glance between them. You have no idea who this woman - this Jean - is, but it’s clear she is not a fan of Llewyn Davis. In three seconds flat you decide you do not like her either.

“Is there something you needed?” you break in.

Her eyes flare at Llewyn, then at you, then bore into the back of Llewyn’s head. You resist the urge to literally toss a glass of whiskey in her direction.

“I need Llewyn to stop being an asshole,” she seethes. Llewyn rolls his eyes.

You arch an eyebrow and the words are on your tongue - I need you to back off, you crazy weird bit-- you bite your tongue just hard enough to make your mouth behave. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone else calling her name and her attention drifts to the stage. With a final mutter of “asshole” and a rude hand gesture, she flounces off.

You point over Llewyn’s shoulder. “Um, what was that?”

He snorts. “A night of bad decisions and a lifetime of regret.” A pause. “It’s...a long story.”

You watch as she adjusts the microphone center stage. “Good lord, is she a singer? Tell me she’s not going to just smile and sing after...whatever that was.”

“Yeah. Well,” he offers by way of explanation and doesn’t say anything else. It’s almost like this woman sucked all the fight out of him and you feel your heart give a little twinge.

You toss the rag in the sink and take his glass. “Do you wanna get out of here?” The air around you has a weird vibe now, and you felt a sudden impulse to get out and take this man - your friend - with you, away from this...whatever she was, somewhere safe.

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, a grateful glimmer passing through his dark eyes.

“There’s a great cafe down the block.”

“But don’t you have to...you know...work?”

You look around and shrug. “It’s dead in here, and Bobby can handle it,” you hook your thumb at a co-worker behind the bar. “And if Pappi says anything, I know someone who can set him straight.”

Llewyn’s eyes glint and his lips turn up in a real, honest smile this time. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee.”

June 14

The summer - or very last days of spring, technically - is starting to get hot and your open windows are doing the bare minimum to alleviate the warmth. Of course, the third glass of wine you’re drinking probably isn’t helping things either.

Whatever. It’s your day off.

Shoes kicked off, jeans rolled up above your ankles, feet up on the arm of the couch, a record on the turntable and your glass of red as the dusk slowly melts into dark. The night is tranquil and relaxing and perfect. It has been a shitty week, and all you want is to ignore the outside world and do exactly this.

The shrill ring of your phone bursts that bubble..

You close your eyes and tilt your head back on the couch. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away. The phone stops ringing. Deciding to take no further chances, you switch off the ringer, completely, then sigh happily, settling yourself on the couch and sipping your wine.

Perfect.

A resounding, repeated thump echoes through the room. You bit back a shriek. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away - lightning can strike twice, right? It was extremely rude of people to just call you and knock when all you wanted was--

“Hey, are you home?” a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door.

Suddenly alert and somehow much less annoyed, you spring up and cross to your front door. Yanking it open, you find a very disheveled Llewyn Davis on the other side. He doesn’t seem to notice right away that the door was now open, and you had to jump back as his hand, raised to pound on the door again, almost knocks you in the head instead.

You take a deep breath. You catch a waft like the mat under the taps after a long night at the bar.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” You take him by the arm and drag him inside, appraising him quickly. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his curls an absolute mess, and there’s a dark mark under his left eye and a split in his lip. He looks terrible, smells just as bad, but suddenly all your desire for a quiet, no-other-humans night evaporates. “And did you get in a fight?”

“...yes?”

You sigh and point to the couch. “Go. Sit. I’ll make some coffee, and then you’re getting a shower..”

“You’re incredible,” he slurs, smiling, “And you’re so…I tried t’call you, from th’phone on the corner but you dinnt answer. An’ then I realized, hey, I’m on your corner, so decided t’come up and see you. You’re pretty.”

You take him by the elbow and lead him to the couch, only stumbling twice and managing to catch him as he sways, precariously, once. “Uh huh,” you bite your lip to hide a smile. “Sounds like you’ve had a fun night. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He flops down on the couch and buries his face in a pillow.

By the time you make the promised pot of coffee and get back to the living room, Llewyn is snoring, still face down in the throw pillow. Turning off the music and the lights, you cover him with a blanket and take your glass of wine to your room.

July 14

Ring, ring, ring.

You’d remembered to turn the ringer back on three days after Llewyn slept it off on your couch, but your phone hadn’t actually rung again until just over half an hour ago, and honestly you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or if it was just sad.

You are sure, however, that the sheer desperation in the voice on the other end when you answered is the reason you’re on this train to Queens. Are you doing anything, Llewyn had asked, because I could really, really use some help right now. Please, I’m begging you. And now the echo of your phone ringing just, well, rings in your ears.

The train screeches to a halt and you exit, making your way to the given address. You knock on the door of a smallish, nondescript row house and it swings open almost immediately, revealing a very disheveled, slightly panicked looking Llewyn.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes and grabs you by the arm, dragging you inside.

“Llewyn? What is going on?”

“It’s a disaster,” he says. He’s completely serious.

You’re preparing yourself for blood, broken bones, water damage, collapsed ceilings, possible dismemberment, anything, really, that could explain your friend’s current frazzled condition. What you get is completely, unexpectedly, not anything like that.

There are about ten kids, all around ten years old, running around in the living room, which is also full of balloons and streamers. One giant pinata, shaped like a baseball glove and bat, hangs from the light fixture. To Llewyn’s credit, it is kind of...chaotic, but it’s far from a disaster and you can barely contain the guffaw that escapes your lungs.

“Whose birthday?” you grin at him.

He narrows his eyes at you. “It’s not funny.”

You consider this and try to straighten your lips. Nope, not working. “It’s a little funny.”

Llewyn smacks you lightly on the shoulder. “It’s my nephew’s birthday, and my sister forgot some party thing and made a run to the store. I was stayin’ here last night and she just decided, oh, Llewyn can watch the kids, and she was gone.”

“So what’s the problem, exactly?”

“She should be back by now,” his eyes look slightly panicked.

“Maybe she had to go to a couple stores? Maybe she just got delayed by transit?”

“I can’t do…” Llewyn gestures around weakly, shaking his head. “This.”

“Llewyn, they’re kids. They can’t be more than what, ten years old? Just blindfold them and let them whack at the pinata.”

“You’re the people person. I can’t...can you help me, please,” he turns to look at you. Directly at you. You’re fairly certain his eyes cannot get any bigger or shine more pleadingly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Let’s go wrangle some kids.”

The panic slides from his face and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head in his thanks.

And when one kid takes a wild swing at that tacky papier-mache sports equipment, misses completely, and lands a clean hit on Llewyn’s thigh, neither of you talk about it.

You just get him an ice pack.

August 14

“I’m making lasagna. Come over for dinner.”

You worked early that day, and said this to Llewyn as you left the Gaslight for the day. He isn’t playing tonight, and he’s really just here to stay out of the sun, and as much as he doesn’t like to push his luck with others’ hospitality, he has to admit that a home-cooked meal does sound incredible.

He has a feeling your invitation was partly due to Jean showing up, ready to do unnecessary verbal battle because she just can’t let it go, and you’d asked to both deflect her and keep yourself from actual physical battle. But whatever.

So he finds himself at your front door a couple hours later, a bottle of cheapish red wine in hand and an odd tingle in his chest. He dismisses it offhand; he’s probably just hungry.

You open the door and Llewyn’s nose is assaulted by the smell of homemade sauce - he’s half Italian, he knows these things - and cheese and garlic. You smile brightly at him. Yeah, he’s definitely hungry.

“Hey! Come in, it’s almost ready.”

He hands you the bottle. “Brought wine.”

“Excellent,” you lead him to the kitchen table and motion to a seat. He settles himself into it and grabs a piece of bread from the basket on the table as you grab two wine glasses.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks around a mouthful of carbs.

The timer dings and you pull the lasagna out of the oven. “No occasion. I just felt like making this and I didn’t really want to eat alone.”

“Lucky for you I like to eat,” he chuckles.

Your face suddenly feels warmer. Well, you did just pull a piping hot casserole dish out of the oven, so that does make sense, you suppose. You turn and put the lasagna on the trivet in the middle of the table, then turn and grab two regular glasses for water. There is an outlandish, metallic ka-chunk-ing noise as you turn on the tap, and suddenly water is shooting from under the sink and halfway across the room.

Llewyn jumps up and dives at the faucet, a chunk of bread clutched between his teeth, at the same time you crawl halfway under the sink to try and shut the water off. The stream blasts you in the face and you sputter.

This is not how you imagined tonight. Blasted ancient, rickety building. You make a mental note to have words with the super tomorrow.

You finally get the water shut off, and Llewyn closes the tap and sinks down onto the wet floor next to you. You lean against the cabinets and try to wipe the water out of your eyes.

Llewyn fares a little better; he’s only wet from his waist down. Your head thumps back on the soaked particle board behind you and you turn your head towards him. For a long moment he looks back at you, then rips the butt off the hunk of baguette in his mouth and passes it to you.

You snort. He bites his lip.

“Sorry, I think dinner might be a bit late,” you deadpan, eyes still on him, and take a bite of bread.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “It’s okay. Lasagna is always better the next day.”

Llewyn has to admit, though, it’s still pretty good a couple hours later, after you’re both dry and the lake in the kitchen is mopped up and you settle on the couch with your plates.

And if you use the water glasses for the wine, well, neither of you mentions it.

September 14

It’s pleasantly warm today, the heat of late August dragging itself into the beginning of September, and you find yourself in Washington Square Park, on a checkered blanket, a basket in the middle and a guitar by your feet. Pigeons wander and plot to steal food, but it’s easy enough to shoo them away.

It takes a little convincing, early that morning, to get Llewyn to agree to join you. It didn’t, really; he’s quickly become one of your best friends, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, he just likes to tease you.

But he does accept, and you eat some of the bread and cheese you packed and drink the iced tea you brought, and you get out a container of fruit salad and package of cookies your down-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, made for you that morning.

“For you and your lovely man,” she’d said as she knocked on your door. You feel the warmth in the tips of your ears and you certainly see the color rise in Llewyn’s embarrassed face, but you don’t have the heart to correct her. She’s such a sweet old lady.

Llewyn plays a song or two while you enjoy your lunch, and even asks if you want to hear a new song he’s been working on, which you are more than happy to agree to.

It’s such a pleasant afternoon.

Until a small, brownish-gray blur jumps onto the blanket and grabs a chunk of bread and darts further onto the lawn.

“What the hell!’ Llewyn shouts as you yelp in surprise. The squirrel, for its part, just stops fifty feet away and turns back with a triumphant gaze, then scoots off into the bushes, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in its wake.

He starts to make a comment about the nerve of the wildlife, but you’re not really listening. Your eyes are fixed on the path the squirrel just ran and you tug on Llewyn’s sleeve. He keeps muttering and you tug harder.

“Llewyn.”

He finally looks up and follows your finger. There’s a flock - an honest-to-god flock, not that he has any real idea on the technical makeup of a flock, but there’s more than one so as far as he’s concerned, yeah, it’s a flock - of geese marching directly at the blanket.

Okay, so there’s only three of them. But they look angry.

The leader strides forward deliberately and bites at Llewyn’s shoe. Another yelp leaves your lips and he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. He also grabs the remainder of the bread and tosses it in the opposite direction as he takes off running towards the fountain, dragging you behind him.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“No idea,” he replies. The leader falls for the bread feint, but his loyal minions do not, and they follow behind you, quacking and honking and flapping and Llewyn isn’t sure but he may dislike geese even more than he dislikes pigeons.

He jumps up on the edge of the fountain and pulls you into a protective embrace as the beasts close in. Only Llewyn doesn’t account for, you know, physics, and the force of your bodies colliding sends you both straight into the water.

Spluttering, you try to wipe the water out of your eyes. Llewyn is doing the same when a loud HONK startles you both. The leader is back, flanked by his friends, and they’re all staring at you.

“Um, Llewyn?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“...don’t geese like, love the water?”

His eyes flick to you, then the winged monsters, then you again, then the fountain like he’s seeing it for the first time and all he can do is mutter, “Shit!” and grab your hand as he pulls you to your feet and takes off running again.

You manage to swing by and gather the leavings of your picnic, blanket and basket tucked under your arms and his precious guitar clutched to him, as you beeline out of the park, soaking wet and laughing.

October 14

Llewyn slides the key into the lock and turns it, an odd flutter rolling up his spine as he hears the bolt click open. He’s had a key to your apartment for almost two months now. You gave it to him, insisted really, telling him this way he wouldn’t need to worry about finding somewhere to crash. That your couch is always open.

It still doesn’t feel real and he doesn’t always use it, but tonight he really, really doesn’t feel like making the rounds. You’ve been spending more time together recently anyway, and he feels mostly comfortable around you.

He’s greeted by the sight of you wearing a catcher’s mask and knee high rubber boots, and you’re wielding a tennis racquet. He doesn’t know what to say for a full minute.

“What are you...why are you wearing...what the hell.”

“There’s a bat,” is your whispered response.

Llewyn’s nose scrunches and he isn’t any less confused than he was a second ago. “What?”

“There’s a bat,’ you repeat. Your voice is slightly on the edge of hysteria because, well, “there is a bat. In the bathroom.”

“...okay?”

You jab your finger at the closed door. “I was just going to wash my face and brush my teeth and I went in there and it was just...in the corner, by the shelves. It was staring at me.”

He bites his lip, trying his hardest to suppress the smile tugging on his face. It isn’t working. He drops to a whisper himself and asks, “Baby, why are you whispering?”

Your head jerks towards the bathroom, and your shrug nearly sends the tennis racquet into his shoulder. “Because that’s how they...they’re...how they do the...the bat hearing thing!”

Llewyn laughs fully. He can’t help it; you’re ridiculous and his face heats a bit as he realizes it’s entirely endearing. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he says, his voice sliding back to a whisper. He avoids your death glare as he makes his way to the bathroom door. “But sit tight, slugger, I’ll get rid of it.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses and considers this. “Just gonna encourage it to go home? I dunno.”

Your grip tightens on the racquet. “How will that work?!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a fucking bat!” he hisses at you. “Just, make sure a window is open.” He opens the bathroom door.

Several things happen at once. Llewyn doesn’t so much open the door as he flings it wide and it slams into the wall. The bat makes a squeaky-shrieky noise (you were entirely unaware, until now, that they could even do that) and swoops out, recklessly streaking through Llewyn’s mess of curls. You make an actual shriek and fling the side window open as wide as possible. Llewyn makes a sound he can’t describe and you’re honestly not sure if it was Llewyn or the bat. The bat decides to take a few laps around the living room and you duck under the window sill just before it mercifully decides that outside is the place to be. Llewyn slams the window shut and you spring back to your feet, crash into his chest and his arms wrap around you.

Neither of you say anything, and Llewyn isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s very aware of your hand running through his hair, and your soft words catching as you say you’re just trying to smooth out the bat damage.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ll keep watch out here, make sure that thing doesn’t come back,” he jokes. “You okay?”

You finally - finally, he cheers internally - take off the catcher’s mask and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m...good. Thanks for...thanks.”

Llewyn lets you go and takes the tennis racquet out of your hands, placing it next to the couch. He throws you a soft smile. “Just in case.”

November 14

It’s been a long night at work, a lot longer than it has any right to be and infinitely insufferable. The Gaslight is packed, patrons nearly crawling the walls and not an empty seat to be found. Drink orders stack up and you try to keep up. It’s so crazy that even Pappi doesn’t have a chance to be a smartass like usual.

Apparently it always gets like this, closer to a holiday.

Note to self - skip holidays.

There are two acts tonight. Llewyn is first, and it’s clear much of the crowd is here to catch him. It cheers you slightly, and it would certainly cheer you more if you had the time to pay more attention to him, but the constant call for whiskey and gin takes most of your focus. But for the time he’s on stage, your heart feels lighter.

Then the second act takes the stage, and Jean launches eye missiles at Llewyn from behind the microphone, and your mood sours instantly.

Yeah, it’s a very long night.

Everything is blurry for the rest of the evening, until last call mercifully rolls around and you can finally get to straightening out the mess the bar has become. You notice Llewyn still sitting on his usual stool at the end of the counter, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Don’t even say it,” you point at him sternly. “When will you stop fussing about this?” Ridiculous man. He has a key to your apartment, and still he worries that he’s an inconvenience.

You toss an orange slice at him, and he allows you a sweet grin.

Finally - finally - you’re home and Llewyn follows you inside, locking the door behind you. He heads for the couch and you head for your room, a mumbled g’night the only word that passes between you. You’re far too exhausted to deal with anything higher level.

It could be minutes or it could be hours later - your alarm clock somehow ended up on the floor and the darkish sky outside giving nothing away, and when did it start raining anyway - when a loud SPRONG and then a yelp and a THUMP from the living room jolts you awake.

It takes a few seconds to regain your senses. “Llewyn?”

“Fuck.”

You stumble out to the living room to find him half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, the quilt he normally uses tangled around his knees and ankles. He rubs a spot on his lower back and winces.

“Llewyn! What happened?” you cry.

He points to the middle cushion and you see something sticking up from the padding.

“Oh, Llewyn, jesus. I’m so sorry,” you apologize. You really do feel terrible; your couch hasn’t been in the best shape for ages, and it looks like the squeaky spring you noticed a few weeks ago finally gave up and poked it way through. And stabbed Llewyn in the back as he slept. Damn it. 

“It’s...it’s fine,” he tells you, still wincing. “I can turn the other way, or sleep on the floor. Not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “Yes big deal. My couch just stabbed you, and it’s cold outside, you can’t sleep on the floor.”

“S’fine. Not the first time I ended up on the floor.”

You make up your mind before you even think about it and reach your hand out to him. “Come on,” you wiggle your fingers. “Come to bed.”

Llewyn’s eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to protest, but your look is so firm that he relents with a soft sigh and extricates himself from the blanket. He follows you to the bedroom and asks, no less than seven times, if you’re sure this is okay and says he really has no problem sleeping on the floor. You eventually tell him to shut the hell up and get under the covers.

You both lay on your sides, facing each other, but keep a space between you. Llewyn still looks mildly uneasy but relaxes as you smile at him and the warmth of your duvet and the softness of your pillows pull him under.

“Good night again, Llewyn,” you whisper.

“Good night again,” he replies with a soft yawn.

The rain steadily patters on your window and the sky slowly lightens as morning breaks and you languidly wake, curled into Llewyn’s chest, his arms secure around you.

December 14

Snow falls lightly outside, coats the grass and sticks to Llewyn’s curls, and his breath swirls and makes curlicues in the chill winter air. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and you decide to put up a tree, a real tree, and you tell him he’s going to help decorate it.

You also tell him that a bunch of your light strings have stopped working, and before you can ask him to run to the shop down the block that sells replacements, he volunteers and is out the door.

He can’t remember the last time he was anywhere with a real tree. It was usually those cheap-looking fake ones, the green plastic branches a color that would never exist naturally, if there were any tree at all.

So yeah, maybe he’s a little excited. He comes up the steps to the apartment, a bag perched in the crook of his elbow as he unlocks the door.

“So I got the lights, like you asked,” he says cheerfully, and sets the bag down on the table by the door.

“Help.” That’s...not the response he’s expecting.

It’s two weeks since the entire living room has been rearranged. The new, non-back-stabbing couch is on the opposite wall. You rearranged all your shelves, got a new armchair, and much to Llewyn’s wary delight and bewilderment, a new side table. The side table has blank sheet music and pens and there’s a guitar stand next to it and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. You just smile and tell him he needs a space to be himself, whatever that means.

The newly-opened space under the window is where the tree is going. Or, should be going. Llewyn looks down at the toppled fir and sees a foot sticking out near the trunk.

“Sweetheart? What happened?”

Your voice answers from beneath the branches. “Can you just help get this off me, please?”

Llewyn rights the tree and turns his head to check on you. He’s more concerned about you than the tree, of course, but he wants to make sure it doesn’t take you out again so he secures it to the stand as he takes you in. Thankfully you look fine, a few needles stuck to your sweater and a tiny scratch on your cheek, but otherwise…

He tries to stifle a laugh. “You’re looking very festive.”

Your eyes narrow. “Go ahead and ask,” you bite out, “because I know you’re going to ask.”

“I already did ask, before I had to be your lumberjack.”

You refrain from telling him that lumberjacks fell trees, not upright them. Whatever. You motion your head to the shiny silver tinsel wrapped around your torso. You can’t use your hands, really, and you’re not sure how they got tied up in this mess, exactly, but here you are, sitting on your living room floor in a pile of pine needles, trussed like a Christmas goose in sparking silver twine.

And your best friend is laughing at you. Jerk.

“I was trying to get this around the top part, and I lost my balance. Then like an idiot I tried to catch myself on the tree, and the whole damn thing went down with me,” you sigh. “I don’t even know how the rest of this tangled mess happened.”

He does laugh now, full and rich. “I was only gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Um, can you maybe...untie me?”

“Oh! Wait, here, I got something else,” Llewyn jumps to his feet. He ignores your request and pokes around in the shopping bag.

“If it’s not chocolate, I don’t want to hear about it,” your grumbled response brings another laugh.

Llewyn’s back in front of you seconds later, holding a small white cluster above your head. The grin on his face is equally charming and infuriating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you blink at him.

“I mean, I was just gonna, y’know, hang it above the door later and let it happen, but now seems like a better time for some Christmas cheer.”

“I think you’re pretty satisfyingly cheerful right now, idiot.”

He waves the mistletoe over your heads. “Come on. It’s tradition.”

One day, maybe you’ll be able to stop sighing in his presence, but today is not that day. You sigh again, roll your eyes, and lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and delighting in the shade of crimson he turns in response. He clears his throat and places the mistletoe to the side.

“Now will you untie me?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

He does, and helps you get the tinsel where it’s supposed to go and you spend the rest of the afternoon decorating the tree and drinking hot cider.

Llewyn sings you more than one Christmas song to make up for all the teasing.

January 14

It seems like a good idea at the time. One of your friends at your actual day-to-day job offers to set you up with another coworker, and it’s been ages since you went on a date and you figure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?

It turns out the answer is, a lot. A lot can go wrong. So much that you don’t even want to think about it.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. There is no chemistry, no spark, just an hours-long recitation of how your date is god’s gift to pretty much everything under the sun and possibly also the moon. The name-drops are just the cherry on top.

Maybe your first impression isn’t wrong after all.

You trudge up to your apartment, the bag of your favorite takeout under your arm filled to nearly bursting, and get the door open. All you want to do is stuff your face and maybe take a long, hot bath with a glass of wine. Yes, that sounds perfect.

The melody of a strumming guitar stops as you place the bag on the side table and shimmy out of your coat. The lamp in the corner is the only illumination and you tilt your head towards the armchair’s occupant. You’re surprised that he’s there, but only because he was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. Knowing he wouldn’t be around was at least...half the reason you agreed to this stupid date in the first place.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?” Llewyn asks in a low voice through the dim light.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing at the Gaslight tonight?” you retort, brow raised.

He shrugs. “Might have had a few too many an’ said some things. Might’ve gotten thrown out.”

“Mmm,” you appraise him. He just looks the same way you feel; ridiculously tired. Exhausted. “Might’ve told my date I had to use the restroom but… maybe didn’t mention I meant the one at my house.”

“That bad?” Despite his snort, Llewyn sounds genuinely curious.

You sigh as you flop down on the couch and hold up the takeout bag. “I’d rather not talk about it. You wanna help me eat this?”

In an instant he’s on the couch next to you and you hand him some plastic utensils and a napkin. You get up and grab two beers. For a while you just focus on eating, passing containers back and forth with occasional comments about the food. Your knees bump sometimes as you each reach for different containers or your drinks.

“So what happened?”

You stab a piece of chicken a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid idea to go on a blind date.”

“Kind of a stupid idea to go on a date at all,” Llewyn replies softly.

“What.” It’s not really a question. You definitely don’t mean it as a question and you vaguely think about throwing an egg roll at him but that would be an honest waste of decent takeout.

“I know what the problem is,” he continues in a normal voice. “It’s the fourteenth.”

You look at him with a raised brow. He has an odd look on his face and you wait a beat before asking, “Okay? And?”

Llewyn also waits a beat before replying and points at you with his fork, a green bean stabbed on the end. You lean forward and pluck it off with your teeth. He needs a moment to clear his throat before he can go on. “It’s the fourteenth,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you noticed, but...well..weird things seem to keep happening. On the fourteenth. Of every month.”

“Huh.” He’s right, now that you think about it. You stab your food again. “What do you think that means?”

Llewyn looks like he wants to say something, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just shrugs. You put the container down and lean back on the couch, swinging your feet into Llewyn’s lap. 

He idly strokes your ankles as his expression grows serious. “I think it means we should not go out on any fourteenths, ever. Just to be safe.”

You poke him with your big toe. “You’re an idiot. There are things that can happen inside. There are things that have happened inside.”

A smirk creeps through his beard. “Shit, you’re right. One-a your crappy novels might fall off the shelf and crack me on the skull.” He pauses. “More run-ins with wildlife? Oh! I know. Squirrels, but this time, in the walls.”

“That’s not funny!” you try to poke him again and dissolve into giggles as he tickles your foot. Your combined laughter ricochets off the living room walls before dissipating back into silence.

This time, you’re clearing your throat before being able to continue. “It’s been a day. I’m gonna go take a hot bath.” You get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

“Please don’t fall asleep in the tub!” he calls after you. “Don’t forget what day it is.”

Idiot.

After your bath, you head to the bedroom and find Llewyn passed out on top of the covers. He has a key, and he stays over far more often than not nowadays, and even though he’s been told numerous times since the broken couch that it’s okay if he’d rather sleep in a bed, you don’t mind sharing, he rarely takes you up on that offer. Okay, so this is the first time since the broken couch that he’s even sort of taken up the offer.

It’s been a weird day.

You grab a quilt and curl up on the other side of the bed, pulling it over both of you and snuggling down into your pillow. 

“I wonder what happens on the next fourteenth,” you yawn mutter into the darkness of the room.

You’re asleep, so you can’t notice that Llewyn isn’t, really, and he rolls to face away from you and whispers, “Yeah, me too.”

February 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a straight bourbon, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as Pappi flips the power on.

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, and he hasn’t shown up yet, which is strange.

Another thing that’s strange? This weird feeling of déjà vu.  Whatever, you’ve been working more nights at the club recently, and they’re all starting to blend together.

“Your friend’s out back,” Pappi’s voice breaks into your thoughts as he sidles up to the bar and leans back on it.

“My friend?” you ask, confused.

Pappi shrugs. “Said he was a friend of yours. Dark curly hair, worn corduroy jacket, always looks tired or pissed off or both.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Wait, why is...did he get the crap kicked out of him again?”

“Nah,” Pappi shakes his head. “At least, maybe not yet. Anyway, I dunno, he just asked me to tell you he was outside. I don’t know what the hell he’s up to.” He nods his head towards the back exit and turns to tend to the bar.

Strange.

You duck your head out the door and glance up and down the alley. You see nothing except the usual debris; trash containers, the dumpster, the rusty drain pipes that run down from the gutters, weathered fire escapes. Something skitters off at the far end and disappears between the buildings. Was that a raccoon?

You snort a laugh as you recall Llewyn’s jab about wildlife run-ins. It would be something that happens, in a dark alley behind a basket house in Greenwich Village on the fourteenth of…

Oh. It is the fourteenth.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the head of the alley.

Llewyn stands there, leaning against the brick, dark curls and worn corduroy and all. He holds a single yellow rose in his hands. He looks incredibly nervous, enough to match you looking incredibly confused.

You step fully outside and the door clicks shut behind you. “Hi?”

“Uhm, this is for you,” he says, awkwardly holding the rose out. “Saw a guy selling ‘em a few blocks down, thought you might like it.”

“Thank you? But what’s the occasion?” Why is everything coming out as a question? Even that.

He bites his lip. “You don’t know what today is?”

“Yeah, it’s the four---” Oh. Oh. 

“You wanna get out of here? Have dinner with me, maybe?” Llewyn rubs the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen him done countless times, usually when he’s thinking about something serious and… Oh.

You twirl the rose in your fingertips and don’t quite meet his eyes. “I thought you said maybe we shouldn’t go out any fourteenths.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. Um, I don’t know if you also noticed, along with this whole fourteenth business, but I...I really like spending time with you, just hanging out with you, and...I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I thought maybe we could, y’know, have a non-weird fourteenth day of the month for a change.”

He’s rambling and it’s adorable. You hum softly. “...on Valentine’s Day.”

Llewyn’s hands twitch in his pockets. “Well...yeah. I mean, I like spending time with you, but...I also like you. So why not?”

He has a point. And really, now that one of you has said it out loud, you really can’t deny it. All the time spent together, all the shared meals and drinks and late-night talks on the couch and letting him basically move into your apartment...it’s no secret, you realize, it never really was, how close you’ve become over the past many months. How easy it is with him. How natural it is.

All the times he helped you. All the times you helped him. All the times you were together, just being.

The fourteenth of the month be damned.

You pretend to think about it for a little longer than necessary as Llewyn watches you anxiously. “Well, I do have to work, you know.”

“I already asked your boss,” he shakes his head, “and he was more than willing to agree. Something about not getting a black eye on your behalf tonight.”

Your laugh rings out into the street. “But it is the fourteenth. What if one of us gets food poisoning or chokes on dessert or something?”

“Vomit doesn’t bother me and I know the Heimlich,” he smirks. “And I’m already asking you out in a dark alley in the Village, how much weirder can it get?”

“You make a fair point, Llewyn Davis.”

He extends an elbow and a hopeful smile.

If he notices, as he brushes his lips on your knuckles as you take his offered arm, that your breath catches and your heart rate increases, he doesn’t let on.

But later that night, as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck and asks you what you want to do on the next fourteenth, well, Llewyn Davis definitely notices then.

~end~

[shiroandblack]

Finwë, the Progenitor of the 'Fins'

[Disclaimer: what you are about to read are basically my thoughts and interpretation of Finwë. So if you have different thoughts and opinions that's perfectly fine]

Oh, and I'm totally not doing this because I'm procrastinating on the Fëanor thought-vomit I have going on in my head. Pfft, absolutely not!

Finwë, High King of the Noldor, Daddy to Fëanor, Findis, Fingolfin, Lalwen, and Finarfin (not that kind of daddy, get yer minds out of the gutter), husband to both Míriel and Indis, the Ned Stark of the Silmarillion, (depending on who you ask) the Fin to Elu's Finelwë -

I should stop.

First of all, we have no idea where this guy came from (I think?). He just suddenly popped out as an ambassador who basically went out with his buddies (OG Goldilocks and Tall Boy) to scout Valinor and see if the elves should move there or not. Prior to that, Finwë is not mentioned anywhere. People are generally divided if he was Tata's son as was Ingwë being Imin's son and Elwë being Enel' or if he's Unbegotten. Some also headcanon him as an orphan with his parents gone via Morgoth Kidnapping which was why he was chosen as an ambassador. I mean, magical guy on horse saying he'll take their society somewhere? I wouldn't really send the heirs or chieftains, I'd send someone competent enough to be a diplomat but ultimately no great loss to the tribal society of Cuiviénen (my god did I spell that right) if magical guy does pull a Dark Rider. Personally I do think that if he was indeed an orphan, it would explain some things in particular, like his want for many children and just a big family in general.

Anyways, the three go on their joy trip to Valinor and come back and go like "come, come, there are two pretty trees and no Dark Rider". I personally would have gone because of the no Dark Rider part but hey, if you like shiny, glowing trees and that's your main motivation, no judgement. Right after that, we don't know what happens to Imin, Tata, or Enel. Working on the assumption that the three are different people to the three '-wë's then they could have become Avari since the Avari are Tatyar and Nelyar. Interestingly, the Minyar all go and there is no more mention of Imin despite he was chieftain of all chieftains and then suddenly Ingwë is High King of all Elves? I'm gonna go with @squirrelwrangler's Klingon route here from their story 'Of Ingwë Ingweron' because I think there should be more depth to Ingwë and on a completely irrelevant note I have had a crush on 'the boy who would be Ingwë' since I started reading. You probably didn't need to know that, but now you do :)

(As you can see, I'm being very objective.)

BACK TO THE MAIN POINT. THIS IS A POST ABOUT FINWË. So anyways, the Great Journey happened and for some reason he and Elwë decide to meet up in a forest to do what nobody knows. Anyways, Elwë got skadooshed by Melian and Finwë went to Aman forever regretting the fact that he never got to do Elwë - I MEAN DO WHATEVER HE AND ELWË PLANNED in the woods of Nan Elmoth.

There he got married. Now, this is where I actually stop making fun of Finwë (yeah, no) and give you my interpretations and analysis which none of you have asked for but I'm doing anyways. So right off the bat, even when Míriel is obviously tired from giving birth to the baby who is his own crematorium - sorry, I meant Fëanàro - Finwë goes like "oh he's so pretty, I'm sure our other kids will be just as pretty". Which goes to show us that Finwë likely wanted an armada of kids right from the start. Y'all know what happens next. Point is, Míriel's dead and gone and Finwë is understandably a Sad Boy™.

Now, he also exhibits a certain impatient streak after Míriel dies. Surely he knew that the more he bothered Míriel about "hey, when are you gonna come back?" the more obstinate Míriel would be about not returning. I say he is impatient because he is an elf. He technically has all the time in Arda to wait for Míriel to return, but curiously he doesn't wait. Now, Fëanor was born in YT 1169 and Fingolfin in YT 1190 and since one YT is about 10 solar years (I'm pretty sure it's 9.8 years ish but I suck at maths so please have mercy on me) that means that Fëanor was around 200 years old when Fingolfin was born and we know Findis is elder. 200 years for an elf is not long at all, hell to the elven perception of time Finwë marrying Indis is probably like someone going out dating after 40 days of abstinence after a break up. This means that he married Indis relatively quickly after Míriel died, which shows that he was very eager for the marriage to happen.

Why? Was it because he knew Míriel wouldn't return for a very long time? Or was it because he wanted more kids? Or maybe that impatience is just intrinsic to Finwë's character? I actually don't know what to make of his motivations regarding this, so I'd love to hear anyone's opinions.

Finwë supposedly fell in love with Indis when he was going to visit Ingwë and saw her singing and the light was golden and Indis glowed and yeah. Prior to that, they most likely met in Tirion or even in Cuiviénen as Indis was close kin to Ingwë so I highly doubt that this was their first meeting and Indis was in love with Finwë since the early days of when the Vanyar and Noldor still stayed together in Tirion. This does make me wonder that even when Finwë was married to Míriel, were there seeds of feelings towards Indis? No, I am not saying he had an affair with Indis while married to Míriel, but you can feel attracted to someone even while married to another. But considering Finwë's favouritism towards Fëanor, I don't think this was the case and he probably began falling in love with Indis when he saw her singing and being basked in golden light. I do wonder what would have happened if he saw her picking her nose instead but hey, elves don't pick their noses in the Silm because all the nose dirt is removed by the sheer amount of times they must've cried in the First Age. Snotty crying ftw.

Many people in-universe seem to think that his second marriage was a mistake, but I do not think his marriage per say was a mistake. To me Finwë had the right to move on from Míriel, but what I don't agree with was that the Valar basically locked her up in Mandos for eternity. But this is a point of conflict that I feel I should address in a separate post about the Valar. In any case, what I think was the mistake was Finwë's impactful favouritism of Fëanor and his failure to reconcile Fëanor and his children by Indis. As there are a lot of external factors to him being unable to make his kids get along, I will be focusing more on the negative effects of his favouritism.

Finwë's marriage to Indis seems almost like a spontaneous decision, I don't think he actually sat Fëanor down and explained things to him quite well. After all, in Fëanor's mind Indis is the reason his mother is forever dead which is not really the case. Finwë wanted to marry Indis and Indis wanted to marry Finwë. It takes two to make the relationship work, after all. But despite Indis giving him what he wanted which is more children and a big family in general, Finwë still favoured Fëanor. Now I do get favouritism because everyone has favourites, but Finwë's favouritism only served to create more strife between Fëanor and Fingolfin. With one child, he lavishes praise and attention to the point that it's detrimental to Fëanor's growth as a person and with the other children, Fingolfin felt ignored enough to tailor his entire life into proving that he is more worthy to be Finwë's heir to - for a lack of better word - get his father to look at him the same way Finwë looks at Fëanor.

I don't doubt that Finwë loved his kids. I think he did love both Fëanor and his children by Indis, but the thing is . . . his actions always show that he loved Fëanor more. And I think that must have been devastating for his other children and what was the worst in my opinion is that Finwë doesn't seem to realise this. This could be a form of selective ignorance on Finwë's part or it could simply be that Finwë felt that he was giving equal attention to his children and that Fëanor needed more attention because he didn't have a mother. This is a logical thought process for him, but just because something seems logical it doesn't mean it's the right thing. Personally, I think Finwë's feelings towards Fëanor revolve around love and guilt and that guilt over denying Fëanor a birth mother makes him put Fëanor on a pedestal above his other children.

Now I'm gonna dive in to the circumstances up to his death. Prior to the infamous 'point-a-sword-at-traitorous-half brother' incident, the Noldor already had factions brewing under each of Finwë's sons. Which means that there were different groups supporting different sons (I'm just gonna give this quick glance because Noldorin elf politics and succession matters requires its own post honestly), both Fëanor and Fingolfin's group were advocating for these two princes to be Finwë's heir while Finarfin's most likely stayed neutral as throughout the text Finarfin has shown no real desire for kingship as his brothers (well, little did he know that his mother-name would come true in an arguably sad way). What is very interesting is the fact that Fingolfin thought he could be king after Finwë to begin with, which suggests to me that Finwë hadn't formally declared an heir. Usually it is assumed that the eldest son is heir and there would be no formal declaration needed, but the thing is Finwë had sons by a different queen and what's more is Fingolfin and Finarfin were the children of the ruling queen. Why he didn't do a formal declaration, I do wonder, because while it may have embittered Fingolfin for awhile I do think that if Fëanor had been assured of his position then maybe the two could have had some semblance of a healthy relationship. Maybe he viewed it as causing a greater rift between his children?

Now we finally get on to the sword pulling incident. We all know what happens, so I'll just skip on to the aftermath. Fëanor is exiled by Manwë, Finwë views this as an insult to his authority. I do agree that this can be viewed as that because as a Noldo, Fëanor should answer to the king of the Noldor and Manwë is exiling someone who is not his subject. But the thing is, Finwë probably wasn't going to really punish him and that's why Manwë stepped in. Hell, we have no evidence of a trial going on for what Fëanor did. But the thing is, this isn't just a regular Fëanor and Fingolfin screaming match this was Fëanor actually threatening harm to Fingolfin in front of everyone. The guy literally sashayed into the room, wearing armour and drew a sword. This must have been the equivalent of a bank robber drawing out a loaded gun to the elves.

Anyways, ya know what good ol' Finwë did to protest against Manwë's interference and Fëanor getting exiled -

He incited the Fourth Shinobi War -

No, he just yeeted off with Fëanor. Look guys, I have neutral feelings towards Fingolfin I mean he is no victim (in general) because he has done some pretty presumptuous things (which is what makes him interesting, let's be honest), but I have never ever felt so bad for him before. Hell, this is an even worse 'fuck you' then making him cross the Helcaraxë because Fingolfin's main motivation in life thus far is probably to be equal to Fëanor in Finwë's eyes. I mean, he did leave Fingolfin regent (did he? Oh gosh, I honestly forgot) but still dealt an emotional blow anyways.

Right, so we don't get much of what Finwë did in Formenos but maybe this whole thing was just for him to get a holiday. And then Melkor comes and fucks shit up by killing Finwë. Now, I'm going to talk about Finwë's murder and why it is in my opinion the Inciting Incident™ of the Silm, the Chekhov's gun being fired so to speak, the equivalent of Ned Stark's execution in the Tolkienverse. Everything else, Melkor's lies, the creation of the Silmarils, the drama between the brothers, it was a build up to this moment. And everything after, the exile of the Noldor, the War of the Jewels, it was what happened because of Finwë's murder. Prior to this, there were already factions among the Noldor as previously discussed above but none of these factions actually openly made any moves against each other. Why? Because Finwë was still alive, because Finwë was essentially the lynchpin holding the Noldor together. Now, I'm pretty sure that Morgoth killed Finwë just to fuck Fëanor's shit up even more, but what he did was quite tactically brilliant. He has effectively wrought chaos among the Noldor in one single swoop.

And thus the Quenta Silmarillion happens.

In Mandos, he meets Míriel and tells her about his life. Because maybe it went something like this:

Finwë: so yeah, you know I was with our son all the way through and then I died. What have you been doing?

Míriel: oh, you know the usual things one does when one is condemned to Mandos for eternity.

Anyways, he gives up any opportunity for life for Míriel. Which is admittedly a nice thing to do since the reason Míriel is kinda stuck there is related to him, until you find out Míriel weaves the history of the House of Finwë instead of well, I don't know building the Mírindis ship? Yeah, she probably weaved Fingon getting his head smashed open by Gothmog and getting his corpse trampled. Oh and the 'If I Die, You Die' duel between Celegorm and Dior which probably wasn't as badass as Katniss' "If we burn, you burn with us" line from Mockingjay made it seem but more bloody and violent. Also Maedhros throwing himself off into a fiery chasm. Finrod getting mauled by a werewolf.

Good times, I'm sure.

But hey, at least Fëanor comes within a few seconds after stepping into Beleriand to keep him company.

So, I'm done with teasing my analysis of Finwë. Thank you for your time. Have a nice day.

Just keep procrastinating <3

[buggre-alle-this-for-a-larke]

So I do not ship wolfstar. In fact if you follow me you’ll know that I’m pretty damn vocal about disliking it, But I love the marauders and its incredibly difficult to find marauders content that doesn’t include (or in fact centre itself around) Wolfstar. What gets my goat is people saying that Wolfstar is canon or at least theres enough basis for it in canon, simply because I disagree. I’ve never really thought about exactly why I don’t ship Wolfstar and Lockdown is getting to me HARD today lads. I need something pointless to distract me, so I’m going to do that now;

(DISCLAIMER; THIS IS NOT TO SAY I THINK IT’S WRONG TO SHIP WOLFSTAR OR THAT I OR ANYONE ELSE CAN EVER POLICE YOU LIKING WHAT YOU LIKE. SHIP WOLFSTAR? COOL! DONT? COOL! I’M JUST CHUCKING MY THOUGHTS OUT THERE AND LIKE THIS IS REAL OLD THOUGHTS RIGHT SO LIKE FUCK IT, IT DOESN’T MATTER. Also JK can suck my dick so really do what you like, ship whoever you want to and remember that trans rights are human rights) 

1.) I’m going to start at the very beginning with what I think is probably the key reason I just cannot see Wolfstar, and say that the dynamic of the marauders changes significantly if you add in a Remus/Sirius relationship storyline. The main reason for this is because we know that two of the marauders were closer to each other than the other two - But that was quite clearly James and Sirius. Take the photo Harry finds on Sirius’ wall :

“To Sirius’ Right stood Pettigrew…. flushed with pleasure at his inclusion to this coolest of games, with the much admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. On James’ left was Lupin, even then a little shabby looking, but he had the same air of lighted suprise at finding himself liked and included” - DH CH10

It highlights the fact that it was always James&Sirius and then Remus and Peter. Sirius’ entire story arc is driven by his love of James and the fact that James was the most important person in Sirius’ life. He offered him family and shelter (and a mate to pick on people with) and was ‘the best friend he ever had’. Everything he does for Harry stems not from an immediate love for him, but from the all powering love he always had for James. Multiple characters point this out throughout OotP when they say that Sirius is acting like he has James back. To say that Remus knew Sirius better, and was closer to him, just doesn’t make sense in terms of the story canon and takes away from James and Sirius’ bond.

2.) Remus does not trust Sirius. 

Sirius tried to use Remus as a tool to frighten, or possibly murder, a kid he didn’t like. Remus and Sirius are undoubtably close, and so in theory Sirius would know that one of Remus’ biggest fears was always that he would bite someone and make them live as he does. Sirius would also know the lengths that Remus would have to go to keep his illness a secret whilst at school and decided to tell the very person who despised Remus like it was no big deal. We don’t know what would have happened if James hadn’t stepped in, but we do know that Dumbledore refers to it as saving Snape’s life so we can infer that Snape would have been killed by the werewolf he met down there, and therefore Remus would have been probably punished (and I bet not fairly).

We also know that having done this, and presumably seen the impact it had on Remus, Sirius shows absolutely no remorse;

“ Black made a derisive noise. ‘It served him right.’ he sneered. ‘sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to’ “ POA CH18

I think this lead Remus to be able to fully believe that Sirius betrayed James -after all he’d betrayed him in the highest possible way hadn’t he? He spent 12 years believing Sirius to have joined Voldemort - I think if they were together there would be no way this would have happened.

3.) Sirius didn’t trust Remus.

We never find out exactly why Sirius believes Remus to be the one selling them all out to Voldemort, maybe it’s because the only other option was Peter or maybe it’s because Voldemort  has promised Werewolves equal rights and he thinks that Remus would actually go for it. It could have been both. Either way, Sirius not trusting Remus is the reason they end up in the mess they’re in with having Peter as the secret keeper instead of himself, Remus or Dumbledore.

Again, If they were together I really doubt this would be the case.

4.) Sirius leaves everything to Harry. In his will, Sirius leaves absolutely everything to Harry. His money, his house, his house elf, everything in that house goes to Harry - and whilst I think that’s fair in the long run, giving your entire fortune to your godson who is already a millionaire opposed to your impoverish partner seems truly harsh and just doesn’t make sense. Although we know that Lupin must have a house somewhere “Lie low at Lupins” {GoF Ch 34}, we also know that when Dumbledore came to offer Remus the DADA position he was living in a semi derelict cottage. After being out of work for 2 years when Sirius died, we can presume that his housing situation might not be the most stable and his finances are absolutely not.

“Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further” OotP Ch12

If they were together at the time of Sirius death, as many believe, then I can’t imagine Sirius not leaving Remus anything at all given the circumstances.

5.) Sirius is incredibly insensitive to Remus’ condition.

Even if you disregard the Snape Prank situation, Sirius is a dick to Remus;

“‘ I’m bored’ said Sirius. ‘ Wish it was full moon’ ‘You might’ Said Lupin darkly from behind his book. “ OoTP CH28

From what Lupin says in PoA, we can gather than transforming in to a werewolf is incredibly painful and extremely unpleasant even with his friends around. He HATES it. But Sirius doesn’t seem that bothered because he gets a fun adventure out of it. Even as just friends Sirius lack of care over this fact unsettles me, but if this was supposed to be a relationship it’s absolutely wild.

6.) Remus ends up with Tonks.

Of course, not everyone ships these two and that’s cool, but I think Tonks is rad. Bisexual Power Couple anyone? I think my reasoning for preferring this ship over Wolfstar is that I’d much rather poor Remus be with someone who would continuously repeat that is he enough if that’s what it takes to get him to believe it, opposed to a relationship fraught with mistrust and betrayal. Remus and Sirius were absolute ride or die friends and would do anything for each other, but as a couple it would have been disastrous.

I think the man has suffered enough, let him have this one.

[alolowrites]

The Helpful Elf

Summary: The Hippity Hop Cat toy is the toy on every kid’s wish list this year, including Eri’s. With the toy flying off the shelves, you desperately ask Mirio, the Helper Elf at Hazuki’s ToyLand, for help. And Mirio doesn’t give up, especially when it comes to you.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone!!! Real life is being a pain right now, but I’m so glad I managed to finish this story right on time! It’s pretty long (for me lol) and it’s my first with Mirio so yay!! I also wrote it for the BNHASanctuary discord server’s winter collab (first time I ever participated in any collab), so I’m very excited about this. I’ll link and share the masterlist once it’s up. I can’t wait to read everyone else’s stories :D 

Please enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5K+

With October long gone and December in full swing, it meant one thing—the official start of the jubilant holiday season. Every year, Japan’s most iconic department store in Tokyo, Hazuki’s, transformed its ten floors into a magical winter wonderland. Around the country and around the globe, customers ushered through the doors to catch a glimpse of the glamorous store glittering with festive decor. 

Dazzling lights twinkled around the window displays that stretched around the block. Vibrant ornaments hung high above the ceilings like luxurious bubbles. And pine garlands peppered with red berries wrapped themselves along any rails that ran off forever. 

Hazuki’s was the place to kick start the holiday season and the one place to find everything and anything on one’s holiday shopping list. Especially the highly coveted toy of the year—the Hippity Hop Cat. 

Or so you thought. 

“Mirio!” 

“Huh?” Said man’s elf hat jingled when he looked away from his display. His blue eyes beamed at the sight of you. Mirio chirped out your name as you rushed forward, nearly knocking him over. “Whoa, you alright?” 

“I need your help,” you blurted out, catching your breath at the same time; those pesky escalators were no use at all. Mirio offered to get water, but you waved him off. “No, no…no time for water. I need your help. It’s urgent!” 

“Uh, sure, what can I do?” 

“I need a toy, but not just any toy.” Mirio blinked when you suddenly inched closer to him. You scanned the area as though someone was lurking around to eavesdrop on your top-secret conversation. “It’s the Hippity Hop Cat, you know—” 

“The cat whose hops are out of this world?” 

“Yes, that one!” You clung to his shoulders like a desperate parent trying to find some shred of sanity in this chaotic store. Shaking the blonde man, you begged, “Please tell me you have one in stock?”

“Oh man,” Mirio scratched his forehead as he recalled the inventory from this morning. He glanced at your hopeless eyes and tight fists curling on his work uniform. There was no way Mirio could leave you hanging like this; it didn’t feel right. So he flashed you his famous smile that outshone the star twirling above you both. “Come with me. I’ll check in our system.”

“Gosh, you’re a lifesaver.” 

Mirio humbly rubbed his neck as he led the way to the backroom. You eyed the uproarious floor covered with thousands of toys that rivaled Santa’s Workshop in the North Pole. It was like walking through a child’s dream. Every toy imaginable—dolls, electric cars, robots, board games, you name it—was here. Hopefully, that stayed true with the Hippity Hop Cat. 

The door closed, muffling the sounds of frantic parents buzzing through the aisle. Mirio typed away on the keyboard as you paced behind him. You cursed yourself for procrastinating this long to buy the prized toy. Christmas was in less than two weeks!

“So who’s the gift for?” 

“Oh!” His deep voice pulled you back to the present. You walked forward with folded arms, anxiously hugging yourself. “It’s for Eri, a sweet little girl my next-door neighbor, Shouta, adopted earlier this year. She had a rough upbringing, but fortunately, she’s living with someone who cares for her deeply.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

“Yeah,” you smiled softly at Mirio, making his fingers freeze above the keyboard. That smile of yours took his breath away; he nodded but secretly tried controlling his heart that beat like a bass drum. It was difficult since you were so close to him. “This will be Eri’s first Christmas, and she wants the Hippity Hop Cat; I told Shouta I would buy it for her, helping ease some pressure off his shoulders.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you.” Mirio admired everything about you. He was absolutely smitten with you ever since you started working in the perfume department. Mirio sometimes strolled through the floor during his breaks just to catch a glimpse of you. After scrolling through the computer, the blonde man frowned. “Hmm…looks like we’re out of stock. And the next shipment won’t come until the twenty-first.” 

You groaned. “Man, that’s cutting it close; you think you can hold one for me? I can buy it during my break or after work.” 

“I’ll try my best.”

“Thanks, Mirio.” You squeezed his shoulder, and he shuddered at the touch. Glancing at your watch, you said, “I gotta go before Nemuri wonders where I am. But thanks for helping out!” 

“Sure!” He saw you slip out the door in a hurry; you throw an apologetic smile for good measure. Pushing the elf hat further up, Mirio chuckled, “No problem.”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Okay, so maybe there was a slight problem.

Santa Claus was still around town, and Mirio was placed on “elf duty” to help out with the pictures. Don’t get him wrong, the sunshine man adored children as much as the jolly old man who lived in the North Pole. However, Mirio realized he couldn’t guard the Hippity Hop Cat for you. All he could do was pray that one miraculously stayed on the shelf until you bought it. 

A flash went off, snapping Mirio back to his job. He smiled brightly, guiding the kid off Santa’s lap and ushering the next one to the chair. Nearly every parent in Japan was here today, the line looping around the store. Other customers, not visiting Santa, shopped as well, making the place extra crowded today. Yet, none of them were you, and that worried Mirio. 

“Ho, ho, ho, it was nice meeting you, sweetie!” 

Oh right! Mirio needed to focus, but it was hard knowing you weren’t here yet. All Mirio wanted to do was make people happy, especially you. After the sweet story you shared with him, he was more determined than ever to get you that toy. His blue eyes glanced at the bearded man in the red coat—could he help? Who knows. 

As Mirio waved goodbye to each kid, you stumbled off the escalator, face flushed as though you ran fifty flights of stairs. You glanced around the packed floor, dodging an airplane that whizzed by and brushing against the sea of customers to find Mirio. The blonde elf locked eyes with you and flashed a relieved grin; the grueling wait was over. 

And so was his duty with Santa Claus, what luck! Mirio marched over to you, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you to the aisle. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.” 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a robot’s arm. “The perfume department was swamped with tourists and other people. I practically had to beg Nemuri to let me slip away for a few minutes so I could buy—” Turning the corner, you gasped in disbelief at the empty shelves before choking out, “—the toy.”

Mirio blew a low whistle; people were snatching these toys off the shelves like no tomorrow. Still, he wouldn’t give up just yet. “C’mon, maybe there’s some left in stock.” 

“You sure?” 

“Can’t hurt to try, right?” Mirio flashed you a boyish smile, blue eyes brimming with determination. You nodded and followed him through the elaborate maze of this chaotic toy store. 

However, just as you both passed by the cash register, someone bellowed out: “That’s the last Hippity Hop Cat, sir. Thank you for shopping at Toyland; have a nice day!” 

No! You screeched to a halt. Your eyes watched as the man grabbed his bag and left the store with an exhausted but relieved face. Without thinking, you slammed against the counter, scaring the young green-haired employee who clutched his uniform. Leaning forward, you desperately half-whispered, “Please tell me what you said wasn’t true!” 

“I-I’m sorry?”

“The toy!” You frantically gestured to the exit, the man now long gone. “Please tell me you have another Hippity Hop Cat for sale!” 

“U-Um, I, uhh, well,” Midoriya stammered until his eyes spotted a familiar face behind you. The nervous man sighed in relief, knowing he was saved. “Mirio!”

“Hey, Izuku, sorry about that,” Mirio bashfully chuckled and clasped your shoulder to calm you down. The blonde man quickly introduced you to his co-worker, adding, “They’re trying to buy the Hippity Hop Cat, but are you sure that was the last one in stock?” 

“Yeah, it was. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh…oh, okay…” Your shoulders drooped like a sad puppy; you were too late. After saying a quick apology, you numbly dragged your feet toward the exit as a gray cloud formed over your head. A warm hand stopped you from going any further, and you blinked up. “Huh, Mirio, what’s wrong?”

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” you dismissed his concerns, but he wasn’t convinced; your eyes told a different story. Still, you mustered a brave face with a faint smile. “Listen, I appreciate everything you did. I knew it was a longshot getting the toy, so don’t sweat it, really.”  

“I know, I just,” he sucked in a breath, “I just wished I could have helped you out more. Especially since you wanted to make Eri happy.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get her something else.” You squeezed his bicep when Mirio opened his mouth to interject; he faltered slightly at the brief touch. “It’s fine, really. I’m sure Eri will love any toy for her gift; I promise.” 

Mirio nodded, watching you leave the store and disappearing within the crowd. You said everything was fine, but he knew that wasn’t true. That fake smile of yours spoke volumes. There has to be a way to get that toy, Mirio pondered, rubbing his chin and staring at the floor with furrowed eyes. 

Suddenly, an idea popped inside his head just as a jingle bell chimed behind him. A white smile stretched across Mirio’s face. The idea was crazy, maybe a longshot, too, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Mirio whipped out his phone and searched through his contacts until he landed on a specific name. 

The line started ringing...and ringing...and ringing when—

“H-Hi, Mirio.”

“Hey, Tamaki!” The blonde man beamed like the sun. He lowered his voice, cupping the phone for secrecy while walking away. “Listen, buddy. I know you’re busy and all, but I got a huge favor to ask…” 

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“…you think you can do it?” A small puff of breath floated out of your lips as you stepped away from the revolving doors. You stood beside a colorful window display of tiny elves grinning from ear to ear, their eager hands holding toys for the good boys and girls. One elf balanced himself at the tippy top of Santa’s mountainous red bag, his green gloves clutching the pointy hat for dear life. 

You smiled, appreciating the creative design before saying, “I can close the following week...yeah...okay, awesome, thanks again!”

Crisis one averted. Crisis two was up for debate, mainly because you held a shopping bag with Eri’s gift. It wasn’t the Hippity Hop Cat, but a nice small plushy cat toy instead. You bought it just a few minutes ago after wandering through the aisles at Toyland. The plushy cat toy wasn’t a bad second choice; it was adorable and incredibly soft to the touch. But it wasn’t the toy you wanted to give for Eri’s first Christmas. 

Oh, well, you sadly thought, biting the inside of your cheek. You stared at the elves again, realizing that their costumes matched Mirio’s work uniform in Toyland, down to the funny little hat. Mirio somehow pulled it off well thanks to his bubbly personality and warm heart that could melt the North Pole's snow. 

At one point, you wondered if Mirio was even there since you didn’t see him at the store today. You assumed he was doing inventory, but Midoriya said Mirio took the day off after a last-minute “personal obligation” came up, and it was too important to ignore. Must have been serious, you sighed as the shopping bag rustled against the wind. 

You braced your coat, hissing as the cold air sliced across your cheeks. Yup, it was time to go unless you wanted to freeze out here. Shuffling away from the window display, you stopped when someone screamed your name. Glancing over, you saw Mirio running toward you with one arm waving high in the air. 

“Hey!” Mirio finally caught up to you, his face flushed and nose redder than Rudolph’s, yet he kept on smiling. “So glad I found you!” 

“Whoa, you alright?” Now it was your turn to be concerned, just like he was when you rushed into the store to ask about the Hippity Hop Cat toy. Mirio nodded enthusiastically, squashing your worries away. “Midoriya said you were busy with a ‘personal obligation’ today. Is everything okay?” 

“Oh yeah, everything is great!”

“Well, that’s, um, great.”

“So, listen, about the Hippity Hop Cat toy—” 

“Mirio, I told you not to worry about it,” you butted in, shaking your shopping bag with the plushy cat. “I went ahead and bought something else for Eri and—”

“Ta-da!” 

You went radio silent, staring in disbelief at the surprise. Sitting in Mirio’s hands was the one and only Hippity Hop Cat toy. The number one toy that was on every kid’s wish list, yet rarer to get than Willy Wonka’s Golden ticket. That toy was now only a few inches away from you. 

“B-But how?!” The words finally fumbled through your lips, flickering your gaze between the toy and Mirio while stumbling forward a bit. “It’s sold out everywhere!” 

“Let’s just say I pulled some strings with Santa’s workshop,” Mirio cheekily grinned like one of the elves from the window display. You choked out a laugh, dropping the shopping bag so you could hold the boxed toy; it felt wonderful in your hands.

You looked up with eyes softer than freshly fallen snow. Mirio continued talking up a storm, his arms flailing wildly like an excited kid who discovered something new. The delicate holiday lights flickered around you both, casting a lovely glow that was as bright as the joy twinkling inside Mirio’s eyes. 

They were always so welcoming that, without thinking, you gave him a crushing hug. Mirio froze, his arms hanging mid-air as he slowly processed what was happening. After a few seconds, his shoulders relaxed, and his strong arms eagerly wrapped around you, holding you in place. Even with that thick coat of yours, you felt very soft that his heart soared to new heights. 

“Thank you, Mirio,” you whispered near his ear, giving him another squeeze. But you didn’t stop there. A sudden urge came over you, and in a bold move, you planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. Pulling away, you bit back a laugh at his flustered face. “You really are the best Helpful Elf I know.” 

“Well, you know me,” he shot you a grin, “I’m always here to help.” 

“Is that so?” You tapped your cheek with your gloved finger. “Think you can help me gift wrap this toy, say tonight at my place?” 

“Luckily for you, I’m a whiz with wrapping paper.” 

Mirio’s hand wormed its way into yours, giving you a loving squeeze before joining you on your long walk home. The Hippity Hop Cat toy was the toy on every kid’s wish list this year, including Eri’s, whose first Christmas was officially saved. And it was all thanks to Mirio, the one and only Helpful Elf at Hazuki’s Toyland.

Thank you for reading!!

FicMas Fest 2020 Masterlist

[snusbandxknifewife]

How We Got Here/Where We’re Going

Hello yes hi! I am proud to introduce my gift for the lovely and amazing Tess, @clockworkgraystairs ! This started out as a wedding fic, but I couldn’t get it to work right until I was giving @wanderingpages her regularly scheduled Mayari update and saw her asynchronous pregnancy au and was like “!!!!!Holy shit that’s it.” So, without much further ado, I present the beginning of “How We Got Here/Where We’re Going”, an all human, modern au where Cardan and Jude have been a thing since college, ended up getting pregnant and having a daughter and marrying in their late 20s. Now it’s their honeymoon and they’re looking backwards at their past and forward towards their future.

~~~~~~~

Outside, fluffy grey clouds hung over a soft blanket of snow, masking any sound that might’ve accompanied the rising of the sun. Her bed was soft, her sheets warm, her room quiet. Jude couldn’t quite figure out what woke her up. Then, as she stretched out, her fingers hungrily searching as she fought sleep, she realized what it was: Cardan was missing.

Sitting up, her eyes bleary and drool dried on her cheek, she pouted. When she remembered that she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on—and that, plus a snowy log cabin, makes for freezing nips—she grumbled and burrowed back into the comforter.

Oh to have been a fly on the wall in the little cabin bedroom as Jude Greenbriar tumbled around in her nest of blankets, dragging them with her to grab underwear and pajamas and socks and fighting to avoid any cold air as she dressed. Cussing and tripping as she went, Jude scowled into nothing and cursed her fiancé—

Wait. Husband. It’s husband now.

—she cursed her husband for abandoning her to the elements and taking his space heater of a body with him when he went.

Jude wrapped herself up in her ball of bedding and went out the door, now awake enough to listen for movement in the small cabin. A pot clanged from the downstairs kitchen and her husband yelped and she smirked.

That’s what you get, loser.

As Jude walked down the stairs, she couldn’t miss the chaos of the living room. Most of their suitcases were still packed up and set by the fireplace, their skis and snow jackets barely made it in the door, and their wedding clothes were strewn haphazardly across the sofa. She was honestly impressed that they’d made it inside the house.

Just as she made it to the bottom of the stairs and headed towards the sofa to run her hand over her wedding dress, she heard something that made her stop.

“—And how should I know? Honestly Nic I’m not even sure how to bring it up to her,” Cardan sighed from within the kitchen, bustling around like he was making breakfast. “I think it might be good for us. Still, with how everything went when we had Faye, I don’t want to pressure her.”

She couldn’t help but frown in concern as her mind flitted back through everything she could remember about their first daughter and her pregnancy. From the confusion of her missed period to the worry as they waited on the test to the way Cardan’s eyes had lit up when the Ob/Gyn told them they were having a little girl.

What on earth would Nicasia be talking to him about?

Jude tried to tell herself that it was obvious, Nicasia was only days away from popping, and her pregnancy had been a bit of a nightmare. Maybe she was just nervous? But, then again, why ask Cardan about giving birth? Jude had been the one who carried Faye and, far more importantly, Nicasia’s own wife, Taryn, had already had a child herself.

Completely ignoring the fact that calling a man away from his wife on his honeymoon was probably in poor taste, but she digressed.

She kept herself as still as possible, angling her head so she could hear better.

“Yes, I know that, Nic,” he let out a little frustrated laugh, and Jude could just picture the way he would be pinching the bridge of his nose. “But Faye will be starting school soon and that’ll be a circus in it of itself, never mind adding on the stress that this would.”

He went quiet again and Jude crept back towards the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t walk through the kitchen door and catch her spying.

“I know you and Taryn want the little man to have a friend, but you remember how tough it was for Jude our first go round.”

Oh.

Jude’s hand flew to her belly and she had to jump to catch the falling blankets before they made a sound and alerted her new husband.

So she wasn’t the only one who was getting suggestions about expanding the family.

It made sense, everyone had been talking to Jude about the idea as the wedding had gotten closer. Oriana had been completely starry eyed ever since Taryn’s firstborn, Rosemary, had graced them with her presence. In fact, their stepmother had barely batted an eyelash at Jude’s worries when she’d fallen pregnant during college, she was far too excited at the idea of another grand baby. Madoc had gotten past the shock and the disdain for Cardan enough to be hounding them for a grandson. Taryn thought having cousins the same age made for perfect best friends. It was a mess.

Sure, Nicasia being pregnant had bought them a little respite, but she could go into labor literally any minute, so there went that.

Jude rolled her eyes and began loudly making her way down the stairs again, giving her husband fair warning this time as she walked through the living room and towards the kitchen.

“Hold on, here she comes,” he whispered, low enough that he likely thought she couldn’t hear. Then, she hit the kitchen door with her mobile blanket fort and he spun around with a: “hey Hot Mama!”

“Stop calling me that, you dork,” she made a face, instantly regretting her decision not to sneak up and scare him.

He’s stood there by the stove, wearing nothing but his low-slung flannel pajama pants and grinning at her like an idiot as he leaned back against the counter. She refused to let her sneer fall, only growing more annoyed at how he could walk around half naked in such a freezing house.

“Huh?” He must’ve forgotten he was talking to Nicasia because he seemed surprised when she began speaking on the other end of the phone. “Oh, yeah, Jude’s finally awake. Y’know I kept her up last night, heyo.”

Jude let out a disgusted groan and he just started to laugh, giving her an exaggerated wink and thrusting his hips forward in a way that absolutely did not put butterflies in her stomach, thank you very much.

He tilted his head, listening to Nicasia for a moment before finally giving up. “Here I’ll put her on speaker.”

“Hey Nic!” Jude smiled, finally dropping her pretenses and walking over to give Cardan a big, blankety hug and morning kiss. “How did Faye do last night?”

“She was great! Didn’t get up until about seven this morning. Of course the little man already had me up, fuckin’ kid always sitting on my bladder,” Nicasia griped through the phone and Jude snorted. “I don’t know how you and Taryn both did this it sucks.”

“Yeah, but the payoff is really cute,” she shrugged, leaning her head against Cardan’s collarbone. “Especially when they have your nose or your eyes or they start saying how much they love their Mommy.”

“Is Rosemary ready for baby?” Cardan asked as he wrapped his arm around his blanket bundle of a wife.

“You know how she gets, she’s super attached to her moms. Well have to see once Taryn and I actually bring him home.”

“I’m sure she’ll be a great big sister, she’s always been wonderful to Faye,” Jude offered, smiling as her husband pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “She was very sweet when Faye was a baby.”

“She was three then. Seven-year-olds have much bigger personalities.” Nicasia sounded exhausted, more exhausted than a normal pregnant person would be and Jude worried at her lip.

While they hadn’t always been the closest, she and Nicasia had grown into a really solid friendship ever since the other woman had begun dating Jude’s sister, and she didn’t like to see her struggling. Nic had been a huge help in Jude’s own life and relationship, she’d been an amazing friend to Cardan, she didn’t deserve anything but the best, happiest transition to a family of four.

“Well she takes after her mother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jackass?” Nicasia laughed at Cardan, her voice sounding like the tension broke a little.

Jude opened her mouth to give some word of advice or make some statement about how sure she was that it would be ok, but got cut off by the sound of commotion on the other end of the phone.

“What? Oh, yes Faerie-Faye it’s Mommy and Daddy,” Nic said, sounding far away from the phone. “Of course you can darling, here you go.”

Jude’s heart swelled and tears unexpectedly pricked at the back of her eyes as their daughter fumbled with the phone. She felt guilty, having forgotten for a moment that they were on their honeymoon without Faye. It was their first trip alone since her birth, and they’d both been on pins and needles when they’d said goodbye to her at the reception hall last night.

“Mommy?” Faye’s voice, tiny and soft like the twinkling of a wind chime, came through the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey little elf! How are you? Mommy misses you so much,” she gushed, reaching out and taking the phone from her husband in a mindless attempt to feel physically closer to her daughter. “Have you been good for Aunty Taryn and Aunt Nicky?”

Jude listened attentively as her four-year-old prattled on about everything she’d done since she left the reception hall with her aunts and cousin last night. To hear her tell it, Faye had had a great time. While it made her happy, Jude also found herself a little sad at the idea that her baby girl was doing so well without mom.

“And Daddy, Aunt Nicky let me touch her tummy when baby cousin kicked!”

“Were you gentle, Princess?” Cardan asked. He always called their daughter Princess, had since the first moment he’d held her in his arms. “Remember what we’ve said about soft hands.”

“Yes Daddy I used soft hands and nice words!”

“That’s my girl,” he said, that proud grin he always got whenever Faye listened to them plastering itself across his face.

The phone fell away and they heard some distant talking before their daughter was back on.

“Ok Mommy and Daddy, Rosemary is awake and we’re playing Rome. I love you, bye-bye!”

And she was gone before either of them could say another word, likely dropping her Aunt’s phone on the floor, if history could serve as a teacher. Jude tried not to let it hurt too much, she knew how seriously Faye took Rome—her word for the pretend gladiator-style tournaments her and her cousin put on. On any other day she’d be slightly smug at how well her kid swung a sword, but today she was away from her daughter and it really sucked.

“Sorry about that, I’ll make sure she stays on longer tonight,” Nicasia promised before either of them said anything. “But you know gladiator is a serious time in our house.”

“Oh to be sure. My wife is raising a little killer.”

“Looks like it runs in the family,” she laughed back. “Listen I’ll let you to go do gross honeymoon shit. Love you both, I’ll let you know if baby boy makes an early appearance.”

“Love you too, tell Faye we love her,” Cardan said, taking his phone back when she ended the call.

And, just that quickly, the little cabin in the snow-laden forest was silent again. Jude in her mountain of covers looked up at her new husband, her pout from earlier back as she tried not to cry.

“Awe, don’t do that to me Mama Bear; you know she misses you,” he frowned, pulling her close and kissing her temple.

“She’s my baby Cardan,” Jude whined, her voice muffled against his chest. “When did Rome become more important than Mommy?”

He scoffed, gathering her and her extra padding and setting the whole pile atop the kitchen island. “Rome is not more important than Mommy, you know that.”

“Rome sure sounded more important than Mommy.”

He turned his back with a roll of his eyes, reaching for the coffee that he must’ve been brewing before she woke up. She stopped her pouting long enough to take in the sight: Cardan’s messy black hair, his low-slung pants, the blatantly obvious fingernail marks carved up his back from last night. It was certainly a sight for sore eyes; it’s not every day you can wake up to something like that when you’ve got a toddler in tow.

“When you’re done ogling, would you like a cup?” He looked over his shoulder quickly, catching her in the act. His eyes twinkled so bright and full of mischief she didn’t even feel bad about being caught, she just smirked at him as she nodded.

Jude looked outside and saw that the heavy grey clouds had given up the fight and large, fluffy snowflakes were falling, bathing the world in yet another layer of snow.

“I hope Nic doesn’t go into labor early, we may be stuck here if the snow doesn’t stop,” she observed, suddenly quiet as she took the cup from his outstretched hand and brought it to her face, soaking in the warmth.

Cardan followed her gaze as he leaned back against his own counter, sipping from her Mrs mug that Liliver had gotten her as a joke. He looked pleasantly tired, not wired like he’d been after an all nighter in college or exhausted the way he was when Faye’d had a bad night as an infant. He looked like he was fit to curl up in bed with a book and be lazy all day, content with his place in the world.

It was a good look on him.

“She told me earlier that her doctor said she was only at 1.5 centimeters, she should make it to her due date.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well you were full of surprises with Faye’s pregnancy,” he mock-glared at her and she chuckled into her drink, remembering the look on his face when she’d told him her water had broken in her final.

Then his words hit her and her smile fell as she remembered what she’d overheard him saying to Nicasia. Cardan, well tuned in to her body language after so many years, noticed instantly.

“What?”

What good is spying if you narc on yourself?

She sighed and stared into her mug, trying to figure out the words as he watched her, worried something was wrong. Then, finally, “I overheard you talking with Nic about my pregnancy with Faye.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Just the end, you talking about how tough it was, how you didn’t want to pressure me,” she admitted, continuing before he could respond. “I don’t want you to think you’re pressuring me I know we’ve talked about it and I—“

“Woah, woah, woah, calm it down Hot Mama let me explain,” he cut her off, taking her cup from her hands and setting it down in the counter so he could hold her. “That conversation wasn’t about the pregnancy, just the timing.”

“What?”

He sighed, his jaw working like it always does when he’s a little frustrated. “Nic called right after I got a text from my brother. I should’ve talked to you first but the timing just worked out weird.”

“From Balekin?” She crinkled her nose in a frown that she knew he found adorable. “What could he possibly want? He knows he literally missed our wedding, right? The wedding that was yesterday.”

She cursed herself internally as she saw his little wince. She shouldn’t have said it so harshly, it just pissed her off that the man who raised her husband would refuse to be there when they got married.

“No, from Dain,” Cardan said, stopping her thoughts right in their track. “It’s about the company. Rhyia is apparently sick of being CFO, wants a peace of the trust fund baby action like me.”

She couldn’t help but grind her teeth at that, remembering that glorious fight all those years ago at his family’s mansion when he’d announced their pregnancy.

“So what do you have to do with it?”

“Dain wants to keep it in the family,” he chewed at his bottom lip. “Remembers I was in for business and you were in for finance. Thinks we could make a go of it together.”

“Oh so now you’re family,” she laughed angrily, her blood already boiling again after four years of avoiding the subject. “You weren’t family when you were a defenseless kid and you weren’t family when we were pregnant and fucking panicking but now he needs something—“

She broke off with a huff, flexing her fists and aching for her punching bag back home in their basement. It really wouldn’t do getting this riled up, it hadn’t helped them before and it wouldn’t help them now.

“Cool it, Supervillain, I see that look in your eyes,” he chuckled, forcing his hands under the blankets so he could grab her by the hips.

“I’m not a supervillain,” she grumbled.

“You’re my supervillain,” he cooed back, leaning forward to press soft little butterfly kisses to her jawline. “My sexy little supervillain Hot Mama.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

She decided not to answer as he continued kissing down the line of her throat, his breath hot over her pulse and his lips soft against her chapped skin.

Jude couldn’t help the way she tilted her chin up, the little grin that graced her face as her eyes fluttered closed. She missed moments like these, times when they could be overly affectionate without having to worry about the baby seeing and yelling about how gross it was.

He pulled away and her eyes shot back open, ready to complain until she saw the look on his face. He was troubled, almost apprehensive.

“I was honestly thinking about agreeing,” he admitted before she could ask what was wrong.

Her brain short circuited for a moment, too distracted by his kisses to remember what they had been talking about. When she finally connected the dots, she frowned. “But you bought out of the company years ago, babe. Why go back to the headache?”

“A higher paying job,” he sighed, stepping away to run his hands through his messy hair and lean against the counter again. “I don’t like the idea of charging your sister more for my help, but I still want to make sure we have a secure future.”

“Baby, I know our finances. We are fine.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Even without my paycheck.”

“Still, I’d rather be safe. Plus Faye will be going to school next year and I’ll have all that extra time on my hands,” he looked away from her, chewing at the inside of his lip as he watched the snow fall. “We’d be able to really change how we live if we took this job. A better house, vacations, secure college fund for the kids.”

Jude studied Cardan, her eyes roving over his midnight black curls, down his ears—which used to be stretched—across the tattoo of her and Faye’s birthdates at his wrist, and she smiled. He’d changed so much since they first met, given up a lot of his more daring, self-destructive ways to provide for her and their family. He’d stepped up when she needed him to, he’d stepped up in a way that no man in his family ever did for him. She was proud.

“I thought kids is what you’d been discussing with Nic.”

His eyes shot back to her, but his head didn’t turn. She was quiet, almost nervous as she said it. They’d talked about maybe one day having more kids, mentioned it the same way one might say they wanted to hike the Appalachian trail some day.

But it had been so scary with Faye, so hard figuring out how to become parents, how to maintain their relationship and build a home, all while they were just barely adults. The pregnancy had been tough and full of shock, the family had been kind of a mess on both sides. It was just a disaster from the word go.

Still, Jude remembered how Cardan looked when he first saw that positive pregnancy test all those years ago. She remembered how he used to love waking up at night to feed the baby, called it his special Daddy-Daughter Time. She saw the way he still held one of Faye’s sonograms in his wallet every time she took her birth control.

“Did you now?” Cardan barely sounded like he was breathing.

She nodded. “I heard Nicasia giving you the same guilt trip Taryn gives me about cousins.”

“They do seem to think that baby boy should have a friend.” His face didn’t give anything away. He was, for the first time in years, so carefully blank around her.

“What do you think?”

The air, still frigid enough to keep Jude wrapped up in her nest, seemed charged with electricity as Cardan finally turned his head back to face his wife. If she’d gazed upon him with an untrained eye, she would’ve thought he looked like the picture of cruelty, an evil sneer pulling at his lips as he studied her through lidded eyes.

But Jude’s gaze wasn’t untrained, she knew her husband. And, so, she knew that the man in front of her was absolutely terrified as he said: “I think there might be some merit to the idea.”

He took a long sip of his coffee to hide his smile as Jude worried at her deformed ring finger.

“You?”

Well, here goes nothing

“I was thinking about stopping my birth control,” she quietly said, trying not to let her heart leap at the slight quirk of his brows. “Maybe not actively trying but, y’know, also not actively preventing.”

As soon as the words were out, she felt kind of panicked. Up until that point, everything they’d done—moving in after they got pregnant, getting engaged, marrying—had felt kind of inevitable. But having a second baby wasn’t necessarily a foregone conclusion. Talking about it felt nerve-wracking, like they were actually moving to make their family a reality.

“You want a kid with me?” Cardan sounded kind of awed, his jaw a little slack as he watched her.

“I have a kid with you, babe.”

“No,” he held a hand up. “No it was different with Faye. She wasn’t planned, she just happened and we figured out how to make it work.”

He set his drink down and once again crossed the distance between them, digging in to her cocoon as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Faye with all my heart, she’s the best thing that’s happened to me,” he continued. “But the idea that you’d be more than ok with, that you’d literally want a child with me—“

“Does it shock you?”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head as if to clear it before gazing up at her with love in his eyes. “Yes, Jude Greenbriar. Yes it does.”

“Well it shouldn’t,” she snorted. “I carried a little you once before and she turned out pretty damn cute.”

“I think I’m going to need to hear you actually say it.”

She laughed, her head thrown back as the sound filled the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around Cardan and kissed his temple, holding him close and thanking the gods that they’d made it to that point.

“You need to hear me say what?” Jude teased, her grin contagious as Cardan looked up at her.

“Jude, my darling my dear, my sexy little Hot Mama,” he started, dutifully ignoring how she dramatically protested at the nickname, “I need to hear you say that you want to have my child.”

Jude leaned forward, taking in the soft, earthy scent of him with a mischievous smile.

“Cardan, my love my sweet, my amazing sexy husband,” she imitated him, tilting her head to drag her teeth across his jaw.

He leaned back, giving her the room to slide off the kitchen counter and into his arms. The blankets fell off her shoulders, exposing her to the cool air as she pressed herself against him, already feeling just how desperately he wanted her.

She let her hands wander the expanse of his chest, her fingers ghosting over his skin until she could reach around to the nail marks on his back. With a smile, she traced them, remembering how he’d earned those scrapes when he spread her legs open on the floor last night after they’d given up on making it to the couch.

Cardan grabbed her by the hip, sliding one of his knees between her thighs and locking his eyes with hers as he waited with bated breath for her to finish.

Jude, not one to deny herself a good time, let the strap of her pajama shirt fall off her shoulder as she bit her bottom lip, leaned forward, and whispered--

“Put a baby in me.”

~~~~~~~~

A/N: Ok so a few things, one the tumblr app wouldn’t let me copy and paste all the story on mobile so I had to retype some online so I’m sorry if the format fucked up. Also I have a bunch of ideas for these kids so if you want to see any more of this AU, feel free to send in requests! Happy holidays @clockworkgraystairs , I hope you enjoy cute Parent!Jurdan doing cute adult shit!

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @illyrianwitchling @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231 @booksandlewks @fateandluminary @addies-invisible-life If you want to be added, just let me know!

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without context

Miscellaneous Edition, for those quotable lines from between sessions

"All I wanna do, is fork a giant woman! A giant woman!" "Jonni, I'm pretty sure she is some type of undead, probably a vampire. Are you sure that is a good idea?" "If I don’t get turned into a blueberry it won’t be my worst date." "Okay, but if you have to defend yourself just don't burn the place down for once." "Oh, Nyx. Sweet summer child. I never make promises we both know I won’t even try to keep." "Jonni, if I wake up to my bed surrounded in flames again I'm short-sheeting your next bed every night for at least a month." "I know you're trying to score here, but Lady Dimitrescu's daughters are literally vampires AND bugs. I can overlook one, but as a Paladin, it is my sacred duty to burn this place to the ground and stir the ashes."

"We don't let Marshall make breakfast anymore." "Those waffles are well-fortified." "I'm going to be charitable and call it hardtack." "We can use these waffles as melee weapons." "Well if we need to deflect siege engines they'll be good to have." "This is still carbon based and digestible by human systems without any poisons." "I can't serve this. It'll cause ... death." "Marshal we've been over this. This Pizza has 10% less of a lethal amount of grease." "Plus they signed the waivers when they bought a ticket. It's fine." "And don't forget to push the Cakeon." "Cakeon being slices of cake wrapped in bacon." "The special sauce is a mixture of mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, ranch, horseradish, cheddar cheese, sour cream, and anything unfortunate enough to fall into the mixing vat."

"You do have a copy of the legal code I requested in my letter? As landed gentry you should actually have legal avenues to... I'm sorry did you say Burning child?"

"First I'm going to nail a crossbow bolt through your heart. Then I'm going to mount your balls to walls on opposite sides of this chamber." "I need Three Barrels of Butter" "Are you serious? Those Claws could crush an elephant in full plate!" "You're Right!" *Turns to first person* "We might need more than three barrels of butter."

"So Ioun is the patron of poor college kids. that scans "

"its hardtack or a mug of molten cheese-fried... something in a woven mug of bacon. your choice."

"Welp, all this coke ain't gonna snort itself..."

"Right hand me that dress and the bail money. I'll get Jonni." OOC: Well I mean they allow men in the city. Its just no men live in the city. "I stand by my statement. I'm allowed to look pretty every now and then." OOC: And dragons are the most unprejudiced lovers of anyone after bards.

OOC: Well I mean come on, its Ravenloft: saying a place is of death and madness is like making the observation the day ends in y. "Going out. Getting laid." "Jonni, she’s a werewolf." "Going out, forking a werewolf." OOC: Well Lycanthropy isn't usually sexually transmitted. Its just that Mercedes is a biter. OOC: ...I don't have an appropriate response to that.

"You seriously think I’d turn on my friends for a pile of gold?!?" "sigh I’ll show you my tits. "Hot damn, let’s get these murders done!" "No, Jonni, stay good. Besides, there are plenty of other girls who will do that without asking you to murder us." "Hmmmm… this is the moral quandary of my life…" "I’ll give you five bucks." "Scales tipped!" "Phew, I thought I was going to have to cover her next trip to the topless bar." "No, no, I have the bail money right here."

Nyx: So what’s the inside of Jonni’s head like? Edmund (with thousand yard stare): Imagine every ladies only smut magazine you’ve ever heard of going on forever into infinity while everything is on fire. Food was good though.

"It’s cool. They stole it." "And you know this how?" "Magic." “90% of Ravenloft deaths are mysterious vanishings.” "Why does everything come out covered in glitter and … is that …" "Lube. I’ve got a few theories." "Please don’t share them."

OOC: This is a plan that ends with Strahd having fewer brides, his castle is in flames, and he’s lost his cape.

OOC: Our team consists of a horny pyromancer, a gnome who can fillete you in five seconds, an HP lovecraft protagonist with actual magic backing them up, a literal slab of iron with a face, and a guy with a "I went to the eternal city of Ryleth and all I got was PTSD and this lousy T shirt". Gorbash smashing his shield into their face: "Have! You! Considered! Therapy!" OOC: Good news is you guys will no longer be the most conspicuous guys at the masquerade now. Jonni: Challenge accepted! "Nyx, the bounty on stealing his fake mustache is still on."

"Vanilla is the king of flavors. What does it say about society where vanilla is considered just 'regular'?" "That they have a lot of vanilla." Lash: "Don’t you want wishes?" Jonni: "Do I need wishes to get to see you naked?" Lash: "No?" Jonni: "Fuck ‘em." Vesh: "Oh dammit its my arranged fiance." Pit Fiend: "Milady." Vesh: "An extra wish to whoever punches this douchecanoe in the nards." Jonni: "I wish…for Bigby’s clenched fist of nard punching."

Soth: "Oh, gods, why am I on fire and why is Immigrant Song playing?" Jonni: "Take a guess." Hazlik: "Okay, so its a partridge, stuffed inside a chicken, stuffed inside a duck, stuffed inside a turkey, and the whole thing is fried on a stick. Congratulations, that's the most horrible thing I have ever seen, and I once crossbred an elephant and an owl." "I give him the 'itis, and we run like we stole something." OOC: ...weirdly Curse of Strahd has stats for Strahd zombies but not Strahd Skeletons. Or Strahd's skeletal Steed. Strahd once went to a branding seminar hosted by Bane and it changed his life.

"Are we on a high enough floor that if I throw him through the window he'll be killed by the fall?" "Oh, but when I say stuff like that it’s all 'Jonni, murder is wrong.'" "When they say pick your battles they don't mean to pick all of them. That's too many battles Jonni. Put some back." OOC: He's technically already got a symbiote. OOC: They can get married. Gorbash: "I'm increasing the rent." Venom: "Can I keep the pool table?" Gorbash: "I'm not a monster." Giant Brain: "Jonni… I have summoned you here for… WHY AM I ALREADY ON FIRE! PUT ME OUT! PUT ME OUT!"

"Hello We're the party-crashers. This is Jonni, she's here to steal your women and burn your shit down. That's Nyx, she's going to repatriate certain items from the premise. Marshal over there, is here to studiously ignore our shenanigans. This is the New Guy. He seems pretty chill. I'm Gorbash... and I have been distracting you."

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly. Jonni: "Hold up. Trying to sex a spider." Nyx: (throws her hands up) And then Jonni wakes up with a spider venom hangover webbed to a wall waiting to be eaten. Jonni: "Eh, I’ve had worse one night stands. I’m not a fucking blueberry." OOC 1: Hey, where does your weed elf grow [her] crops? OOC 2: She probably just grows them in the room she hasn’t paid rent on. OOC 3: Because I was also considering a circle of spores druid tortle. OOC 2: We could be partners! We could turn this into road to el dorado staring Cheech and Chong. OOC: Wait, I just realized five people are hanging out in a pirate bar, and none of us are rogues. We are gonna need someone to get thieves tools. OOC: We have a barbarian with a big stick.

"Are we Foxhound now? Blunderbuss Octopus." OOC1: You want to put the stoner in charge of food. OOC2: Eyup. OOC1: I see no way this can go wrong! OOC3: We need the four basic food groups. Beans, Bacon, Whisky, and Lard. “We pray to Almighty Darkseid! Give us a sign! Thumbs up, for the triumph of the human spirit! Thumbs down to begin the everlasting reign of darkness!” “Where did you find this guy?” “Me? I thought you hired him.” OOC: Yup, nature, arcana, history, investigation and religon at +6. MJ got baked and watched the Discovery Orb a lot. Tordek: "But we have a cleric, Jozan, over there." Strahd: *sigh* Snaps fingers, and suddenly one of Strahd's brides sucks Jozan out the window, cue screaming. "Oh look, you suddenly have an opening, how fortunate." Tordek: "We also have a druid...." Vadania: "SHUT UP, TORDEK!" Edmund: "I think the first order of business may be to discuss your Human Resources strategy..." Strahd: "I have a guy for that too."

"When someone as smart as him talks with himself, it's not crazy...They call it monologing." "I thought it was soliloquy?" "No, soliloquy is when you're talk at someone else when your talking to yourself." "Most people would run from a demon, you run towards it to study it." Professor: "THIS IS ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING! A FROGHEMOTH, AND RIGHT UP CLOSE, IT WILL BE AMAZING TO SEE THIS PERFECT KILLING MACHINE IN ACTION." OOC: Also note the Professor is Lawful Good, Archie is Chaotic Good, so collectively they balance out to Neutral good. OOC: That's good. "The incinerations will continue until morale improves!" “You never incinerate the women!” “Because I’m fucking them!” “I… was not expecting you to be so honest about that…”

"You got what you wanted....but you lost what you had...." "Yes, I'm familiar with how capitalism works."

OOC: Dragons are like, “That’s Krandor the shiney. He only fucks other dragons. Weirdo.”

Gorbash: "D'awww, so tiny... perfect size... FOR PUNTING!" *boots tiny mind-flayer into the horizon*

"Dracula hasn't been spotted in almost recently. Whats he gonna do, destroy all we know and love like he definitely can?" "... my god you people are too stupid to live." "What are you doing in my house?" Gorbash: "...well Edmund has been reading your books, I've been sorting through your armory, Nyx and Irost has been going through your other shinies, Marshal has been cleaving anything monstrous that gets too close, and Jonni has been lighting things on fire to stave off boredom." Gorbash: "Okay Marshal, Jonni. Rock, paper, scissors over who gets [to kill] the bishop."

Jonni: "Did you really think this would make up for what you did?" Nima: "I… killed everyone you grew up with." Jonni: "Yeah, and I’m still not forgiving you for what you did to Eddie." Nima: "I am missing some key context here…" Nima: "Also I committed identity theft on you by having my new undead army tell everyone you are running the show." Jonni: "Oh, no. You’ve fooled the boar tribe. Who still haven’t figured out shitting in a hole." Nima: "Yeah I noticed that. I ruined two pairs of shoes attacking their camps."

[btsmosphere]

When You Know | KSJ x MYG

~summary: Seokjin and Yoongi aren’t just neighbours. They are enemies. Well, either that or they were destined to be in each other’s arms, but Yoongi can’t see that happening (nor can his cat). Let their friends try all they want, but they’d have to weather storms together and stand back to back in battle before Yoongi would look twice at Jin... Jin x Yoongi ~word count: 3.3k ~enemies to lovers, soulmate au (you have the name of your enemy AND your soulmate tattooed, without knowing which is which), neighbour au, crack, humour, fluff, angst if you squint? Rating: pg13 Warnings: swearing, that’s it :) ~a/n: welcome to my first mxm fic! This is for a special occasion as it is the wonderful @eternalseokjin​‘s birthday!! To celebrate Dean’s birthday over at @thebtswritersclub​ we were sent a bingo card and a challenge to include everything on it in one fic. Our regular mxr content will resume soon, but this has been super fun to write, even if the outcome is -ahem- quite chaotic. So, enjoy, but don’t ask me what’s going on here. I don’t know, and the characters certainly don’t either...

At the end of the fic, I will include what was on my bingo square, in case anyone wants to know, and some basics about d&d for those who (like me a few weeks ago) know nothing about it, but I promise you don’t need to know this to read the fic!

“You’re not serious.”

“I am totally serious.”

Namjoon’s straight-faced response matched Yoongi’s exactly, leaving the two in a sort of staring contest. Seeing no change in the other, Namjoon cracked first, slumping back into the sofa with a sigh.

“Yoongi, come on. It’s not that big of a deal-“

“Why would I want to do it?” Yoongi grumbled.

“it’s just a bit of fun-“

“Then go and do it with Seokjin. I’m sure you’ll have a great time playing wizards, or whatever the fuck-“

“That’s the entire point!” Namjoon threw his hands up in frustration, “we will all be playing, you and Jin included, and we will have a great time.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he had ever been threatened with having fun before. Staring back at his friend, his expression remained guarded. Eventually, he sucked at his teeth, turning his eyes away from the younger man.

“Fine,” he bit out.

“Thank you,” Namjoon huffed, pushing on his knees to stand up, “we’ll start at 5 on Sunday, but I’ll get here earlier. Jin will bring food to make up for the trouble.”

Following Joon out to see him off, Yoongi’s brows furrowed.

“Wait- what trouble? And what do you mean you’ll get here-“

“You’ll be hosting. Okay, bye!”

The door was shut in his face before he could protest any further. Cursing Namjoon for knowing him so damn well, Yoongi stomped to the kitchen and soon began scrubbing the teacups to within an inch of their life.

He’d heard of dungeons and dragons before. Well, vaguely. It hadn’t occurred to him before to pay attention to Namjoon whenever he spoke about it, because surprisingly enough, he hadn’t expected his friend to suddenly whip it out as a method of forcing him and Seokjin – his mortal enemy – to bond.

The whole mortal enemy thing wasn’t even an exaggeration.

What else were you supposed to think when the new neighbour, whose name happens to be printed on your wrist, tries to turn your cat over to the authorities on their first day after it launched a ‘targeted attack’ on their pet sugar gliders.

Yoongi was yet to meet the mysterious V that graced his other wrist, but he knew for sure that Kim Seokjin was his enemy. He could not be soulmates with someone who thinks it’s okay to leave a pair of sugar gliders by an open window and not expect a cat to see them as a tasty meal.

When they had learned each other’s names, and of course connected them with their tattoos, an icy silence fell between the neighbours.

Every now and then, Yoongi would get a reminder of the fact his mortal enemy lived next door. Like this morning, when Seokjin’s wheely bin had blown over and spilled rubbish onto his lawn.

Yes, that man’s evil knew no limits.

And if Yoongi would have to endure his friends’ attempts at reconciling the two of them, in his own house, then he was sure of one thing. He was not going to eat Seokjin’s cooking. It was probably awful, anyway.

That Sunday, at precisely five minutes to five, Namjoon arrived. Yoongi’s eyes widened in alarm at the bulging folder held under his arm. He really had come prepared. Yoongi had barely spent twenty minutes scribbling down some things about his character. Well, except when he had to read all about the different class choices… and then when he needed to select the perfect traits… and picking his spells was quite tough too…

“Are you excited?” Namjoon grinned as he set his stuff down, but then he faltered, “…I did tell you Jin would bring food, didn’t I?”

“Can’t remember,” Yoongi muttered.

He slouched over to the sofa while Namjoon shrugged, grabbing a bite from the nearest bowl of snacks. The table was littered with them, and Yoongi would never admit just how early he had got up that morning to start cooking.

Jungkook turned up next, and of course the brat would instantly wolf down the tub of popcorn rather than the bites Yoongi had been slaving over.

Seokjin’s was the last knock on the door, and a timid one at that. Although it may have had something to do with the food his arms were laden with.

As Yoongi opened the door (Namjoon had shoved him towards it before anyone else had the chance to respond), he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty. It seemed his neighbour had worked just as hard as him on preparing it all.

But still, more of a grimace than a smile showed on his face.

“This way,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

His guilt was short-lived, irritation setting back in as Seokjin invited himself into the kitchen to put down his things. Jungkook bounded after him almost instantly, the pair’s loud greeting audible from the next room.

Turning away bitterly, Yoongi sat in the empty seat between Namjoon and Taehyung, determined to keep his distance from Seokjin.

In time, however, he came to regret this decision, if only because it put Seokjin in full view of the eyes Yoongi so desperately wanted to roll when he announced he wanted to attempt to charm his way to free dinner at the first inn they got to. His reason? His stupid elf claimed to be ‘worldwide handsome’.

The infuriating smirk on his face as he declared this (and then proceeded to pass his roll, because of course) left Yoongi with little doubt this arrogance was nothing but a projection.

After introducing themselves, Yoongi slumping back in his chair the whole time, he let the others take the lead as they set off to find monsters, or something. A pointed look from Namjoon prompted him to pay more attention.

In fairness, he had been a bit creeped out when Taehyung announced he had named his character ‘V’, but he tried his best to listen to the adventure as Namjoon described it. And so they went along, the supply of snacks steadily dwindling as they made their way through some ruins.

The scene was quite vivid, until-

“That’s cat food, Jungkook!”

“Urgh, gross,” Jimin groaned as Jin pried the bowl away from the sheepish-faced younger.

If it had been anyone else, Yoongi would have returned the fond-but-exasperated look they were all well practised in, given the nature of their younger friends. As it was, he ducked his head, scribbling nonsense on his notepad.

It would be a lie if Yoongi said he wasn’t quite proud of himself for solving a riddle to get them into the final room, and getting the final hit on the hellhound inside. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little excited for their next game.

Shutting the door at long last, Yoongi paused for a moment.

Screw Namjoon and his good ideas.

Clearing away the dishes, Yoongi couldn’t help a glance out the window to watch as Seokjin let himself in to his own place, his own stack of plates in his arms. Not that he would ever admit it, Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist just one bite…

Well, it turned into a lot more than that. Maybe Seokjin was a good cook after all.

But that was just one redeeming quality. Best not get ahead of himself.

Yoongi was in trouble.

It had only been a couple more weeks, but he knew that much. As they sat around his table, he caught himself laughing along to Jin’s jokes. And look, he was already calling him Jin! No, he had to stick to Seokjin, the evil neighbour, his enemy.

If he got fond, he would only be sorry later when Jin – Seokjin – did something to remind Yoongi of what a terrible person he was.

Shame all of this seemed to slip his mind the moment Jin came around again.

“The slope is steep, with rocks falling where you move your feet. You can still hear the song, though, and you are certain it’s coming from inside the dark opening you can see at the bottom of the path.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Yoongi was the first to speak.

“Are you kidding? We just spent like an hour trekking over here specifically because of that music,” Taehyung was next to chip in, jabbing his finger into the table.

“It wasn’t an hour,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Joon told us it was hour, it was what? One minute?”

A high pitched giggle from Jin was overtaken next by Jimin.

“No, I can feel the weariness in my bones! It won’t be complete until we hear the song!”

“We’ve been hearing it all this time! Aren’t you guys sick of it by now?” Jin retorted.

“No! Joon specifically said it’s the most beautiful music we’ve ever heard,” Tae insisted.

“I don’t give a shit if there’s a chorus of angels in there, my dexterity is not gonna let me get down that cliff,” Yoongi folded his arms to punctuate his argument.

“Ugh, fine, well I want to go down with V,” Jimin said.

The two factions that had emerged looked expectantly towards Namjoon.

“Okay, so V and Christian want to go down and Genie and Suga want to stay here. Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’ll go down,” Kook shrugged.

All heads turned now to Hobi. Unease written all over his features, he glanced between the two groups.

“Come one, don’t be boring, hyung!” Jimin elbowed him.

“Yeah, come with us!” Kook bounced in his seat as Taehyung switched on the puppy eyes with a string of ‘pleeeease’s.

Cracking under the force of the youngers’ begging, Hoseok laughed and agreed.

Folding his arms, Yoongi leant back in his chair, more than ready to be a bystander to whatever the hell the others were about to get themselves into.

The others of course had an irritating success rate, somehow making it down the cliff without plummeting to their deaths. Not that Yoongi would ever wish death upon his own party members. Of course not.

It would have been funny, though.

Anyway, despite his aversion to following them, Yoongi admittedly was a little curious about the mysterious music they had followed here.

“Stepping inside the cave, the party hears the music louder than ever, ringing in their ears as it bounces off the rocks, making its source unclear. However, it doesn’t offend your ears. The cave extends further into the cliff, and you follow the sound further in. But as you take a step, a great groaning drowns out the music. Behind you, the mouth of the cave shifts, everything around you going black.

“Those of you at the top of the cliff stumble back from the edge as they see the path crumble away into the sea from the shaking of the earth.”

Namjoon sniggered softly at the silence that followed.

Staring at him with comically large eyes, Hobi and Tae looked terrified. As Yoongi watched, Tae slowly turned his head, a smirk turning the edges of his mouth underneath puppy eyes.

“Come rescue us?” he asked sheepishly.

Before Yoongi could respond, Jin was cutting him off.

“Well, that was a fun detour! Where was it we were heading again, Yoongi?”

Yoongi had been preparing to be mad at Seokjin, but his glare dissolved quickly into a snort.

“Yeah, that demon up the road needs seeing to,” he agreed, creating instant uproar from the others.

“You can’t leave us!”

“Justin’s scared of the dark!”

“Traitors!”

However, Jin’s squeaky laugh as he revelled in the others’ pain was all Yoongi could hear. Then Jin leaned closer.

It was all Yoongi could do not jump from his seat when Seokjin’s voice spoke in his ear.

“Shall we leave them?” he was barely containing his mirth.

Feeling rather like he was plotting a prank in the back of the classroom, Yoongi grinned and agreed with a nod. He didn’t quite trust his voice to function as Jin’s breath tickled his cheek.

“We’re leaving!” Jin declared, sitting back in his chair, satisfied.

Before any more chaos could erupt, Namjoon continued with a smirk.

“Okay, so Suga and Genie carry on their previous path, away from their friends and the cliff…”

This was officially getting out of hand.

First of all, Yoongi couldn’t believe how eagerly he was anticipating the weekend, when Seokjin and the others would come around.

Particularly worrying, however, was the way Yoongi had to restrain himself from going to see Jin before Sunday rolled around. It was as if that writing on his wrist was staring at him. The more he tried to look away, the later he would find himself sat up at night, glancing between his wrists and what was written there.

Surely, if Kim Seokjin was his enemy, he wouldn’t be dying to ask how he makes his ramen taste so good. Or how his day was, or any trivial thing, just to be able to have Jin’s eyes on him and his voice in his ears.

Second of all, he had no idea how their campaign had devolved into such utter chaos.

Since the party split, the others made friends with the sirens they found in the cave, and ended up at a drinking party with some demons while Yoongi and Jin were nearly killed by one some miles away on the surface. The demons had apparently taken a particular shining to V, as a tiefling, which resulted in the group they abandoned somehow siding with the very demons they were trying to kill at the start.

Last Sunday had seen Yoongi and Jin going out of their way to find random things to beat to death in the forest, trying to get as many points as possible to face off against four members and goodness knows how many demons.

Yes, this had got rather out of hand.

Two old foes stand face to face on a precipice. Around them, fire blazes. This battle has ravaged the very land they stand upon, whipped the air into a frenzy.

Admittedly, they can barely remember what started this feud. Rumour has it these two great powers were friends, once. If that was so, it was a long time ago.

V stands, battle-worn, waiting for his adversary to make a move.

Suga looks at the body of his fallen companion.

“I’ve only got one spell slot left.”

“Use it,” a whisper returned.

“Aren’t you dead?! Stop talking to each other!” Jimin exclaimed, finger pointing accusingly towards Jin.

“Okay,” Yoongi cut in before they could start arguing, “if this hits, I can take him down. But there’s a fat chance of that, with his AC…“

Trepidation filled him as he looked across the table to Taehyung, a small but unmistakeably victorious smile already on his lips.

A dry chuckle came from one side.

“It’s been a good run,” Jin clapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you accepting defeat?” Joon prompted.

“No…” a hand ran down Yoongi’s face, “I’ll give it a go…”

“There’s no way! If you succeed…” Jin laughed, “if you succeed, I’ll kiss you.”

A quiet round of laughter went around the others, too focussed on the dice in Yoongi’s hand to pay it any mind. But Yoongi could no longer concentrate on that. What did Jin just say?

He couldn’t mean that.

There was no way he would kiss Yoongi. Was there?

All he could hear was the slow drumming of his heart rushing in his ears. The breath caught in his throat as he reminded himself to raise his hand, dice cupped inside.

It wasn’t just the defeat of V he hoped for as it rolled off his fingers, dropping onto the tabletop.

The faces flipped over, every eye trained on it. Around the table, there was no sound. Even Jungkook had stopped munching his popcorn, mouth hanging open.

Round, round, round…

Yoongi caught a glimpse of 20, the magic number, right within reach.

A small thud, the dice settling. A number glared up at him.

3.

All the air left his lungs, deflating as he stared at the number. For a second, the table remained silent as everyone came to terms with the roll, the only sound the tapping of his cat’s paws-

Wait.

When Yoongi turned to find his cat leaping onto the table, it was already to late to grab her as she dashed across the surface. As she went, her paws caught a bowl of snacks, Joon’s notepaper, the dice. Hobi exclaimed with shock, several yells going up as everyone snatched their own stuff out of her way. Jungkook had dived after the snacks.

“Hey!” Yoongi shooed her as he stood up, watching her dart out into the hall.

“Oh my god…”

The small mutter from Jimin caught his attention. Looking around, Yoongi found him staring at the table and followed his gaze to the crime scene. In the centre of which, the dice still lay.

But now, a different number was displayed.

Yoongi’s jaw dropped. It was 20.

“That’s not fair!” Taehyung cried.

“Shush Tae, Jin has to do what he promised,” Hoseok teased, nudging a very red-eared Jin.

“Yah! Hey, I-I, that’s-” Jin spluttered, mouth seemingly fixed open as his cheeks warmed, growing defensive.

As Yoongi watched, Jin only stuttered more under the teasing cries erupting from the other boys as they egged him on with an array of ‘go on’s and ‘you said you would!’

“I-I-“ his eyes flickered over to Yoongi’s.

And despite the jeering and laughter in the background, neither of them looked away. Jin’s lips remained parted, ears pink with embarrassment, protests lodged in his throat.

Yoongi stepped forwards and kissed him.

The distance between them closed in the blink of an eye, Yoongi’s hand flying to Jin’s jaw as he pulled him in, turning his back to the gasps and cheers of their friends.

But they didn’t hear it. Not when their lips were pressed together like this, lighting fireworks in Yoongi’s stomach until he felt like sparks might fly out of his fingertips, the ones he was trailing down Jin’s neck, the ones pulling at the small of his back to bring him closer.

The others had gone quiet.

By the time he groggily pulled away, Yoongi seemed to have forgotten what the world looked like. Were his feet even on the ground?

In what was probably a mirror image of his own face, Jin stared back at him, eyes wide and those perfect lips round with shock. Jin’s fingers trembled as he brought them to his mouth.

“Holy fuck.”

“U-uh, guys,” a small voice from behind them did little to snap them from their trance.

“That was-“ Yoongi breathed, words escaping him.

“It’s you, you idiot!” a grin broke onto Jin’s face.

A laugh left Yoongi’s throat, taking him by surprise.

“It- really?”

“Did you not feel that too?”

Eyes still not leaving the beautiful man in front of him, Yoongi realised. Jin was completely right. Everyone had always told him how it would feel, when he kissed his soulmate. Like butterflies, or a flame, or like the world turned golden.

But through all the different feelings people described, there was one common thread. When you know, you know.

“You’re my soulmate.”

It wasn’t something he had to question, the words leaving him as easily as air.

“You’re my soulmate!”

And then he was wrapped up in Jin’s arms, his lips captured once again, euphoric feeling surging through his body once more.

“Come on, guys…” Namjoon’s groans were completely ignored.

Taehyung was still a bit put out that V had been slain at the last hurdle, but it hardly seemed fitting to be angry about it anymore, what with his two friends falling in love in front of him.

Everyone left together after the revelation, and pretty swiftly at that, deciding to leave them to it. And for once, Jin wouldn’t be leaving with them, even if he would only be one house away.

Smile never once leaving his face, Jin turned to Yoongi after shutting the door.

“So, what are we going to do about my sugar gliders?”

Thanks everyone for reading!! Reblog if you liked it xx

Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ @kb-bangtanenthusiast​

Okay, for anyone interested, my bingo card contained: dungeons & dragons, neighbours, enemies to lovers, namjoon, yoonjin, cats, fluff, music, soulmates And here are some dnd basics for those who want them: you have a dungeon master or dm (Namjoon here) who tells a story. The others play as a character and choose what they want to do in the given situation. There are scores that dictate how good your character is at certain traits, and you roll the dice to see whether you succeed in your choices. That’s really all you need to know for the purposes of this fic, but you can ask me any questions too!

Lastly, I have to give another HUGE happy birthday to the amazing writer and friend and person @eternalseokjin​!! I hope you have the best day, you really deserve it! I’m so glad to have met you and of course played dnd together in the net! Lots of love xx