#love a man whos not dressed appropriately for his profession

[shootingstarrfish]

doctor bi juice my beloved <3

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 23: Eve Of Revelations [C6]

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem!OC

POV: Dual POV (OC, First & Turpin, Third)

Continuation of: Prompt 4. Darkest Night [C1], Prompt 8. Never-ending Consequences [C2], Prompt 10. Lingering Touch [C3], Prompt 14. Deceptive Kindness [C4], Prompt 16. Thoughtful Gifts [C5]

A/N: It’s the day before Christmas Eve and I’m here with the ending of Turpin’s serial for this year’s event - I’m excited! I wasn’t sure how this would pan out when I started writing this part but I think it ended as it should and I’m actually super pleased with this ending ❤

LET’S GOOOOO! Turpin and Julianne need their HEA! 😍👏

Tags/TW’s: Dancing, Pining, Harsh Turpin, Love Confessions, Light Fluff, Kissing, Proposal (more like a demand, but, yeah), WE GET ANOTHER HEA FOR RICKMAS 2024!

Word Count: 4.2k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Eve Of Revelations

⁛•⁛ Julianne’s POV ⁛•⁛

A little more than a week had passed since I left Judge Turpin’s house after causing him yet another moment of disturbance with my intrusion and need for assistance. I had not once been able to let go of him in my thoughts, nor had my heart slowed in its beating for the man. It was odd, truly. I had no reason to feel as I did, nor had I been given any inclination that the man even truly saw me as anything but a citizen who had required aid.

As I clipped in the last false pearl in my hair and pinched my cheeks to turn them rosy I had to draw a steadying breath. The Christmas Ball was soon to commence and I had but a sorrow within me regarding it. A heavy weight atop my shoulders that had never been there before I met the great Judge Turpin — perhaps the weight would not be lifted for quite some time but I was in no position not to find a husband.

I walked with my pale blue dress held off the ground, the underskirts warded off the chill with the help of my cloak and it was a short walk from the Inn to the town hall where the ball was to be held. Lanterns hung around the entrance as well as a few garlands and red bows. Well, this is rather unpleasant but nothing to do about it. Perhaps Constable Greer is already here and I can do my utmost to secure him? He’s a respectable man, with a respectable profession, and not above my station. A possibility, at the very least, and I must clutch each one.

The Hall was warm and loud. Music played and people already danced about the floor as I gave my coat to one of the women by the door who hung it in a cloakroom and offered me a ticket with a number upon it. I thanked the woman and moved through to the large room decorated in green garlands, red satin strings, and an abundance of candles. It was rather beautiful, and the people seemed happy as the air filled with a warmth I had missed these past weeks in London. The city was a dark and gloomy place, absolutely, yet this room was inviting.

I walked in, looking around at the dancing couples and chatting people off the dance floor. Constable Greer waved at me before heading straight toward me with a wide smile on his slightly above-average face. “Miss Brimmer, what a pleasure to see you arrive, my lady,” he said and bowed as I curtsied. “Constable Greer, a pleasure indeed.” I smiled and he smiled right back. “Are you in need of refreshments, or would you prefer a dance?” he asked, not offering me an alternative where being accompanied by him was not an option — it was quite forward, quite bold, but that was all the better for me.

I smiled and let out a little laugh. “How forward of you, sir. I shall take a dance, if you are offering.��� “A dance it is then,” he said and offered his hand. I took it and he moved us out on the floor among the other couples as a waltz began to play. His grip on me was soft and appropriate as we began moving about the room. He led me gently through the turns and spins and smiled happily at me. Yes, this man is a good option… Yet my heart was not in it. The heart matters little for marriage, Julianne. Now dance and smile.

Constable Greer finished off the waltz by dipping me gently despite it not being a true part of the dance. “How about that drink?” he asked, offering his arm as he had not held onto me beyond the dance. “Oh, yes please, sir.” I wrapped my arm around his and he walked me toward the refreshments while talking of London as a city for life and work, he mentioned his position within the force and many other things while I sipped the red wine and nodded when needed.

He was a friendly man, and a happy one it appeared. He had few words of ill-will to speak and kept the conversation flowing with little investment from me — a good thing, too, as I could not truly find many words to speak to the man. The weight atop my shoulders only grew as time passed and my thoughts and heart were elsewhere, far away from the bright and warm room so at odds with the gloomy house that I had found a different kind of warmth within.

“May I ask for another dance, Miss Brimmer?” Constable Greer inquired as I sat my empty wine glass down on the counter. “Certainly, Constable,” I replied with a smile and he once more led me to the floor now packed with couples. We found a little section of space and he held me closer than before so as not to bump into the other dancers before he began moving me about gently.

He still spoke of things like preferred foods and weather, of places in London to visit and people he was willing to introduce me to. It all went quite over my head as I struggled to pay attention and keep my smile bright enough. You need a husband, Julianne! Do not allow your silly thoughts and idiotic feelings for another man far beyond your reach to interfere! Focus, and keep smiling. Do not let the man you will never forget and never reach… My thoughts dwindled out as my smile faltered while Constable Greer spun me around in his gentle grasp.

⁛•⁛ Turpin’s POV ⁛•⁛

| During the same time as Miss Brimmer danced… |

He had held out until the clock struck nine. The very notion of your smile gracing the eyes of those attending such a frivolous thing as a Christmas Ball oddly had him deeply uncomfortable. Did you not say it was such a thing? Yet, you are to attend… with men ogling that perfect smile and hearing that sweet voice in all its warmth and, lightness…

He adorned his coat and hat, his face distorting with a sneer as he jerked the door open and strode out into the dark of night lit by lanterns casting a low glow across the dirty snow below. As he crossed the line between his home and the city. The creaking iron gate threw the infuriating memory of your fear and tear-stained cheeks at him. Unforgivable to cause a light as her such… fear.

Yet, that was not the reason for the long strides carrying him through London for said frivolous gathering. No. Oh no. His mind had a far darker water to wade through as his own villainous side prodded with vicious intent. Not for her, no… For whoever dared entertain even the idea of procuring the little light’s slender hand in marriage. It was her purpose for visiting London, after all. Yet, that purpose, could now only be allowed to have but one… sole… outcome…

“I shall have her,” he said under his breath in a near-desperate manner. For she had, undoubtedly, infected his skin with the warmth he sought and a brightness of voice which ought to have grated on his nerves as it never quieted yet he had found himself listening to it — each word she had spoken so brightly. It had been a violation of an unspoken rule for her to speak so freely in his presence. Yet, she had done so. And that, coincidentally, had now been the ruin of her future and extended to a life sentence of the so-called bad luck she had spoken of. For it certainly was bad luck that she had arrested him so fully, even if perhaps unwittingly done on her part.

He stepped into the Hall, its light a stark contrast to the dark of London behind him. The music an assault on his ears as the one sound he sought was nowhere to be heard. He would have heard Miss Brimmer, there was no hiding now that he had decided the path to be walked.

The couples danced as he was offered a wide expanse as all stepped out of his personal space. He paid them no mind, he had only a single person on it. But as the couples in dance spun around on the floor before him in an array of colours and wide variation of wealth displayed. There, a pale blue dress caught his eye as the woman who had occupied him so fully was dancing — in the arms of the man he had sent to help her all those days ago.

Get your hands, off, her… His mind snarled as he strode forward. His step faltered as Constable Greer spoke, and she smiled up at the man happily. His chest constricted at the sight of the little light she was with a man smiling brightly in return; in a manner he never could.

Then her face altered, slowly it sank in joy and a sight so wrong arrested him in turn. Miss Brimmer no longer smiled, and he had yet to hear or see her speak despite him knowing she was so talkative. Her words rang in his head, words of sorrow and fear tying her tongue while other emotions were no noose to her voice according to the woman herself.

His face hardened, his lips thinned further and his posture became as rigid as it had ever been while he could not stop himself from straightening into his full height. He restrained himself, held his mouth shut and forced his legs to move him forward in a harsh stride with controlled steps so as not to run like a fool in love. Surely, he was not… Surely…

⁛•⁛ Julianne’s POV ⁛•⁛

My arm stretched out just as he spun me out fully. I gasped and twisted my head as a large hand gripped my outreached one so strongly and steadily my heart stuttered with remembrance. My eyes found him a mere second later. J-Judge Turpin… You— His steely glare halted my mind as his grip remained unyielding and decisive while my breath stuttered and my fingers instinctively gripped around his with the unwavering wish for him to not let go.

Constable Greer released me, I could hear his heels click and, in my peripheral, I saw him bow in a rush despite my eyes being held by His Lordship through it all. “Judge Turpin,” Greer said in a rapped manner with far less warmth in his voice, replaced by a dread and respect so different from the warmth that bloomed in my heart. “Constable Greer,” he said. “I shall take this little light off your hands. Leave,” he demanded and Constable Greer did not even utter so much as stuttered breath before stepping back.

The judge tugged me forward and I stumbled a step before his free hand caught my waist and his sturdy grip never faltered or loosened. “Judge Turpin, sir, you are here,” I said quietly, shocked into a low tone. “Indeed, how observant you are, Miss Brimmer.” My cheeks warmed and a smile widened my lips with no prompting from me. “I apologize for stating the obvious, sir. I am merely surprised, shocked, even, my lord.” He arched a brow at me and drew me even closer. “Yet now you speak.”

My brows scrunched. I had no idea what he meant by that. “You have been quiet, my talkative little light,” he explained in a low murmur so dark and consuming I could barely comprehend the words despite hearing him clearly. “I believe I have talked most of our time together, sir. Have I not?” He smirked, it was a devilish ordering of his features as it shined with a powerful sort of satisfaction. “Indeed, you have.” He had me at a loss with that but, for the time being, I did not care for the reason behind what he said.

The music still flowed and the couples around us danced yet none bumped into us — nor did they invade the space around the man holding me so firmly. He had still not let go, and the feel of his stable hands was soothing on a whole other level. I ought to have curtsied, but he offered me no freedom to do so as we stood in a sudden silence that I felt no need to fill with words — for the first time in my life. My smile never faltered, my cheeks still hot with a blush he set upon me by merely being there.

My heart fluttered and my fingers tingled while my knees shook as his unyielding eyes never left mine. “Miss Brimmer,” he began quietly while taking a step back, which moved us to a more proper distance. “I do not frolic under these circumstances.” “Is this you telling me you do not dance, sir?” I asked with a slight giggle. “No. I dance. I am quite proficient at it.” “I believe you…” I whispered as he arched a brow at me with a sudden, tiny twinkle to the steely grey. “Come, we shall return to my home. You do not need to remain here.”

I blinked. Whatever spell he had me under flickered for a moment as my purpose for attending the party in London returned to me. “I apologize, sir. I have no choice in the matter. Even if I do not wish to offend you, or deny you, my lord, I must remain here. I do believe you have just scared off the only prospect I had managed to garner the attention of,” I said and my smile faltered for a bit while his hand hardened around mine. “You are denying me, miss?” he asked in a harder, darker voice than I had heard him speak to me with before. “I will not be denied.” “But, sir, I must find a husband. You know of this, I spoke of this with—” “Yes.” “Then why are you—” “You have procured a husband.” I blinked. “Huh? What? I have not, sir.”

He smirked, his thumb stroking over my knuckles while my heart beat harder within my chest. “I believe you declared your future husband as a grand and respectable man.” “I have done no such thing.” The only one I spoke such words about is you and you are far— “Ah… You made the connection, little light.” “S-sir-!” I wheezed, feeling my mind fall into a tumble and my heart into an absolute fit. “Come now,” he said quietly. “I shall not be denied.” “But sir, you are far too grand and I am but the daughter of a smith master. I could not possibly ever be worthy of a man of your standing.”

He arched a brow at me, his features hard and set. “Not worthy?” he snarled. “Miss Brimmer, you are the only worthy one on this wretched earth of ruin and damnation. I shall take your light, and I. will. not. hear another word out of that sweet mouth that is not an agreement. You shall take responsibility for the state you have so foolishly placed me in.”

I gaped at the man my heart was in such a rage for. Was he truly declaring that I affected him? That he was affected by me in a manner so capturing it brought marriage to his mind? I am losing my marbles. This cannot be happening, I am not the sort of person who is blessed with such luck. The judge knew this. He knew of my bad luck and my talkative manners, my less-than-proper behaviour and my lack of standing in society. I had only ever hoped to find a man of my own stature — a farmer, a blacksmith, a shoemaker perhaps. Yet, there he stood, proclaiming that he wished to have me as his wife and that he would not be denied by me. I am in no position to deny him, and I do not wish to… But, what if he is toying with me? Playing some cruel trick upon this lesser woman before him knowing none would come to aid me?

“Sir… Are you toying with me?” I asked, my fingers growing numb in his sturdy grip as my voice faltered in my fear of heartbreak. “I am not a man with the time nor the inclination to toy with a woman, not… in this manner,” he said and there was both a smirk and a hint of frustration coming with those words. “You wish to take me as your wife? Truly, my lord?” “Am I such an inconceivable partner? Are you so deterred by me?” “No!” I gasped. “No. No, sir… I am-, I am-, I…” “Then agree,” he demanded. “Be my wife.” “Y-yes. Yes, my lord,” I whispered as my knees shook and my stomach was in an upheaval under the satisfied eyes looking down at me.

⁛•⁛

I cannot believe it. My mind raced, my heart pounded, and a smile stretched my lips so widely my cheeks hurt. I, the black cat crossing the road, had been asked to wed the only man my heart had ever been affected by. A man so far out of my reach, so different from myself in every manner conceivable. The gloomy house of which parlour I was situated in — as the man himself had gone to change out of his outdoor attire — felt slightly warmer than before. The angel I had gifted him stood atop the mantel, the only piece of Christmas spirit in sight.

Judge Turpin strode into the room, all stark and stoic with that air of power one could not possibly mistake for anything else. “Sir,” I said as he stopped before me. “I must confess to some confusion. Why me? Why wed me?” “You do not know?” I shook my head. “Neither do I.” “What? You are wanting to wed a woman such as me without a reason?” “No. There are many reasons, each one stranger than the next.” “Oh, so, it is a strange thing even for you, sir.” “No. The reasons are strange, but that I am to wed you is not.” “Sir, I do not understand when you speak in riddles in such a way,” I confessed as my need to know he was indeed not toying with my innocent heart grew ever larger.

He sat down beside me on the sofa, his posture rigid and his face showed no hints of his thoughts. “Are you aware of who I am, miss?” “Yes, of course I am. Your reputation has spread all over London, sir. There is not a man or woman who does not know your name or the fierceness of your court. You are a most harsh judge, a pillar for the law and justice in a most severe manner, sir. Who would not be aware of you? Well, granted, I did not know who you were before your name was spoken but that is merely a lack of awareness for features,” I said, chatting away as his presence comforted me with its rigidity. I felt as if I knew where I had him, and there was just something rather pleasant about the harshness of him — the manner he existed in spoke to some lack of it within me, I was his opposite and where the world frightened me it seemed to bow before him.

“Talkative?” I smiled. “Always, sir.” “Incorrect.” “Sir?” He glanced at me. “When frightened or saddened, you speak very little.” “Ah, yes, true, my lord.” “That is one of the strange reasons, little light.” “That I do not talk while afraid or sad?” He chuckled; a most glorious and deep sound. “You are talkative with me, as if there is no fear in a sweet woman such as yourself in my presence.” “There is not…” I whispered. “You are a grand man, harsh and stoic with the power of the law at your fingertips but I do not fear the man of the rumours nor the man sitting here with me. There is nothing about you that frightens me, sir. Quite the opposite. You are everything I am not, sir.” “Explain.”

I drew a small breath, rubbing my fingers together atop my thighs before pinching the blue fabric. “I am frightened of the world. I am small and of little consequence, I talk too much and come off as either brazen or frustrating — to some I am humorous or inviting, too, I suppose. I have little value and am not a pillar of anything. I am quite the opposite of you and you… are everything I am not. There is little I can do about who I am or what bad luck afflicts me, nor can I control my heart or mind as it longs for you because of how you make me feel.” He arched a brow. “And how is that?” “Safe. Safe, sir.”

He looked at me. For a second he softened and the steely eyes swirled for a moment before he seemed to find himself anew. “My dark heart calls for you as well, Miss Brimmer. It has never called for another and I am, as you say, the opposite of you. Where you see it as unreasonable for us to wed I will not be denied. Where you see me as out of your reach, I can with ease take you.” I gulped. “Sir… You speak most sweetly.” “No, I do not. I shall teach you the ways of my world, and I shall teach you to know you belong to me, by my side. You shall learn, little light, that the only one worthy is you.” His voice hummed and rumbled with a forboding wickedness I could not place yet it had a tingle shoot through my body as my breathing turned shallow under his intense gaze as he spoke.

“S-sir, I do not understand what you mean. But I find myself n-not caring when you speak in such a manner.” He leaned closer. “And what, do tell, is the manner in which I speak?” I drew a ragged breath, my chest heaved as he inched inappropriately close. “W-with want, my lord. With want and warmth…” Much like my cheeks are now burning your words seem to do so as well.

He was far too close, his breath fanned my face and I could barely draw breaths deep enough to sustain myself. “There is want, Miss Brimmer—” “Julianne, my lord. Please, my name, it is Julianne.” “Julianne…” Hearing my name spoken in his thunderous voice in such a dark purr had me staving off a needy sound I had never felt myself inclined to make before. “A most suitable name, perfectly paired with Richard, as is my name.” “Richard,” I whispered and his eyes widened. “Again,” he demanded. I swallowed, my eyes flicking between his for a moment. “Richard.”

A strange snarl mixed with a harsh breath left him and before I knew it his lips pressed against mine, suffocating the gasp leaving me and swallowing the strange moan of want leaving me. His thin lips were unlike any I had imagined would kiss me and the manner the tip of his nose dug into my cheek felt perfect — never had I imagined my first kiss to set me on fire.

“Exquisite,” he purred as he leaned back, leaving me panting and heaving while unable to move. “I shall wed you, Julianne, and you shall be mine for all time to come. I shall help you overcome your fear of the world and you shall forever be a light in my darkness as you have been from the moment I found you.” “S-sir, you are toying with me now,” I whispered as my voice faltered. “I assure you, I am not.” “I never thought you felt anything for me,” I pushed out as his hand cupped my chin steadily. “I assure you, none other would ever have been allowed to disturb my peace with constant chatter. Nor would I have offered my home as a sanctuary. You affected me from the very first moment I laid eyes upon your smiling face in the dark of night.” “I found you handsome and inviting, sir,” I confessed. “I felt safe, protected, for the first time in my life there was no need to fear…”

He tilted my head to hold my gaze. “You have captured me,” he murmured. “As you have me, Richard. I do not believe in love at first sight, yet I find myself loving you already…” His eyes widened. “I am a fool in love,” he hummed and his lips met mine once more while his steady hand kept me in place. Not once did he let go as warmth bloomed in my chest and the certainty of my future with him released my shoulders from their stiffness when his tongue darted out to caress my bottom lip roguishly. “Mine,” he declared against my lips and the depth of his voice quieted my mind completely. “Yours…” I whispered as the gloom seemed brighter and the house warmer…

 

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: These two, I adore them. I hope you’ve loved this story ❤ tomorrow is the last day of Rickmas, and Christmas Eve, meaning the fifth Rickmas celebration will be concluded and I am absolutely thrilled to have managed a fic a day all through this event (she says as she’s needing to still write, prepare and proof tomorrow's fic 😂👏). I’ll see you tomorrow darlings! ❤❤❤

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[littlelovelyspiderling]

Hi! It's me again with my ramblings, I'm so sorry, but I realized something while re-reading the chapter!

This is the first time I've noticed this and I feel so stupid for not realizing it before but

"Johnny giggled sheepishly, taking Peter’s hand in his and holding it against his color-stained cheek. Beautiful, the Human Torch thought wistfully. Most people used far cruder language when complimenting Johnny’s appearance. While he’d never complain about being called “hot” or “sexy” or “seductive” by his fans, the press, or even Spider-Man, it softened something in him that the webhead admired him in a way so tender and sweet and innocent compared to what he was used to—and perhaps a tad less inappropriate and predatory."

"So this was what it was like to have your crush like you back. Johnny didn’t think he’d ever felt this happy in his entire life. He was no stranger to throngs of girls throwing themselves at his feet, tearfully professing how ardently they adored him—or worse, fellow celebrities of varying ages and professions cornering him at parties or in dressing rooms, their wandering hands and whispered promises sordid enough to send Sue on a sisterly killing spree if she ever found out; not that he’d tell her about that."

It's not just a coincidence, right? It's not the first time that Johnny's constant sexualization and harassment as a celebrity has been mentioned, even Peter mentioned it once if I'm not mistaken.

Is this something I should be prepared for? Don't get me wrong! I'd love it if you get to dig deeper into that part of his life, I just wanted to point it out. 😸

ohhh someone noticed 👀

okay here’s the thing. im still deciding whether or not im gonna go into anything super specific about it, but i feel like any person who gets shoved into the spotlight rapidly and from a very young age is often very tragically overly sexualized by the media, their fans, and adults already in the industry. i think there’s a lot of pressure for them to fill a certain role and meet certain standards even if that’s not in any way appropriate for their age. (justin bieber, billie eilish, pretty much the entire cast of stranger things, etc). despite sue’s attempts to shield him from it, johnny would no doubt be exposed to a lot of this being a 16-yr-old mega celebrity

another thing. i think a lot of young celebrities end up leaning into their own sexualization as a sort of defense mechanism / to feel like they’re in control of it, if that makes sense? like “you’re gonna sexualize me anyway, so i might as well do it to myself first.” and i think johnny is a bit of a victim of this. he does enjoy a majority of the attention that comes with being who he is, and maybe part of him doesn’t understand that it isn’t normal for people to look at him and speak to him the way they do, him being a literal child. this all happened so fast to him while he’s still like developing as a person that i think he just accepted whatever attention he received as positive and simply an occupational hazard of his new fame. being sought after and desired and hot is what everyone wants, right? and he’s a superhero; he can protect himself from any truly bad actors…even if he shouldn’t have to. i also think he kinda turns it into a joke and laughs off the bad side of being a 16 yr old “sex icon” to avoid having to think about how uncomfortable it actually makes him

anyway, that was a lot. all this to say yes, including those things was not a coincidence, and while i don’t plan to make it a majorrr story arc, it is something i wanted to acknowledge and leave space to explore further. 🫡 but obviously it’s a very sensitive topic so i want to be careful with how i approach it

[theestervashti]

"The Goddess of Israel." From Esther 1: 13-15.

Esther, also called Astarte, and Ishtar is the National Goddess of Israel, the Goddess of Love, War, and Lightning reveals there is a way to be cool, sexy, powerful, and in love in a way that is neither too controlled nor not controlled enough.

The pinnacle of judgement a queen called Vashti, who is synonymous with the I AM, decides the arguments over who does what with their cadre of happy princelings is not an argument that needs to involve her.

This causes problems because as we read, people become too chaste. The God of Israel is not at all a prude. Prudent, perhaps but not frigid. Frigidity in Jewish culture is heavily frowned upon. But so is random promiscuity. The root of all that goes wrong in society goes wrong early in life because man does not understand what the Torah says about human sexuality. Sexuality must be demonstrated and encouraged in appropriate ways, or as we are seeing inappropriate dictates affect the balance of life on this world.

Our story continues with a discussion as to why the I AM abstained from the onset of an argument pertaining to this: the age old contest between what is customary, what is legal, and what is absolute about human behavior: This we must figure out according to stated, proven principals, and these must always result in greater human potential. We are inclined towards the opposite in spite of numerous statutes and religious statements to the contrary:

13 Since it was customary for the king to consult experts in matters of law and justice, he spoke with the wise men who understood the times 14 and were closest to the king—Karshena, Shethar, Admatha, Tarshish, Meres, Marsena and Memukan, the seven nobles of Persia and Media who had special access to the king and were highest in the kingdom.

15 “According to law, what must be done to Queen Vashti?” he asked. “She has not obeyed the command of King Xerxes that the eunuchs have taken to her.”

To go on we must discuss what are called the Persia Medians, the Seven Celestial Falcons.

Karshena= the vetch (livestock fodder)

The verb קשה (qasha I) means to be hard or severe, and is most often deployed in conjunction with the yoke carried by oxen (1 Kings 12:4). This came to symbolize any hard or oppressive task or burden or the resistance against that (Genesis 49:7, Nehemiah 9:16), and is even referred to by Jesus in his famous saying, "Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me [ . . . ] for my yoke is easy and my load is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).

Shethar=clean yourself

The verb שית (shyt) means to give, set or place firm. Noun שית (shyt) refers to occupational garb, the dress upon which the profession stands. Noun שת (shat) describes a national foundation; whatever a nation is set on. Noun שית (shayit) collectively describes a kind of plant (perhaps a bottle tree?).

Noun שת (shet) probably also derives from this verb, and appears to refer to human buttocks. It's not often emphasized but our buttocks truly signify our species (apart from our brain). No other animal has buttocks like man, and this handsome feature allows humans to trot literally for days. Given time, humans can outrun pretty much any other animal (including horses and antelope.)

The noun שי (shay) may or may not be related to the previous verb. It denotes a devotional offering made to the Temple by foreigners.

Admatha= her land the farm, blood is life

The root דמם (ddm) is all about beginnings — or rather the simplicity from whence complexity arises — from being still before the noise starts to being monochromatic before color vision starts. Verb דמם (damam) means to be still, noun דממה (demama) denotes calmness and דמה (dumma) denotes a silenced person. Noun דומה (duma) describes the silence of death, noun דומיה or דמיה (dumiya) the silence of waiting and noun דומם (dumam) the silence of inertia or inactivity.

Verb דמה (dama I) describes making a (still) image. Nouns דמות (demut) and דמין (dimyon) mean likeness. Verb דמה (dama II) means to stop, halt or arrest. Noun דמי (domi) means a halting. Whatever the unused verb דמן (dmn) might have meant, noun דמן (domen) denotes refuse and מדמנה (madmena) a manure pit.

Unused verb אדם ('dm) may have meant to produce or begin to produce. Noun אדם (adam) is one of a few words for man but means literally probably "product" or likeness-made-from-soil; man as corporeal unit of humanity. This word is never used in plural, and its feminine equivalent, namely אדמה (adama), denotes arable soil or clay-red earth.

Red is the first color a baby learns to see and red or ruddy is indeed the color of rudiment: verb אדם ('adom or 'adem) means to be red, adjective אדם ('adom) means red, noun אדם ('odem) denotes a ruddy gem, possibly quartz, noun אדם ('edom) denotes a kind of red stew, adjective אדמדם ('adamiddam) means reddish, and adjective אדמוני (admoni) means red or ruddy.

The ubiquitous noun דם (dam) means blood; the seat of life, whose circulatory system always sits inside an organic body, isolated from the world at large. When a river turns to blood, it not so much assumes the color and thickness of blood but becomes isolated from the greater hydrological cycle. The life that is seated in the blood is therefore primarily an issue of waste-management. Without it, the organism pollutes and dies.

Tarshish= the aquamarine

Meaning His Excellency Breaking, Subjection White Dove, Search For Alabaster Courage, Confidence Etymology. From a Persian phrase. From the verb רשש (rashash), to beat down, shatter. From (1) the noun שיש (shayish), white alabaster, and (2) the noun תר (tor), dove.

Meres=in advance, "the emeritus myrrh of es"

"Who will be the most caring at the top."

The noun μερος (meros) means share, part or portion. It ultimately derives from a vast Proto-Indo-European root "(s)mer-", which is traditionally presented as having two separate branches:

(s)mer- I, meaning to remember or care for, hence the Latin noun memoria and thus our English word "memory", and

(s)mer- II, meaning to assign or allot, hence the Latin verb mereo, to deserve, and thus the English words "merit" and "emeritus".

Marsena=to bow, incline to tilt, "to have the strength to change, especially that which resists change."

The verb שנה (shana I) means to change (Lamentations 4:1) or to create a difference (Esther 1:7). It may be used to indicate a change of clothes (Jeremiah 52:33), or a change of mind (Psalm 89:34). It may also denote a perversion of justice (Proverbs 31:5) or even the act of disguising oneself (1 Kings 14:2).

This verb's sole derivative is the feminine noun שנה (shana), meaning year (שנת means 'year of' and שנים means 'years'.). The temporal unit year primarily denotes the repeating cycle of seasonal change, and in plural it is used to indicate a period that spans several years (in the formula "during the years of" this or that king).

There are several expressions in the Bible that use this noun שנה (shana) to indicate a certain (prolonged) event that marks a profound change: The "year of favor" (Isaiah 61:2), the "year of release" (Leviticus 25:10, Ezekiel 46:17), the "year of Jubilee" (Leviticus 25:13), the "year of remission" (Deuteronomy 15:1), the "year of vengeance" (Isaiah 63:4).

The meaning of root שנה (shana II) is officially obscure. BDB Theological Dictionary submits that there is an Arabic verb, which is somewhat similar to this Hebrew root, which means to shine. And in Ethiopian exists a comparable verb that means to be beautiful. A Hebrew audience, however, would probably have associations with either שנה (shana I) meaning to change, or שנה (shana III) meaning to repeat.

The sole extant derivative of our root שנה (shana II) is the masculine noun שני (shani), denoting the color scarlet. Perhaps the Hebrews figured this noun to match שנה (shana I) because cloth dipped in scarlet dye changes from being ordinary to something worthy of God's tabernacle (Exodus 26:1, 26:31).

Scarlet also seemed to have symbolized the process of purification (Leviticus 14:4, Numbers 19:6), and in the case of Rahab the prostitute, showcasing scarlet meant salvation (Joshua 2:18). But why?

HAW Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament suggests that "since shani was the color of blood it would be its natural symbol in such a ceremony". But why would Israel need to symbolize blood with a dye while there was so much real blood readily available, and the dispensing of this prescribed in so much ritual? The prophet Isaiah seems to disagree with HAW as he doesn't link scarlet to blood but rather to sin: "Though your sins are as scarlet, they will be white as snow . . . " (Isaiah 1:18).

Here at Abarim Publications, we guess that a scarlet item was known as something that had changed from natural to permanently tainted, and obviously through a process of repetition.

Snow, on the other hand, covers everything in minutes but is easily removed by warmth and vanishes without a further trace. Sin, Isaiah seems to say, is not an isolated event but a condition of repeated failure that leads to permanent alteration and ultimately death. Confessing sin, as Rahab did, is the first step to having this persistent dye changed into utterly elusive snow."

Memukan= mechanized at being profound, not depraved.

The root עמק ('amoq) has to do with being deep, and is used in pretty much the same literal and figurative ways as our English verb to be deep is used.

The verb עמק ('amoq) is mostly used in the figurative sense, either of being deep in the sense of being profound (Psalm 92:5) but mostly in the sense of being deeply hidden (Isaiah 29:15, Jeremiah 49:8), and that usually because of deep rottenness or depravity (Hosea 5:2, Isaiah 31:6).

This verb's derivations are:

The masculine noun עמק ('emeq), a frequently occurring word meaning vale, valley or lowland (Genesis 14:17, Isaiah 22:7, Psalm 65:13).

The masculine noun עמק ('omeq), meaning depth (Proverbs 9:18 and 25:3 only).

The adjective עמק ('ameq), denoting the unintelligibility of foreign speech (Isaiah 33:19 and Ezekiel 3:5-6 only).

The adjective עמק ('amoq), meaning deep in a literal sense (Leviticus 13:3, Ezekiel 23:32) or figuratively (Psalm 64:6, Job 12:22).

The masculine plural noun מעמקים (ma'amaqqim), denoting again mostly figurative and distressing depths (Psalm 69:3, Isaiah 51:10, Ezekiel 27:34)

Our analysis just got very complicated. The Seven Eunuchs are "the intelligence corps" they have exhausted the need to control their urges and have repented of the circus, the need to provide others with entertainment with their antics. Really sexy persons do not need to flaunt what they've got or what they can do, they know they have a secret power over others and they use it in ways suggestive of the Shabbos.

The Seven Celestial Falcons are ways one can attain to seduction. Now the text calls these "lawyers" but the text pertains to the Goddess of Love so if we take that into account, these seven new laws make more sense. The final goal of the Kabbalah is found in the proper tanslation of Astarte, "the the binding of the law with arrows", AKA, "a consistent way of thinking."

"The verb עשת ('ashat) probably describes the process of how loose elements contract and become a smooth, solid union: to be or become cohesive.

Noun עשת ('eshet) appears to describe a "solid" or "cohesive" body part, possibly the sexual organs. Adjective עשות ('ashot) means smooth in the sense of uncontaminated (of iron).

Nouns עשתות ('ashtut) and עשתון ('eshtona) describe a mental function, and particularly a consistency of thought or consciousness.

Noun עשתי ('ashte) means one.

The verb ירה (yara) describes the bringing about of a unified effect by means of many little impulses (arrows, stones, words, instructions, rain drops, and so on).

Noun יורה (yoreh) refers to rain that falls during the first period of the agricultural year, when seedlings bud but don't bear fruit yet. Noun מורה (moreh) may either also refer to early rain, or it means teacher, who is a person who teaches children who can't think for themselves yet. Noun תורה (tora), refers to any set of instructions (hence the familiar word Torah).

The verb ירא (yara') describes the same process, but rather from the perspective of the receiving "soil": to revere, to pay heed to, and in extreme cases: to fear. Nouns יראה (yir'a), מורא (mora') and מורה (mora) cover the broad spectrum between reverence and fear, between anything awe-inspiring and anything terrifying."

SO the I AM refused to enter the fray but was siding with the Eunuchs because the Princes of the Provinces had not yet gotten past their moth eaten points of view; they were not ready to be adults with penises, a requirement for Jewish elite society.

To understand how such Jewish men and women are expected to behave, one must know:

"While it sounds severe, man must not think with his rear. He must be able to refuse the manure and adhere, devoted and pure. The most caring, the most daring, not enslaved or depraved."

There is a reason Astarte's or Ishtar's story was the entity that introduced the God Yah to humanity. As the one thought that excludes the others, She is the evidence of what is called the I AM, which cannot be deemed practical until after one falls in love and lives through its trials.

[tj-van-heerden]

For Christian husbands and wives.

The Christian life is obviously (visibly, noticably) different from the way of the unsaved world, and God is glorified by our Christian behaviour in the world. The husband is the head of the wife, and the priest of the house, teaching the Word and seeing that in everything God is glorified and the wife and children are sanctified and grow in the knowledge and wisdom of God. The wife should be in subjection to her husband, as the husband is in subjection to Christ. Also, Christian women should dress modestly (not sexy) in public, that God may be glorified in her obedience to his Word. But sex is very important in marriage. It strengthens the bond between husband and wife and the bond between the husband and wife with GOD.

Matt 5:16 [WEB] Even so, let your light shine before men; that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.

1Tim 2:9, 10 [WEB] In the same way, that women also adorn themselves in decent clothing, with modesty and propriety, not just with braided hair, gold, pearls, or expensive clothing, but with good works, which is appropriate for women professing godliness.

1Pet 3:3-7 [WEB] Let your beauty be not just the outward adorning of braiding the hair, and of wearing jewels of gold, or of putting on fine clothing; but in the hidden person of the heart, in the incorruptible adornment of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God. For this is how in the past, the holy women who hoped in God also adorned themselves, being in subjection to their own husbands. So Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord, whose children you now are, if you do well, and are not put in fear by any terror. You husbands, in the same way, live with your wives according to knowledge, giving honor to the woman, as to the weaker vessel, as also being joint heirs of the grace of life, that your prayers may not be hindered.

Col 3:18 [WEB] Wives, be in subjection to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord.

Titus 2:5 [WEB] to be sober minded, chaste, workers at home, kind, being in subjection to their own husbands, that God’s word may not be blasphemed.

1Cor 11:3 [WEB] But I would have you know that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the head of Christ is God.

Eph 5:22-26 [WEB] Wives, be subject to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ also is the head of the assembly, being himself the savior of the body. But as the assembly is subject to Christ, so let the wives also be to their own husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the assembly, and gave himself up for it; that he might sanctify it, having cleansed it by the washing of water with the word…

1Cor 7:3, 5 [WEB] Let the husband give his wife the affection owed her, and likewise also the wife her husband…. Don’t deprive one another, unless it is by consent for a season, that you may give yourselves to fasting and prayer, and may be together again, that Satan doesn’t tempt you because of your lack of self-control.

[mllemaenad]

I think you're absolutely right about Nick, but I suspect one of the issues you're having in solving this is that there isn't a single answer to the question. They aren't doing one-to-one parallels; they're re-using these ideas and themes across multiple characters.

For example, Danse is also a Tin Man. He wears his tin suit everywhere! He too is a synth with implanted memories! His personal quest relates to him being inherently a "heartless" monster who is a threat to everything he loves purely by virtue of being a synth! And of course the answer to that is that the idea is nonsense: he's more dedicated to the Brotherhood than anyone; he has always had a heart. But all of this is a relatively late stage reveal, and the links are less profound than they are with Nick.

So I think you've got multiple options, for Scarecrow and Cowardly lion, but I also think there are prime examples of each, just as Nick is the prime example of the Tin Man. And the moment I read your post I thought – oh, well, that's Preston Garvey and Hancock. Has to be.

First, because the main plot leads you directly to all three of them. You have to go just a couple of steps out of your way to meet people like Cait and Strong. It is virtually impossible to avoid at least encountering Preston, Nick and Hancock. You can ignore them and fail to do their quests – but the game insists you at least say hello.

Second, because all three are very deliberately defined by their costumes. All the companions wear appropriate clothes for their profession, sure, but these three have all chosen to dress for what they aspire to be. While the novels came first, obviously, I don't think it's possible to completely escape the 1939 film when talking about The Wizard of Oz, and I think three distinctive costumes is an important idea.

As for the characters themselves ...

Preston is designed to be the Sole Survivor's first friend in the new world, just as the Scarecrow is Dorothy's first companion in Oz (puppy dogs notwithstanding). Like the Scarecrow he must first be rescued from a place where he is stuck before he can assist.

And the key thing about Preston is that he doubts his own ability. He is not smart enough, not able enough, to lead the Minutemen, so he passes it off to his new friend on the basis of one successful rescue.

Most companions hand out bits of their backstory in their various affinity conversations. Preston leads with his. The Quincy Massacre and subsequent flight across the Commonwealth have completely shattered his confidence. "That's not who I am" he says, when you ask him why he can't lead. He's not worried about his courage or willingness to assist – he notes he can go into a firefight no problem – but about his ability to make good decisions.

He's incredibly self-effacing when he does have affinity conversations: he mostly talks about how well you are (or aren't) doing. If you're building a good relationship with him you can help restore his confidence by noting that he's attributing his own good qualities to you.

But as the Minuteman's primary quest giver, he is fundamentally the brains of the operation. He's the one who identifies and prioritises settlements that need assistance and might be persuaded to join the cause. He's the one who determines when you've got the resources to retake the Castle. Preston makes nothing but good decisions.

He was always smart enough to do this, but he needs the Sole Survivor to act as his proxy because of how much he doubts himself.

And while I cannot prove this, I strongly suspect that Bethesda intends the Minutemen ending to be the canon one. Preston and his Minutemen end up in charge of the Commonwealth after the fall of the Institute – much as the Wizard leaves the Scarecrow in charge when he flies away.

Hancock, meanwhile, does not need rescuing. When you first encounter him he goes on the attack, taking down a thug (arguably a little too aggressively). Later, he successfully defends his property when Bobbi tries to rob him. The Cowardly Lion, likewise, is first seen leaping out on the attack.

But all Hancock's stories are about his belief that he has not done enough. That he was too afraid to act and his fear got people killed. He worries about not having done more for the ghouls when they were exiled from Diamond City. His defining character story is about failing to save a drifter from Vic the mob boss, and needing to redeem himself for that. He talks about himself as a man who runs from everything, including himself. Hancock fundamentally does not believe in his own courage.

Of course, Hancock is actually one of the few people doing anything to protect the Commonwealth's outcasts. He was the only one who even bothered to try to get the ghouls to safety. And he has fundamentally transformed Goodneighbor into a place where synths, ghouls, robots and anyone else who needs sanctuary can be safe. He and his settlement constitute a significant portion of the active resistance to the Institute's activities.

And when the Wizard gives the Cowardly Lion "courage" he does so by dosing him with one of his snake oil concoctions. Likewise, Hancock forces himself to have "courage" by consuming a dodgy radiation drug he knew would turn him into a ghoul, because if he became one of the oppressed he would no longer have the option of looking away.

One Scarecrow, one Cowardly Lion. But that said, I do think these motifs surface elsewhere in other characters. I just think these are the "main" ones because of the way the narrative interacts with them.

It's weird, but everything about Nick Valentine makes me think that he was made to be paralleled with the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz.

Like- he's a synth, so made of metal. He's got a heart motif. He's got the memories of a pre-war human the same way that the book version of the Tin Woodsman is a tin body containing the consciousness of a presumably-munchkin man and has angst about whether his emotions are real despite being the kindest, most empathetic, most human member of the group. The Tin Woodsman's original name in the Baum books is Nick Chopper.

Everything about this guy just screams 'I am here to be the Tin Man in a Wizard of Oz parallel'. Hell, Diamond City is full of references to the Wizard of Oz - it's the Great Green Jewel! Don't look at the man behind the curtain!

And it's absolutely doing my head in, because for the life of me, I can't identify a Scarecrow or Cowardly Lion anywhere in this mess and somehow my brain keeps insisting that those three come as a set.

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 17

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter's Note: Family bonding time! We get to know your brother and meet someone we didn’t expect. Beta by @zaria-04

Happy Chr’ms! It’s Chrismin! Merry Crisis and Merry Chrysler!

Chapter 17: A gathering of witches

A lunar convergence is a rare and festive event and you dress accordingly. There are several layers: a pretty linen dress, one of your favorite, hugging all the right spots of your body. Over it there is a bodice, something that unfortunately is not in fashion right now, if you would step out on the street with it. At the same time, it makes a really good figure. Last but not least, you put a fur overcoat around your shoulders, because the night will get cold.

Your outfit represents who you are, your status as a witch. You put on several rings, all filled with magic. Today you don't plan to use them, just wear them because you like them. In your hair you have coiffed a single feather of a kite. It is the symbol of your family. Traditionally, everyone wears a badge that indicates their bloodline.

You take a look in your mirror and are pleased with what you see.

It is time to leave. You step through the portal door and arrive at your sister's house in the hallway. You hear her and your brother's voices in the living room and you enter.

"You've never been on time before, Gabe," you grin broadly to the young-looking man, who looks up and chuckles at your words.

"Times change."

You hug them both in greeting. You haven't seen your brother in ages.

He is tall and slender, almost lanky, and has orange hair. His father was Irish and you can see Gabriel's ancestry.

Appropriately, and for today's occasion, he wears a kilt and matching high socks. His shirt reveals his chest, over which hang several necklaces with feathers, wooden beads and bones. The left sleeve of his shirt is sewn shut just below the shoulder due to a missing arm. His hair was shoulder length the last time you saw him, but now it is cut. A little longer on top, a little shorter on the sides, and coiffed in a modern style.

Gabriel is the youngest out of the three of you, born in the first half of the 19th century, just before there was a great famine in Ireland that nearly halved the country's population.

There's a bigger gap in age between you and your sister. Maybe that's why she likes to take on the caring role of big sister so much.

"I heard you moved to another continent," he says, turning to you.

"Just professionally," you relent.

"Oh, I've heard a lot about that profession," he grins at you.

You roll your eyes. News travels fast between you siblings. Elizabeth, in particular, likes to take it upon herself to keep you all up. She's wearing a similar outfit to yours, but traditionally high-necked while your dress is lower-cut, and instead of a fur, she's reaching for an embroidered mantle.

"That reminds me, I have something for you," Gabriel says, reaching into his pocket from which he pulls a small vial that he hands to you. It seems filled with water and something shimmery in it as you hold it up to the light.

"What's this?"

"A mermaid scale."

"No way!" you exclaim. "How did you get that?!"

The brother grins self-righteously. "I helped some of them escape and got gifts in return," he explains. You just shake your head at that. He always has adventurous stories to tell.

"Did you get a kiss? Nah, you wouldn't tell me anyway. But thanks for the scale." You smile beamingly at him and stow the vial in your pocket. Components of mermaids were really hard to get because they are shy and also stubborn creatures. And as pretty as they are, they are equally dangerous.

"Shall we?" asks Elizabeth and you nod, following her to her workroom. On the way, your brother leans toward you.

"Unfortunately, I did not," he whispers to you. "Maybe next time."

You chuckle as he winks at you.

A ritual circle is painted on the floor in Elizabeth's study and you step in it. The three of you join hands and after exchanging one last glance, you all begin to recite the same spell.

Under your words, the circle begins to glow. A breeze comes up, the smell of freshly cut grass is in the air. For a moment your vision is obscured by mist, then it clears and you are suddenly standing in nature.

It is a wide field at the foot of a hill. A well-trodden path leads up. People keep appearing around you, alone or in small groups. They are all magically gifted, most of them some kind of witches, but not exclusively. Only some are from Earth, many from other realms.

You start walking uphill.

The higher you get, the more plants grow around you until they condense into a small forest. You come to an open gate that almost looks like a circular piece of wall. Over time, moss and fern have settled on it, giving it something fairy-like. Like a gate to another world.

Behind it, the path changes to wide, stone steps that lead you further up the forest until it suddenly ends and you reach a large meadow. It is the top of the mountain, a sacred place.

Some larger rocks stick out of the grass. In the center of the place, five roughly hewed obelisks stand in a circle and the ground there is not grass but rough stone.

You are familiar with this place. The convergence happens once every one hundred years and it is already your third festival.

Your siblings and you make a circuit of the meadow, nodding every now and then to greet familiar faces.

Finally, you find what you are looking for: your mother, standing with some women and talking.

You walk toward her, and although she has her back to you, she turns to face you and comes a little toward you.

"Hello, children," she greets you kindly, but not warmly. She grabs each of you in turn by the hands and kisses you on the cheek. First Elizabeth, then you, then Gabriel.

It's the first time you've seen her in years - mostly she stays out of your lifes - and you notice she looks older. The small wrinkles around her mouth and eyes are evidence of that, and it's getting harder to guess her former hair color under the gray. For a witch to have such signs of aging, she must have reached a significant age - or gotten involved with the wrong spells.

"I'm glad you're all here. It's going to be a lovely evening."

If she says that, it must be true, because she's a seer. That's one of the reasons you don't talk to her much. There's not much to tell her that she doesn't know anyway. For today, though, her words are a good prediction.

"I'll see you later," Gabriel says. "I have a date."

That's the cue for you to split up. Before you can leave, too, though, your mother stops you. "Ah, before I forget, there's someone I want you to meet."

"Sure," you say, a little surprised, and follow her to the women you were standing with earlier. She waves to one of them, who then joins you.

You've never seen her before. She looks friendly with a certain warmth. She wears a flower crown on her upswept blonde hair, and her elegant dress is an indicator that she must be a person of respect. Her gaze moves from your mother to you and she eyes you curiously, almost scrutinizing. Then she smiles. "Now I understand why you suggested inviting my son," she says to your mother, then turns back to you, "Come, child, let's take a walk."

With each of her words, you become more and more confused and merely nod. You're used to your mother speaking in riddles and this woman here seems to be expressing herself similarly. You're curious to hear what she has to say.

"I've heard a lot about you," she begins.

"I wasn't aware that my mother talked much about her children," you admit, but the woman shakes her head.

"It wasn't her, but my son who told me about you."

Astonished, you look at her. "I don't think I understand. Who is your son?"

"I should introduce myself first," she realizes. "I am Frigga, mother of Loki and Thor."

You stop as if rooted to the spot and your eyes widen in surprise. Your first thought is that the Queen of Asgard is standing before you. With your second thought, you wonder why your mother knows her. You blink as you realize you are staring at her and quickly avert your gaze so as not to be rude. "Forgive me, I did not expect to meet you here, your Majesty."

She seems amused by your behavior, but nods in satisfaction at the courtesy. "Call me Frigga, child. We are not in the palace and I am not here as queen." She starts moving again and you follow her. "You probably don't realize it, but Loki and I have kept correspondence ever since he went to Midgard. My younger son prefers to keep to himself, but he mentioned a Witchling he met. And from what I've heard from other places as well, you seem to be very supportive of him."

You smile at the mention of Loki's nickname for you. You really weren't aware that he was writing to his mother and it touches your heart that he told her about you. "I'm merely a friend," you say.

"That's the best thing he can ask for," the queen replies. There is a short pause in which you process what you have just heard and she looks at you from the side. Then she addresses her next question carefully to you. "Did you two fight?"

Questioning how she knows about that, you turn your head to her.

"When I finally saw him again and talked to him, I was surprised to find him in a bad mood. I thought he was doing well and that his time on Midgard had done him good. But he seems almost heartbroken. He doesn't talk about it and I wonder if you know anything about it."

You sigh as you remember your argument with Loki and nod a little ashamedly. You should have talked to him before you left.

"This is my fault," you tell her, "I made… Well, it's not exactly a mistake. I had some things to sort out and I took too long for it. Loki heard words out of their context. I guess it's a big misunderstanding."

Frigga nods in understanding. "My son has a brilliant mind, but sometimes he acts and judges hastily."

"I am sorry to have caused you concern. I will talk to him as soon as I get back and explain everything to him."

"Why wait so long?" Frigga asks, standing still. You stop as well, puzzled by her words. Does she expect you to return to New York immediately? Well, you can't contradict a queen. But you notice that she's not looking at you, and as you follow her gaze, you spot Loki sitting under a tree in the distance.

It seems like today is full of surprises.

"I'll let you two to it. You seem to have a lot to talk about."

You watch her turn around and leave. Then you look back at the prince. You hesitate, not knowing what to do while being so suddenly confronted with the consequences of your behavior. But Loki has already spotted you and his mother and stands up.

Slowly you approach him.

His expression is unreadable, but you are sure that inside him is the same chaos of emotions as in you.

Like his mother, he wears fine Asgardian clothing that looks distinguished and noble. No armor, it seems more appropriate for a ball or similar event. His hair is neatly coiffed back, some strands even braided. He wears a similar flower crown as his mother on his head. You wonder if it is the sign of their family. It seems almost too plain for a royal family. You also wonder if he made it himself.

"What are you doing here on Vanaheim, Witchling?" he asks you. His tone is neutral, almost bored. But he can't fool you.

"The same as you obviously. Listen, I wanted to apologize about our fight." You mean your words sincerely, and you hope he senses that. "I didn't seduce you for the job, to make you hand-tame and keep you under control. Tony doesn't know what he's talking about, you have to believe me."

Loki's expression remains unmoved and he crosses his arms. "You said it was a mistake."

You're confused for a moment and have to think about your conversation, but then you remember how you stormed out of his suite. "Oh shit, I did!" it escapes you, "No, let me explain. I didn't mean the thing with..." You gesture between you, not knowing how to name it. "I meant the fact that I got paid to work with you. I don't want you to think that I manipulated you. That money is the only reason I'm standing by your side."

"It's not?" asks Loki.

You nod. "I quit."

"Is that why you didn't show up yesterday?" Loki's voice changes to an angry hiss. "You disappeared without another word?"

Horrified, you stare at him. "What, no! Oh boy, we have so much we need to talk about." You take a deep breath to get your thoughts in order. "First of all, I took a few days off because of my work at the Cottage and the Lunar Convergence. I wanted to tell you, but then we were already arguing. Theoretically, you could have heard it when I was talking to Tony, because obviously you overheard that conversation." You look at him, but he doesn't look as if he's embarrassed by that accusation. Rather like he's waiting for the rest of your explanation. "I quit, but I want to continue my work with you. Only without being paid. Just as a friend. Shall we sit down somewhere, perhaps?" you suggest, but Loki does not respond to that question. At least your words seem to calm him down a bit.

"I don't understand," he says, turning away, looking at the forest. "Don't you Midgardians need a job and money in order to survive?"

"I'm not your average Midgardian," you remind him, trying to keep your patience with him. "I'm a witch and I've survived for almost three hundred years, so I think I will manage."

Loki tilts his head, closing his eyes. "So, you are staying as a friend?" he asks again, emphasizing the last word comically.

"Yes, Loki, a friend," you nod. "Don't you have this concept on Asgard?"

"We do."

"Excellent. Then you know how it works."

Loki turns his head back to you, hesitating briefly with what he says next. "What if I don't want to be friends with you?"

Your face falls and your shoulders slump. "I… would understand it. Friendship needs trust. But it would make me sad." Somehow you're not already giving up on him just yet. He has a hard time opening up to people, and pulls back much faster. But your time together must mean something. Now it's you looking longingly toward the forest. There's something reassuring about the old trees. "I like you, Loki."

The Asgardian steps closer to you, puts his fingers on your cheek and turns your head to look at him. "I thought we were already more than friends," he murmurs. "Unless it was just a game for you after all."

You give a soft ’oh’ as you understand. "We can be… friends and more. Why not both?" You are mumbling, almost rambling. Fortunately, Loki interrupts you with a kiss. It's only brief, but it's enough to make you fall silent.

"I'd like that," he murmurs, kissing you again, more desperately this time. As if he's afraid you're about to disappear after all.

"Great, me too." This time it's you who briefly interrupts the kiss, but your lips are immediately back on his. You are smiling.

So are the two women standing on the other side of the field, watching you from afar. Satisfied with the outcome of the night, your mothers exchange a look.

___________________________

Mothers™, playing matchmakers since anno thirteen-hundred-two-teen.

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[typinggently]

Student Teacher Conference

William Butcher/John (Homelander) No powers AU that I had to write since no fics magically appeared in the three hours after I made this post. Butcher (man of dubious profession with anger management issues) and Homelander (very important poster boy with no qualifications for his job PLUS anger management issues) share custody of one (1) child. They hate each other's guts. There's a student-teacher-conference.

Homelander is five minutes early to Ryan’s teacher-student conference. Butcher, who was twelve minutes early, watches him get out of his Royce and wonders whether the parking lot has cctv that would catch him clock the cunt over the head and arrive on time, on his own.  Before he can put some serious thought into that plan, the guy’s turned towards him, one hand checking that slick little hairdo of his. “Oh. Are you wearing that?” His eyes look like dish soap pods in the cold-bright lights.

Butcher already turned towards the entrance of the school, speaks over his shoulder. “Didn’t bring a spare outfit, if that’s what you’re asking.” It’s a warm evening, so he undid the first few buttons of his shirt, but he’s wearing a suit jacket and the shirt’s got a print, but it's silk. He’s perfectly appropriately dressed.

Homelander catches up with him by the door, shoulders him out of the way and gives him a once-over, bottom to top. “Ryan’s teacher is going to think he’s getting raised by a cokehead homosexual.” Butcher gives him a toothy smile, the 5ft something, blond-gelled hair and manicured nails, red pocket square and fake tan, crisp white button-down and navy-blue suit of him. “No doubt, Love.”

For a second, it looks like the cctv in the parking lot will be the least of their troubles, but then a willowy woman with Kate Bush hair and a clunky necklace appears seemingly out of nowhere to Butcher’s right, forcing both of them to step back, stand down. “You must be Ryan’s parents. So happy you could make it, please come in.“ She’s standing in an open doorway, which explains her sudden arrival, and Butcher shoulders Homelander out of the way to step through first.

The classroom looks just about how Butcher expected based on what he’s seen on TV and the chairs are about as hard. He’s sitting right next to Homelander, close enough to smell his cunty little perfume – in other words, too close. He keeps his eyes on the teacher and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Ryan’s grades are fine. He’s quiet and is a pleasure to have in class. Homelander wants to know how he’s doing in PE. Butcher wants to know if he’s gotten better at speaking in front of the group. Homelander – He – Both of them, apparently, want to know if Ryan has any friends. If the other kids leave him alone. There’s a bit of a flicker in the teacher’s face, there, and Butcher frowns. Next to him, Homelander shifts in his chair. “It’s nothing to worry about. Boys his age can be a little shy and take a little longer to open up to their peers. But I see that with his support system at home, he’s not trapped in the endless spiral of toxic masculinity we are all working so hard on dismantling.”

Butcher bites his tongue to stop himself from frowning. Next to him, Homelander shifts in his chair. “Sorry?” And Butcher doesn’t mean to look, but at the crystal-clear, dangerously light tone in Homelander’s voice, he spares a glance out of the corner of his eye. Homelander is wearing a very bright grin, frozen on his face. “Sorry, what was that?” He looks like a porcelain doll, the kind that fucked up little girls would collect, polished and brimming with an underlying threat of violence.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply – I’m just saying that with his unique situation, Ryan has two very different, very positive and loving male role models to look up to.” The teacher must’ve picked up on the hostility seeping out of Homelander’s very pores and she throws Butcher a little glance, a borderline desperate little smile. “Which is, of course, a very good thing. It’s refreshing to see two fathers so involved in their son’s life. It’s a sign that society really is changing for the better.”

There’s a brief silence. The teacher keeps her eyes glued on Butcher. Homelander is staring at the teacher with his doll-grin. Butcher is looking at Homelander. He can practically see the wheels turn under that Barbie-hair. Ryan’s teacher is probably on top of his list of people he has to impress, second only to Mallory. Revealing that your kid is growing up with two people who’d rather skin themselves alive than spend an afternoon at the park as a "family" is probably not the right way to do that. Unfortunately, that goes for both of them.

“Right, yeah.” Butcher clears his throat and reaches over to pat Homelander’s thigh. Homelander snaps his attention towards him, electric blue eyes and gold-shimmering lashes. “No harm done, Love, you know what she meant to say. Society is changing for the better innit? And we’re all doing our part.”

“Right, yes.” And just like that, the stupid poster boy smile is back, brighter than the sun and sweeter than sugar water. “Of course, yes.” Homelander, apparently on the same page and back in character, puts his hand on Butcher’s, clumsily lacing their fingers as he returns his attention to the teacher. “We love the way society is changing. Love, freedom and equality, those are the pillars this country is built on. We spend every waking minute trying to teach Ryan exactly that.”

The teacher nods, tries a little smile, apparently feeling a little safer now that she doesn’t have to worry about a polished yuppie emailing the board about supposed homophobic microaggressions “And that shows. He’s truly a special boy.”

Well, Butcher thinks drily, squeezing Homelander’s hand. At least she’s not going to think Ryan’s being raised by cokeheads.

[asupernaturalgirl]

Bruises At The Bar

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Someone leaves a bruise on the reader when she goes to the bar with some friends. She tries to keep it from Sam so he won’t worry. 

A/N: This is a little different than what I’ve written before but I’m hoping you like it. I wanted to highlight the fact that being protective over someone is okay, but stopping them from doing the things they want to do is not and Sam strikes me as the kind of guy that would understand that.  I hope everyone enjoys it!

Warnings: Creep at the bar, bruises, worry

                                                            ...                                                                 

If you could stay in a hotel and avoid your boyfriend for the next few days, you would. You stood in front of the door to the bunker, contemplating whether or not to go inside and hide the freshly forming bruise on your arm or instead hide yourself for the next few days. The idea of putting Sam in that much of a panic just because of someone that happened at a bar didn’t seem all that appealing to you. 

Sam always wanted to give you as much autonomy as he possibly could. He was so respectful and never wanted you to feel like he was holding you back or being too possessive just because he was worried for your safety. That was why he always encouraged you to go out with your friends whenever they were around. It wasn’t healthy to only be around your boyfriend for the rest of your life and he could take a few hours of worrying if it meant you got to live a happy, enjoyable life. 

Your best friends had come into town to visit you. You had to be very hush hush about hunting and knowing that you had some profession that required you to be very secretive, your friends had offered to stay in a motel nearby and you could all go out together one night. Sam was so happy to see you happy and encouraged you to do it when you showed hesitance. He said he wanted to make sure you were getting a break from the everyday drain that your lives could be at times. 

Everyone was going fine. You’d dressed up nice at their motel and all of you left together, walking into the bar confidently and ordering the drinks you wanted. Occasionally a guy would come up and try to talk to the three of you. The group would playfully flirt until finally telling the men they were just having fun tonight. 

One guy got a little bit too into it though. He was flirting specifically with you, obviously very interested in the cleavage that showed in your dress. Used to wearing flannel shirts and jeans, you slowly were becoming more and more self conscious. Finally, you asked the man to leave, telling him you had a boyfriend. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested,” You started, shaking your head and turning your body away just slightly to try to end the conversation. “I’m just out having fun with my friends. I’m actually already with someone.”

“That’s okay,” He leaned in too close, his breath hitting your cheeks. “I won’t tell him we did anything.”

You gave him a warning stare and pushed him away slightly. “Well, you won’t have to because nothing is gonna happen. Now leave, please.”

“C’mon,” He reached up to push a piece of your hair away and you cringed back, trying to move away from him. Your friends had now ended their conversation next to you and noticed the creep you were dealing with. “Just one night. It won’t take long.”

You reached up and moved his hand away from you. You wanted to break his hand, to break his wrist, but it would bring too much attention upon you and you weren’t sure if this was the time to use those skills. Dean had taught you those things for hunting. Would this even be an appropriate time to use it?

“Get away, dude,” You exclaimed firmly, giving him one final warning. Your friends were beginning to back you up, wanting him to go away as well. 

Finally, his anger came to an accumulation and he grabbed your arm, pressing so hard that you let out an exclamation of pain. “Ah, what the hell?!”

As soon as the gasp of pain came out, your two friends pushed him away and the bouncer had now become aware of the situation. He quickly walked over, grabbed the man by the back of the shirt and escorted him out of the building. After making sure you were okay and safe, you and your friends decided to call it a night and left the bar. 

You finally made the final decision to enter the bunker and attempt to wear long sleeves for a few days until he would inevitably find the bruise and you could pass it off as something other than the imprint of a male’s hand. Pushing your key into the doorknob, you walked into the entry and smiled at Dean who was sitting at the table on his computer and drinking a beer.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” He said, using the affectionate nickname only he used as he turned away from the computer and towards you. “Did you get hammered?”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing and chuckled slightly, setting your purse on the hook beside the door and moving towards the table to sit down with him. “Anything to forget the past, Dean. Where’s Sammy?”

He furrowed his brows and covered his heart with his hand. “Am I not good enough for you?”

“Where is he?”

“He’s taking a shower. You know how he has to do anything to not worry about you when you’re gone,” He said, going back to searching on the computer for a small case to go on. We weren’t looking for anything too big recently but if need be, we would go. 

Sam tried not to let you know that he worried about you, but you knew he did. When you came home from anything you did alone, a thousand things would always be done. It was the only way to keep his mind busy. After losing so many people he loved, it was nearly impossible for him to just go about life as usual. It wasn’t always bad though. You knew all you had to do was pick up the phone and he would be where you were in a matter of minutes. 

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” You let out a sigh and pushed back from the table, walking slowly down the hall. “Night, Dean.”

“Good night.”

Your boyfriend stood in the room the two of you shared, a towel around his waist. His muscles flexed slightly as he took another towel to his hair. While you definitely enjoyed his physique, it was the way his eyes lit up when he noticed you that made you feel almost completely better after the eventful visit to the bar. 

“Hey, baby,” He said, walking over and kissing you on the lips slightly before going back to dressing from the shower. He put on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, knowing he would be going to bed soon. “How was the bar?”

You walked to the bed and laid down, allowing the muscles in your body to completely relax. “Good. You know that’s not really my scene though. I usually just go for Y/B/F/N.”

He nodded. Whenever Dean would try to drag the two of you to a bar, you would always try to fight it. Usually, you could convince the older brother to go to a diner if you promised to buy him pie.  On other occasions, he still forced you to go and you would sit with Sam in the corner, slowly sipping a drink.

Sam crossed the room and got on the bed with you, slowly wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer. “You want to put some pajamas on so you can get ready for bed?”

It was hard to imagine how you were going to pull this off without bringing attention to yourself. You’d been with Sam for a while now and getting dressed in the same room was commonplace. You stood up from the bed and grabbed some clothes to sleep in and began making your way towards the bathroom. 

“You gonna take a shower?” He questioned, wondering why you were leaving to the restroom. 

There was your excuse. “Yeah, I’m just feeling a little icky from the bar. Bunch of sweaty bodies all together, not a fan.”

He laughed at your explanation of the bar and turned on the TV in the room, decided to watch a bit of television until you came back into the room. 

You changed in the bathroom, sliding on one of Sam’s long sleeve t-shirts. It comforted you to have his scent around you. Even though you liked to imagine yourself as a strong, independent woman, and you were, you had still wished for a moment in that bar that Sam would have walked through the doors and helped you. He wouldn’t have even allowed it to get as far as it did. 

Exiting the bathroom and slowly padding across the floor, you climbed into bed on top of Sam. He turned off the TV and moved his hands around your waist, holding you close to him. “I’m happy you had fun with your friends. You deserve it more than you know.”

It always made you blush when he talked like this to you. He was so kind, so considerate. “Thank you, Sammy.”

The two of you laid together for a while, enjoyed each other’s company. He would occasionally press a kiss to the side of your head while his hand gently moved up and down your back. You asked yourself constantly how you deserved him? How was this the man that walked into your life all those years ago? 

“I need to go get a glass of water,” Sam said, moving to stand up. He moved his hand over and pressed against your arm as he lifted himself from the bed. You let out a wince and tried to quickly cover it up. He had already noticed. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You winced. What did I do?” He quickly tried to grab your arm but you pulled it away. He didn’t need to worry more than he already did. “Did I hurt you that bad? Just show it to me.”

“Sammy-” 

“Y/N, if I hurt you bad, I want to see it,” He was being more stern now, slowly growing frustrated with himself for what he thought he had done. You moved to the side of the bed and let your feet touch the ground. 

“You didn’t do it, Sam,” You finally said. If he thought he had hurt you, he would never forgive himself. “It happened at the bar and you just happened to press on it when you got up.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he took in your words. “What do you mean it happened at the bar?”

Sliding up the sleeve on your shirt, you allowed him to see the fingerprint shaped bruises. His eyes widened and he gently took your arm, running his thumb along your skin. “Who did this?”

His eyes met yours. You could see that he was trying to remain cool to keep you calm but could see the fury brewing in his eyes. “This guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was trying to get me to leave with him and he grabbed me a little too hard.”

Sam closed his eyes and kissed the bruise, looking up at you painfully. “I should have been there. I would have made him leave.”

“It was okay, Sammy,” You reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. He always felt guilty when you were hurt. “As soon as it happened, my friends pushed him away and the bouncer got him. Everything was okay.”

“You don’t have to hide things like this from me, Y/N. I want to know when things happen.”

Dean peeked through the open door to say goodnight to Sam and stopped when he saw the position you two were in. “Everything okay?” 

He was the one you really had to worry about. While Sam was concerned with respecting your autonomy and making sure you felt supported in your relationship, Dean saw you more as his sister and had no issue telling you no in order to protect you. He didn’t see the same relationship boundaries that Sam did. “Just dealt with a guy at the club.”

The older brother seemed concerned as he moved into the room. He got a look at your arm and clenched his jaw. “What bar?”

“Dean, pipe down. It’s not a big deal. I’m fine, I’m safe. He was just getting a little pushy,” You said it to Dean but directed it to both of the brothers. He bit his lip and rolled his eyes, walking out of the room. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam apologized. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with this sh*t when you go out to have fun.”

You shook your head. “It happens, Sammy. I just didn’t want you to be worried.”

“I’ll never stop you from doing the things you want to do, Y/N,” He said, pushing your hair back slightly. “Although, I wouldn’t mind if you let me come with you and sit separately next time.”

You laughed and laid back in the bed. It seemed like the best solution for the current problem. “Thank you for being the best boyfriend, Sam.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I know. I am pretty great.”

[nightingaelic]

I was reading your "Fallout 4 companions meet Arcade Gannon" reacts when I had an idea. FO4 companions reaction to visiting the Mojave Wasteland with the Sole Survivor.

"She was Boston, I was Vegas

She was Crêpes Suzette, I was pie

She was lectures, I was movies, but I loved her."

- Frank Sinatra, 1981, "I Loved Her"

Cait: "I've never been much of a gambler, but where there's gambling, there's usually a good time to be had."

While Cait finds the casinos of the Strip a little too ritzy for her liking, she rather enjoys the smaller, satellite venues: The Atomic Wrangler in Freeside, the Vikki and Vance casino in Primm, even the saloons in Goodsprings and the Mojave Outpost (the latter of which being where she foolishly engages in a drinking contest with Cass and happily gets her ass kicked). Her greatest enjoyment, however, comes upon discovery of the Thorn in Westside, with its arranged bouts between wasteland critters and the opportunity to go a round yourself if you're feeling lucky. Instead of the trapped horror she felt when the Combat Zone was taken over by raiders and she was forced to fight, Cait revels in the glory she reaps when choosing to face off against a fire gecko, a night stalker or a cazador with her trusty baseball bat. By the time the visit is over, she and Red Lucy have grown close, and the Thorn's mistress is going around openly calling Cait "my hunter."

Codsworth: "Ah, Las Vegas! Why, I can recall when you considered a quick getaway to this paradise just before young master Shaun's arrival. It appears we aren't too late, after all."

Codsworth is somewhat comforted by the lack of overt nuclear devastation in New Vegas, but that feeling wears off as soon as the first set of thugs in Freeside tries to corner him and the sole survivor and take their caps. Once the would-be muggers are laid out on the ground, Codsworth abandons his rose-colored glasses and puts his quippy, dismayed personality back on. Still, he loves the Strip, particularly the Ultra-Luxe with its refined guests, decor and hygienic practices, but he quickly sours on their hoity-toity attitudes. Instead, Codsworth turns to the presence of the NCR as a sign that civilization is creeping back into the wasteland. He's also tickled pink by the Kings and the Chairmen, but not the mobster-esque Omertas: They remind him too much of the pre-war mob activity in good old Boston.

Curie: "Excusez-moi, but what is that structure there? The tallest one, with the blinking lights."

Curie is thrilled to be out in the desert, observing the local populace and documenting their survival techniques, social structures and power struggles. She's fascinated with the area's history, and drags the sole survivor along to seek out the Mojave's most (in)famous individuals to record their stories for her research into post-war civilization. This lands her in quite a few questionable situations, but her general attitude of perseverance and wide-eyed wonder about the world open a lot of doors for her. She makes a lot of friends at the Old Mormon Fort among the Followers of the Apocalypse, though most of them assume her frustration about her own "biological reactions to extreme living conditions" is just her complaining about the heat like everyone else. Arcade's pretty sure she's a robot, though he's too polite to ask about it outright.

Danse: "We're close now, to the birthplace of the Brotherhood of Steel. This is an honor I never thought I'd experience."

Though it's boiling hot inside his power armor under the desert sun, Paladin Danse is overjoyed that he's accompanying the sole survivor on this journey into the cradle of the ideology that he's devoted to. He's heard about the Mojave from Brotherhood of Steel veterans, those who traveled with Elder Lyons when they initially came to the Capital Wasteland and those who accompanied Elder Maxson when he was just a Squire, and he keeps spouting off random trivia about the area. Any run-ins with disillusioned Scribe Veronica might leave him a bit put out, but it's overall a fun trip for him through a part of the continent that's a little less smashed to rubble than the rest of the world. He especially enjoys visiting the NCR and Brotherhood military outposts, if only to offer critiques and suggestions to any soldiers that give him the time of day.

Deacon: "Sheesh, visiting the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter, am I right?"

Deacon has been here before. Well, he doesn't actually say he's been here before, but he keeps dropping hints to the sole survivor that he's somehow on a return trip. He knows the legends of the Sierra Madre and the Blue Star treasures offhand, he has a whole conversation with the Securitrons guarding the Strip about what happened to Robert House, he even knows how to competently play Caravan. Every time the sole survivor asks him about how he knows so much, though, Deacon just grins and keeps chugging his Sunset Sarsaparilla. Obviously no one recognizes him by face, but he does have a setting-appropriate wardrobe along that includes NCR bandoleer armor, a coat-tailed tuxedo, top hat and White Glove Society mask, and a black leather jacket to go with his pompadour wig.

Dogmeat: [curiously sniffs everything]

Dogmeat can't figure out why this place is so dang dry, but he's on his best behavior for the sole survivor as they make their way over the dusty roads of the Mojave. He politely greets each other traveler on the roads, who keep asking his companion where they got "a non-cyber cyberdog." For the most part though, the trip is pretty in line with everywhere Dogmeat goes: Big rodents, big bugs, tired people and plenty of ruins to explore. Dogmeat's one outstanding adventure comes in the form of an attempted kidnapping by some of the Kings, who think their leader needs a new dog after Rex hit the road with some fool. The King doesn't take kindly to this, and graciously has the dog returned to his friend.

Hancock: "Oh, man, how does anyone live out here? I'm drying out, I feel like a radroach husk."

Hancock is having the time of his life in the Mojave, apart from constantly complaining about how he prefers the Commonwealth's weather. He's chummy with everyone, but especially with the ghouls he encounters. He buys Raul a bunch of drinks and asks him about his past, he suggests future career paths and hobbies for Calamity, and he is absolutely enchanted with Beatrix the dominatrix. He's also rowdy enough to attract the ire of nearly every casino in New Vegas: The White Glove Society seethes when the sole survivor points out that his Revolutionary War outfit technically meets the dress code, the Omertas howl when he starts encouraging the strippers and sex workers to band together and take over the casino, and the Vault 21 dwellers keep asking if he's liable to turn feral. The Chairmen, however, treat him as something of a novelty and gift him with a seersucker suit to go with his jaunty personality.

MacCready: "You know, I played cards with a guy from out here once. He tried to teach me a game called... what was it, Candyman? Kilogram?"

MacCready has the barest smattering of knowledge about the Mojave Wasteland, and he keeps injecting it into conversations no matter how inaccurate it is. He's fascinated with the sole survivor's recollections of what Vegas was like before the Great War, and his expectations are sky-high by the time they arrive on the city's outskirts. Those expectations are absolutely met once inside the Strip, even if the sole survivor's are let down. MacCready is just tickled by the existence of a city that is solely dedicated to parting you from your caps, and he settles into each new business for the express purpose of people-watching. He only tries gambling once, and immediately quits after he loses all of his pocket change.

Valentine: "Good old Las Vegas. Somehow, I'm not surprised it's still got a reputation as 'Sin City,' even this long after the bombs."

The Nick Valentine of old never visited Las Vegas, but he certainly knew about it well enough for the Nick Valentine of today to draw on those impressions. He's extra-wary about the city as a result, an attitude not helped by the many people staring at him because of his detective getup, jagged edges and golden eyes. Some people are polite enough to walk up and ask what he is: Others offer to buy him off the sole survivor directly, much to Nick's chagrin. When James Garret offers him a thousand caps for "one night of his services," Nick puts his foot down and starts glaring at everyone who so much as walks up to him and the sole survivor during their trip. The exceptions to this rule are Veronica, who is extremely polite and non-invasive with her questioning; Arcade, who is too polite to even mention Nick's synthetic state; and Raul, who finds the whole thing hilarious but admits that his ghoul status has landed him in some similar situations.

Piper: "I've heard plenty of stories about this place, and if even a quarter of them are true, I ought to get a good travel piece out of just about anyone we pass on the street."

Piper's on a mission to track down the history of New Vegas, which, like Curie, sends her on a path toward its biggest political figures. Aside from them, she's particularly interested in the services of the Mojave, like the Gun Runners, the Crimson Caravan Company, and especially the Mojave Express. Piper gets along swell with just about everyone, and she basks in the widespread acceptance that she lacks back home due to her chosen profession. She desperately tries to get Johnson Nash to ship a case of Sunset Sarsaparilla cross-continent for her, but he gently turns her down and tells her that the only courier he knows crazy enough to undertake a trip to the Commonwealth is too busy nowadays.

Preston: "They're not too friendly to outsiders here, or so I'm told, but there are always good folks to be found if you know where to look."

Preston, true to form, offers help to every little settlement he and the sole survivor come through on their journey, which delays their path to Vegas quite a bit. He makes a beeline for the Old Mormon Fort as soon as he hears the Followers of the Apocalypse have a base there, though, and spends most of his visit picking the brain of its leaders about the best ways to aid those in need in the wasteland. He and Arcade get into some spirited debates about the pros and cons of having a civil service force focused on military matters versus civilian matters, and the Minutemen leader leaves the Mojave with a lot of new ideas to carry home to the Commonwealth.

Strong: "Strong not looking for 'good time,' puny human. Strong looking for thing that make super mutants stronger."

Strong hates New Vegas, but that's nothing unexpected. The sole survivor tries to limit their time in the city and take him around the desert to locales where super mutants are more likely to be found, which brings them to Jacobstown. Surprise surprise, Strong hates Jacobstown - at first. Little by little, through talking with Lily, the other nightkin, and Marcus, Strong starts to realize that the super mutants of the town are doing exactly what he values and sharing their resources among each other for the good of the community, just minus the usual violence associated with super mutants. He struggles with this alternative way of life for a bit, but eventually comes to accept that to be a super mutant, you don't have to constantly attack those around you to show off your strength.

X6-88: "Be careful. The Institute's records about this area indicate high levels of theft, murder, and unsavory characters. It would be best to keep our guard up."

Like Nick, X6-88 greets everyone in the Mojave with open suspicion, and can hardly be convinced to leave the sole survivor's side for their entire journey. His dedication to this task leads those around him to joke about him being "a human Securitron," which the sole survivor finds amusing: X6-88 does not. Still, the ability to hire and maintain a professional-looking bodyguard while visiting New Vegas doesn't go unnoticed, and most people assume that means the sole survivor has a lot of money to spend or be separated from by force. Criminals are more likely to be ruthless, hell-bent on stealing the loads of caps the sole survivor surely has tucked away. Business owners, on the other hand, are more polite to the pair on their travels, giving them better service and goods that ingratiate X6-88 a bit more to the common people aboveground.

BONUS!

Ada: "Jackson brought us out here once, when Zoe decided she wanted to try acquiring a Securitron. The leader of the Strip turned us down."

While Deacon is playing coy about his experience in the Mojave, Ada is completely open about hers. She hasn't been to the Strip, the dam, or any of the Mojave's "fun" destinations, but she remembers the Crimson Caravan Company headquarters, the 188 trading post, and many of the small towns along the way. Her fondest memories are of scavenging around the ruins of the REPCONN test site, the Aerotech Office Park and HELIOS One. She also recalls that her caravan friends came to visit primarily to find a Securitron to take apart and repurpose, but won't say exactly what happened when they tried to do so, other than warn the sole survivor "not to invite the wrath of the House."

Gage: "Now this is a town that knows how to run a successful racket. We need to find out who's in charge, see if they can give us some tips."

Porter Gage walks right up the steps of the Lucky 38 as soon as he finds out that someone inside is running the Strip, and demands that the Securitrons let him in to "talk to the boss." The robots aren't impressed, of course, and toss him out straightaway. Gage, not one to be discouraged easily, tries to find information among the nearby raider gangs instead: Fiends, Vipers, Jackals or Great Khans, he's not too picky. The current state of the raiders in the Mojave quickly informs him that they're failing one by one against the power of New Vegas, and he renews his efforts to find the recipient of the endless streams of caps. Thwarted at every turn, he and the sole survivor retire to Gomorrah, where they bemoan their bad luck while the courier sits a few seats down from them, listening in and smirking.

Longfellow: "Just point me to the nearest saloon. If I can't cool down, I'll try to forget I'm hot."

Longfellow parks himself at the nearest watering hole and does his best to avoid the scorching Mojave heat. The Maine-born grandpa is pretty miserable during the daytime hours unless he's sitting in front of a fan with a cold beer, swapping stories about Far Harbor critters with the bar regulars. At night he's a bit more open to adventuring with the sole survivor, when the desert cools down and he can see the sights by moonlight. Although he's not a fan of the hustle and bustle of the Strip, most of the large casinos there have air conditioning thanks to the Lucky 38, so he claims a table in the back and glares at anyone who disturbs him and his drink. He gets along with most of the New Vegas crowd though, if they agree to pick up the tab.

Maxson: "We came this way, when the Elders sent me to the East Coast. I wonder if the chapter here is still persevering."

Elder Maxson is surprisingly reluctant to visit the two things that the sole survivor would've thought he'd be interested to see in the Mojave: The Strip, or the Hidden Valley bunker. If pressed, he'll admit that he's not the type to cut loose and gamble, drink or participate in general debauchery as a result of his upbringing and position of authority, but neither is he keen to drop in on the dying Western chapters of his order and become stifled by protocol and ass-kissing. He prefers to wander the desert itself, seeking solitude among the cacti and under the stars. Given the chance, he'd probably nip off to Quarry Junction and anonymously solve the NCR's deathclaw problem, if it hasn't already been taken care of. He refuses to wear his uniform for the entire trip.

Desdemona: "The Mojave probably wouldn't know what to make of our mission, which is how you know it's a good place to hide. I wonder if any of our rescued synths made it out this far."

This is by far the most relaxed the sole survivor has ever seen Desdemona, and why wouldn't it be? She's so far removed from her usual sphere that she drops her usual, tight-knit demeanor and embraces loosening up. She's still not talking openly about the Railroad's operations, but she is more likely to answer questions both personal and professional. Like Deacon, she knows a bit about the Mojave, but not so much that she can blend in completely. Instead, she embraces being a tourist and does all the usual things that go with it: Visiting the Strip, the Sunset Sarsaparilla headquarters, the Thorn, and especially Hoover Dam. When she's looking out over Lake Mead, with the sun getting caught in her hair as it sets on her left, she almost looks happy.

[junicai]

Relationship with NCT 127

➣ Taeil ☾ taria 

taeil is the Sole Protector of aria’s sanity 

taeil loves his maknaes so much, but he literally looks at her like she put the stars in the sky 

the Proud Dad smile :’)

when aria first debuted, czennies thought that she was the same age as jungwoo - because she acted older than her age - but with taeil she lets her inner kid come out 

highkey dependent on his approval for things in relation to singing

“was, was that ok?” “perfect, ari.”  “ (O_O;)  - (◕‿◕)♡”

she will fight mark and donghyuck for his attention, and she will win

for a while, the two had shared a dorm room before they were rearranged, and taeil let her slip into his bed when she was feeling homesick 

the offer is still open, but aria takes him up on it less and less

taeil is NOT sad about that. absolutely not.

he’s vehemently against any and all diets she tries - saying that if she gets any smaller he’s going to be able to pick her up with one hand

que him dragging her out for ice-cream after a promotion, paying no mind to her protests

aria helps taeil with translating a lot of things into english during lives and interviews - so much to the point where he’s picked up a bit of an irish accent and the others never fail to clown him for it 

taeil still has the small braided bracelet that aria gave to the members on their first anniversary of nct (he keeps it in the drawer beside his bed)

aria is his self-professed happy virus. he told czennies in a vlive once that her smile makes him feel really happy and he wants to protect it to the best of his ability

aria always fixes his micpack before they go onstage if its crooked, because she comes out after him in the lineup

they have monthly movie nights and they alternate who chooses the movie / show (taeil normally goes for mystery or drama themed ones, while aria enjoys making them both sob miserably)

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

aria and taeil singing “I See the Light” from tangled for the NCT Music channel, and the tears that were shed by both moonis and realtai alike. sm really popped off with the staging and the lighting of the whole video - between the smiles that were on both of the singers faces and the whole ambiance created, its a cinematic masterpiece 

no one was surprised when it hit 2 million views in a day, and a lot of solo stans were born from that video

➣ Johnny ☾ johria

indisputable siblings 

there is not a single czennie who ships these two romantically, and that’s because they’re just too wholesome 

johnny is one of the few members that aria calls “oppa”, mainly because of the age gap and sm wanted her to appear respectful, but also because he thinks she looks so cute

very chill, excellent vibes

their vlives are either chaotic messes or the closest thing to therapy since ice cubes 

the blanket on aria’s bed? that was a gift from johnny - she had been complaining to mark about how cold she always was anemia tings

czennies are begging for sm to allow aria to open up a solo instagram account, becuse they see the amount of pictures johnny takes of her

in the park? he’s making her pose in front of the flowers. backstage before a show? the lighting, c’mon.

big big bear hugs - the height difference make nctzens want to die 

185cm vs 158cm? p l e a s e she’s so tiny in comparison  (/ =ω=)/

when she gives him backhugs it looks like a little kitten trying to wrestle with the family dog 

play fighting about vernacular:

“ITS CALLED A SIDEWALK” “S I D E W A L K, ITS A FOOTPATH YOU BUFFOON”

very vocal about her wellbeing, and has asked fans before to remind her to take better care of herself and get to sleep sooner

aria, starting a vlive at 3am: hi hi~

the comments: NO GO TO BED

johnny helped her a lot when it came to the style change in choreography, as aria was used to soft, flowing movements and not the powerful, sleek style that most nct dances have 

consistently forgets the fact that she is not the fourteen year old he first met, and is, in fact, an adult now. “you’re a child” “im 18″ “...no”

is the person to get angry on her behalf when interviewers belittle or ignore her 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

during a fansign, a fan asked aria who did she think was the most comforting when she was stressed (besides mark and donghyuck) and aria said johnny. “he’s so, constant? like nothing seems to knock him or throw him off, and that’s really comforting when i feel unsteady.”

johnny is now known as aria’s weighted blanket. 

that is all. 

➣ Taeyong ☾ ariyong

taeyong took one look at aria the first time she showed up for group practice and immediately adopted her (not literally, but he would if he could)

eomma meets highly protective older brother meets life coach type beat? 

so so soft for her its sickening 

says he doesn’t have favourites and will then spend an hour cooking for aria because she’s been in the studio for the whole day and he knows she hasn’t eaten yet

when aria was given a duet to do for the sm stages, she had to pick another member to do it with and her first choice was taeyong

she always has said that taeyong is one of the pillars keeping her upright and sane - without him she wasn’t sure if she would have been able to complete her training

because of all the schedules they share together, if aria isn’t rooming with mark then she’s definitely rooming with taeyong

whenever she does his makeup (more often than you’d think) she point blank refuses to cover his scar, even when he asks her to 

“please? i don’t like it.” *gasp* “how dare you.” 

sleepy aria! snuggling into taeyong’s shoulder when a schedule ran late! 

he gets uncomfy when the stylists put her in too revealing clothes, and has spoken to them on numerous occasions about dressing her in age-appropriate attire, no matter how “sexy” the concept might be 

he keeps little bags of sugar-dusted strawberry sweets in his bag incase she forgets to eat and feels faint after the last time (they used to be blueberry flavoured, but he heard donghyuck throwing out any and all “blueberry-contaminated” food one evening)

taeyong doesn’t tolerate hate towards aria, especially in person, so he always makes sure to sit down the line from her so that he can see when people skip intentionally her

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

taeyong had just been awarded the solo bedroom on the last night of the Mtopia series, and was staring off into the corner looking rather uncomfortable. aria, who was meant to be rooming with baekhyun looked over and saw his mouth curled downwards slightly. 

“baekhyun-oppa, is it ok if i room with taeyongie-oppa tonight? i ran out of my tablets, and he has some in his bag..” 

baekhyun looked down at her with a small smile and agreed, while on the video edited captions appeared with the words, “a cute maknae, asking to room with a younger member...”

➣ Yuta ☾ nakamiya

the president of realtai 

this man is absolutely, completely and irrevocably whipped for aria and she is not afraid to use that to her advantage

she beat him at arm wrestling because she pouted at him - she’s too powerful 

aria.exe stopped responding when yuta started to playfully flirt with her the first few times

*winks* “hu-wha-”

one of the most outwardly protective members of her, because he feels a sense of responsibility for the younger girl

he was one of the trainees she first befriended, aria’s korean not being good enough to hold a decent conversation, and yuta happy that there was another japanese trainee 

9 times out of 10, when the members are making their way through crowded areas like airports yuta is always behind or directly beside aria

during a fansign one of the fans asked why he did that, and he said that he needed to keep her in his line of sight or else he’d get anxious that she’s so small that she could get swallowed in the crowds 

yes aria hit him for the short comment 

yuta, 50% of the time: you’re not allowed date until you’re 35

yuta, the other 50% of the time: bro where’s your boyfriend

he complains that she isn’t as sweet as she was when she first joined, and that hyuck must have corrupted her (╬ Ò﹏Ó)

he let’s her braid his hair when its longer, them both sitting on a bed with yuta in front and aria kneeling behind him so she can reach 

he was the first person to take her home for the holidays, because ireland was too far to go back for a week over christmas 

“what do you mean you’ve never been to japan???” 

bitching about the other members in japanese? more likely than you’d think 

when aria turned legal in korea, yuta took her out drinking and made sure to post pictures of her with her flushed cheeks on his instagram story with the caption “aish, i told you to pace yourself....” “happy birthday riri”

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

you know that one clip of the sasaeng getting absolutely trashed by nct’s bodyguard and taeyong jumping 7 feet into the air? 

well taeyong wasn’t the only one startled; standing beside yuta, aria was closest to the wall of fans when the girl ran forward towards the members. aria jumped in fright, while yuta barely made a face (#unbothered). he simply wrapped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her around to the other side, tucking her underneath his arm.

tsundere!yuta

➣ Doyoung ☾ dori

*ahem* WHIPPED *ahem*

doyoung adores aria so much 

was he unsure about a girl being added to a group of boys? yes but it was moreso concern about how he was going to make sure she wasn’t accidentally trampled

they bonded over a night in the recording studio when he found her sitting on the floor with music sheets scattered around her 

a whole mentor when it comes to singing 

aria always turns to him after singing - especially when it wasn’t planned, like at a fansign - to see if she did a good job

doyoung has yet to tell her that she hasn’t but sue her, she appreciates the validation

the original mother and Will Not Let Taeyong Forget It

doyoung, dragging aria out of the studio: now listen here young lady-

kitten and bunny friends RISE

no seriously sm released merch of a kitten and bunny plushie and it sold out in a day

when aria had the accident that led to her two month hiatus, doyoung was the one who rode in the ambulance with her after refusing to let go of her hand 

“i’m sorry sir, only family are allowed in at the moment-” “we are her family” *nurse looks around the room at the 14 other boys sitting anxiously*

he is a weak, weak man he will crumple on any decision if she smiles and slash or whines at him even slightly 

carries band-aids and support strapping in his practice bag because he knows that she gets really bad blisters when she hasn’t practiced while wearing her heels in a while, and he makes her wrap her ankles for the first few sessions incase she falls 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENTS.

NCT 127 Take a Friendship Test (Glamour - 2020)

“ahh, my first impression?” *laughs* “actually, we first met in a recording studio, at like. 3 o’clock in the morning? he stuck his head in the doorway and i was so tired that i thought i had died and an angel had come to save me...”  (*μ_μ) 

➣ Jaehyun ☾ jaria

you know how cheetahs in the zoo get emotionally support puppies?

this is the same type of vibe

very snuggly together? but only in specific scenarios, like when jaehyun is too tired to move after a movie night, he’ll just kinda engulf aria in a hug and make her sleep on the couch with him 

any back hug she gives him turns into a piggy back, its non-negotiable 

likes to randomly compliment her to see how red he can make her face go

did she have a crush on him when she first moved to korea? yes, but who didn’t

that faded really quickly though once she started into the group officially - now they are more like siblings

they don’t interact that much on camera? rip to the jaria shippers

but that doesn’t mean they aren’t close with each other its just that a lot of their interactions happen off-screen

naturally, jaehyun began to think of her as a younger sister over the years they performed together 

jaehyun will end anybody who lays a hand on aria 

a little bap bap if you will 

he asked her to take him ice-skating one day, and the entire time was spent with aria laughing her ass off as he ate the ice nearly fourteen times before getting the hang of it 

he takes her out for food when he notices that she’s been put back on a strict diet plan (aria thinks she’s good at hiding those pieces of paper, but she forgets that when she puts it on top of things, that other people are a lot taller than her and have a higher vantage point)

the prince and princess of nct? check 

head pats

he likes to pat her head and she’ll swat it away immediately until she gets tired and just lets him do his thing 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

jaehyun was wearing a flower crown placed carefully on his head as he bent down slightly to run his hands through the damp grass. a soft shutter sound went off, before he heard a hum coming from behind him. “jaehyun-ssi, could you take off the flowers? we can’t see your face clearly because of the shadow.”

jaehyun glanced backwards at aria’s retreating figure, being chased by donghyuck with hands still stained green from the grass she had shifted through to find the fallen flowers. she stopped and waved at him before resuming her run.

“i’d rather not, if that’s alright. i think it fits quite well with the theme.”

➣ Jungwoo ☾ ariwoo

oh my god someone please stop these two

once jungwoo taught aria about the power that aegyo holds for persuasion tactics against the older members of 127, they were unstoppable 

you should be afraid of them

100% have plotted someone’s murder before (and have succeeded, czennies always wondered where that last manager went after The Incident)

aggressively cute together - to the point where your teeth will rot 

jungwoo will intentionally flirt with aria just to fluster her because its “so easy to do”

not very physically affectionate, but jungwoo has no hesitation calling out “uri fighting haeyadwae!” to her when she looks like she needs a little encouragement 

jungwoo is the reason she wants to do a bachelors degree after finishing high school 

he used to help her with her maths assignments after school when she was struggling with managing her time 

they’re called the “aegyo duo” of the group, and there has yet to be an outright winner of the competitions to find the cutest member (its aria. jungwoo said it himself, its aria but we been knew)

they have an odd dynamic of looking like best friends the first second, evil masterminds the next and then siblings who want to murder each other but they make it work 

will and has flopped down on her while she was laying on the practice floor and then whined when she tried to get up 

he spilled the tea that aria gets super emotional and affectionate when she’s drunk 

cutest shit ever that made ariwoo shippers lose their absolute minds was the clip that got released in the behind the scenes filming of Kick It, where jungwoo was half asleep in the corner and aria just pops up out of nowhere to shove a folded jacket under his head and made sure to prop it in a way that he wouldn’t get a sore neck when he woke up

jungwoo is the reason she knows korean curse words (dont tell doyoung)

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

aria wobbled in her heels slightly as she stepped out of the van, trying to hold a blanket up to protect her legs while she slid off the seat onto the ground. jungwoo extended an arm around her waist, gripping the blanket in his other hand and carefully holding her to make sure she didn’t trip on the cobbled stone.

➣ Mark ☾ mari

1/2 of the best friend crew

honestly at the beginning, mark and aria weren’t very close, having only really seen each other in passing or with johnny 

but after being dropped into training together the two quickly became fast friends, and now they’re borderline inseparable 

you thought you knew pain? watch aria’s reaction to mark’s graduation from dream :)

mark’s the reason why aria felt confident enough to pitch some of her lyric ideas to the team, after staying up until 4am to help her make some edits so she was as confident as possible 

kinda just, rests his head on her shoulder? and wraps his arms around her waist when he’s tired 

mari being confused in foreigner: ??? 

aria said once in a vlive that she finds mark really comforting to be around - when she feels stressed or worried about something she’ll go to mark’s room and just sit on his bed for a while

aria is so close with his parents - “ahh, how’s my favourite child” “i’m doing great mom.” “no not you, how’s aria?” “wh-hu-MOM?” 

you’d swear sometimes mark is younger than her, considering the pout he puts on and how much he whines when they’re not on the same team together for promotions

mark big protecc boi but also little small cuddly boi 

they’re so soft for each other ( ╥ω╥ )

in one of the fancams for mark’s solo stage during superm, someone zoomed into aria singing along with him in the wings and dancing to herself with the Proudest Smile(tm)

he’s! so! proud! of! her! constantly! she could be walking and he’d be like “omg get it” 

when aria refuses to get up and make herself food (this happens way too often, she just gets into the groove of her work and doesn’t want to move) mark gets her to by threatening to do it himself 

consistently caught by czennies just standing behind her and holding her hand in crowded areas - airports, waiting rooms, etc. 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

mark and aria were standing off to one side as the mc explained the rules of the game they were about to be playing. mark looked totally confused, and elbowed aria in her side before looking down and mouthing “what?” to her. aria opened her mouth, before closing it and looking down at the ground, muttering to herself, “결합... 結合..... le chéile.... le... le.. oh oh - combined! we have to put them together, markie.”

and thus, a new confusion meme was born

➣ Haechan ☾ arichan

the other half of the best friend crew

absolute heathens to be around when they are together 

donghyuck is the person aria is closest to, and someone she’d call her best friend (only when she was sure he wouldn’t hear her)

she calls him “the demon child i can’t get rid of” but will, and has definitely pouted when he ignored her for too long 

generally aria is a pretty soft spoken person, but not with hyuck around - he brings out all her chaos energy (please pray for the patience of dotae)

the pair have a little tradition of kissing the back of each others’ hands before going on stage for good luck. they can’t even remember how it started, but now its an unnegotiable pre-show ritual

he’s so clingy with her absolutely everywhere its painfully adorable  (ಥ﹏ಥ)

interviews? hyuck has a hand on her knee, or if she’s wearing a skirt he’s tucked his hand in between their chairs so she can hold it discreetly. in the dorms? full body tackle onto the couch, where he proceeds to lay on top of her completely. 

because of hyuck’s nickname being the sun, and aria always being around him, czennies gave her the nickname “moon” to go with him

fans thought that aria was older than hyuck for a good year and a half before she released her birthday on a vlive, because she’s normally the one tasked with reigning his chaotic energy in during promotions (that is, if she hasn’t already joined him)

but off-camera, aria is absolutely hyuck’s baby there is no disputing that. aria’s sad?he’s there with ice-cream and a blanket and a baseball bat.

the winnie the pooh character that is on aria’s bed was a gift from hyuck for her 17th birthday, after she made him watch seven episodes of the show on netflix with her one night 

yes he complained, but he slapped her hand away when she went to change it to something else 

a twitter thread of a czennie comparing their horoscopes together went viral when people realized that it was quite plausible that the pair were each others (platonic) soulmates 

after an incident involving blueberries, donghyuck took it upon himself to check the ingredients of every. single. food item in their dorm to make sure it was ok for her to eat 

hyuck clowns her for her irish accent, and aria curses him out in japanese

tldr: they cute or whatever 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

donghyuck was doing a vlive in his bedroom, sitting and talking to czennies when aria opened the door to his room quietly. she didn’t say anything, just waved slightly with almost closed eyes before she crawled underneath his covers and tucked her plushie underneath her chin. hyuck didn’t even blink at it - so it must have been a regular occurrence.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

 You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

 “Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

 You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

 Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

 “Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

 Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

 “Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

 Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

 “Congratulations, your graces.”

 The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

 Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

 The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

 Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

 Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

 The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

 “The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

 You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

 While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

 You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

 The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

 You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

 Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

 “Your grace?”

 You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

 “Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

 “Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

 You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

 “Are you all right, dear?”

 You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

 “Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

 “You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

 “Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

 You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

 To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

 You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

 By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

 You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

 It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

 You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

 The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

 Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

 “Jemilla?”

 You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

 “Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

 Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

 “Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

 You nodded.

 “How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

 “Is that so?”

 “Why yes. Look.”

 He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

 “How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

 He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

 “My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

 Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

 “I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

 Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

 “Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

 Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

 “It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

 As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

 “Did you call me a coward?”

 You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

 You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

 “All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

 You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

 Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

 A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

 “Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

 “And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

 Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

 “Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

 Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

 “Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

 Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

 “As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

 Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

 You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

 “My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

 You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

 It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

 In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

 Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

 “You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

 You shook your head slightly.

 “Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

 You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

 “Quite fevered,” you whispered.

 Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

 “Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

 Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

 “Already hiding from your husband?”

 You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

 “Tessa.”

 You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

 “Your grace,” she said.

 Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

 “I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

 You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

 “We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

 “Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

 You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

 “Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

 You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

 “So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

 You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

 “Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

 “Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

 “And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

 It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

 “And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

 “Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

 You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

 “Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

 You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

 Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

 “Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

 “We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

 “You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

 You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

 “Are we, your grace?”

 Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

 “I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

 Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

 “Stare into my eyes.”

 They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

 “Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

 “Stare into my eyes.”

 You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

 “If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

 The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

 By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

 You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

 “One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

 “Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

 “No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

 You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

 He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

 “After you, your grace.”

 You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

 “Welcome, your graces.”

 You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

 “I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

 One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

 “Your room, your grace.”

 “Thank you. what is your name?”

 She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

 “Thank you, Ingrid.”

 She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

 “Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

 You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

 Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

 When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

 “Hello there.”

 The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

 “Your grace, is something the matter?”

 You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

 The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

 “Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver  a message?”

 “No! No. Thank you.”

 You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

 You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

 After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

 You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[sugar-petals]

When I look at yuzuru he strikes me as a really soft cutesy charming etheral individual not really homme fatal kind of guy that's why I think he's pure romantic rather than TR what do u think? ( love you btw)

i’ve been thinking about it as well, but it’s not a crystal clear case. he’s a sportsman, skating morphs the body in the most uncommon ways which makes it harder to narrow down the type. 

basics first so we get the foundations right: pinpointing the kibbe category he is + isn’t and why, the subtype after.

1. which one of the big 5?

- safe to say, yes: he’s somewhere in the romantic category. nobody does these outfits quite like yuzu. light fabrics, intricate embellishments, he is famous for all that gorgeous princely tailoring. the sport is all about the sequins, he definitely shines in them. every professional figure skating photographer out there will tell you that he hits different and you can see why.

WOW.

i’ve witnessed people complaining that the glitz and glam no longer suits his age, he gets scorn for not dressing traditionally masculine, but i don’t know how it wouldn’t look appropriate. the only valid criticism is that it’s often a hit or miss, but we’d be damned if this isn’t what an ice prince looks like.

he’s the best in the world and his main goal is to put on a show. rolling up in a polo shirt would contradict the objective, being an allround artist first and only then a jump technician. he’s exactly how you’d expect a yuzuru hanyu to look like. if you appear ‘like yourself’, it’s the right kibbe category.

R clothing typically has a sexy edge as well, you can’t put a kid into that. cut out cleavage, transparent, figure-hugging, no way. if anything, most R styles seemed all over the place when yuzu was younger (this is from 2010). yin is meant to be tailored for adults to begin with, you can’t make it teenage gamine.

eleven years later at 26, yuzuru hanyu in 2021, adult man, wearing the hell out of a skating gala outfit. this would be tacky on someone any younger. R is not just light and sweet but also dignified and mature. long story short. he’s grown into a yin-dominant type. fits to a T, a feast for the eye.

- meanwhile: you can easily exclude dramatic. very thick, stable fabrics with large lines are gigantic on him. D clothing is a yuzu charm killer, figures because it’s the type opposite to romantic (pure yang). it washes out the face and is twice as wide as his frame is, bulks out around the shoulders.

- not a natural type either, it feels a bit too simple, underchallenging. ruffled hair appears dishevelled where it’d be just right on a natural. it doesn’t fully highlight him: natural looks aren’t the most memorable on yuzuru even if they tend to be rather neutral and don’t look too off per se, it has a bit of draping after all. 

he looks really good in the below outfit, but his frame doesn’t fill it out. he’s all elegant underneath and radiates ballet while N is a rough, easy-going, and leisurely concept for very bulky frames. the waist gets missing in translation, the mid-section of shirts like these is too wide.

- not a gamine either. he might appear like one and i deliberated back and forth whether he is Pure G or FG, but the material mix, line breaks, and fashion experiments are creating chaos rather than something put-together. it just isn’t as flattering as when he does drapes and florals. the hair being cropped (typical gamine cut) often obfuscates the face. G styles are confusing on yuzu.

his skating is from outer space but this is probably a bit too galactical 😅

- not a classic. something’s not right, suits like these contrast a lot with how round his face is and sit on his body very randomly. missing waist again (yin). the same people who want him to dress more conservatively/masculine have been roasting yuzu for looking like a salary man in that style 🤔 i sense hypocrisy. in any case, classic underwhelms, he’s made to dress up. more points to yin, he he’s too petite to wear C.

now, we got the main category down, time for subtyping. romantic has two options.

2. which romantic?

arguments in favor of Theatrical Romantic:

this type is what he often portrays in the rink (e.g. the phantom of the opera programme) and has become his secret weapon. whether that speaks of his true type is the question. what i mean is, he can pull it off, the seductive homme fatale. compare jimin, people lose their minds over theatrical romantic men. yuzu is in that lane as well.

as in, balance of main yin with a yang undercurrent — the very gentle, princely young man with the soft face who gathers everyone’s hearts, and he is a damn flirt on ice, but who can give a very visceral, dark performance. that shows a tremendous fervor and an edge, with an athletic and taut body.

he does have some yang elements to his physicality. streamlined silhouette, some narrowness, extreme flat muscle, long triangular upper body, some vertical line. also — his color palette (aka skin undertone, cool v warm, hue, chroma, deepness etc) might match TR. on the other hand, it might simply be the black hair giving him the contrast for it. 

the reason why we might get the TR impression is that he often wears all black which suggests dramatic, and the athleticism in his profession has trained away the chubbiness he might naturally have. the face as the only part that won’t be somehow affected by his routine is all yin. 

arguments in favor of pure Romantic:

... as you pointed out. in private life and backstage, he is quite effortlessly sweet- and small-looking. with the delicacy and doe-eyedness you’d expect from pure romantic, very unlike his performance persona. 

if you didn’t know he’s copyrighted BDE on the ice, yuzu seems like he can’t harm a fly, round rosy bean he is. he makes a very innocent and soft 1st impression in candids which no other type except soft gamine does.

facial features, all opposite of yang. not long, not sharp, not planar, not angular, not bony, not narrow. the button nose, full lips, and puffy cheeks is all you see. you’d not think of him as striking (=D, FN).

that’s also why he’s always pitted as nathan chen’s opposite in whatever he does. nate is on the other end of the kibbe spectrum, people probably don’t even realize that their physical lines are contrasting archetypes. it’s subconsciously part of why people can construct such a rivalry. 

study nathan’s face and it becomes apparent. very oblong shape, flat-laying flesh and an asymmetric jaw that couldn’t be any more prominent (=yang). the brows and eyes create a powerful horizontal unlike yuzu’s more wide-set puppy eyes. the nose is longer, the ears, too. nathan looks sharp, piercing, and intimidating rather than soft. you see the exact outline of the bone.

with him, you assume the reverse of what people think of yuzu at first glance. if you didn’t know that nathan couldn’t be any nerdier, you’d believe he’s 1000% jock-off-the-charts. how he has a lot of yang contributed to his on-ice image, too. one’s kibbe type can shape life choices since people see you in a certain way simply based on your lines.

how yuzu is such a visual difference to nathan further points to how he’s closer to pure yin: rather than a subtype that picks up elements from dramatic. otherwise, you’d see some of that angularity. but no: roundness over structure, you see the flesh, not frame. you couldn’t call him a jock by all means 😆 

you won’t see that chiseled geometry and crazy jawline/browline. as you say he’s more cutesy, and a charmer, the whole fandom will agree. pure romantics have everyone wrapped around their fingers (and their booty lmao!) because you want to pepper them with kisses, yin types all look so non-threatening and beautiful. ethereal is the right word. 

and they’re the sexiest ofc, since they’re curvy. R got hips.

sigh... this type is a showstopper. what to do with him. he can beam at ya or he can sway his hips at ya, another unsuspecting hanyu interessee falls for the guy. he does the prince concept and the sexy cutie alike.

he tries to convince us otherwise 😂

sexy aside, he looks great in the respective clothing recs, with waist emphasis and rounded edges. kimonos are often soft dramatic or natural-inspired, but it works out well this way. and again: romantic is not childish/playful clothing of some kind, it can be very official and deliberate.

rather than in edge tailoring which is very loose around his arms and does yuzu no justice. that’s actually the kind of clothing that makes him appear either younger or older depending on if it’s D or C.

TLDR - he might not seem completely yin in his appearance, but that’s because of his excessive sports regimen. since yuzu has been training since he was a kid, we never saw how he’d normally be. he rocks the pure romantic regardless and it’s likely it’s his kibbe type. him wearing R is always a spectacle.

bonus kibbe meme: yuzu, photoshopped to the moon and back, wearing soft dramatic for a toothpaste ad. amazing.

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 2)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationship: Male Part Fae/Female Part Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Anthropology, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Infertility, Birth, Oviposition, Egg-Laying Words:

Commissioned by @ivymemnoch​! The reader and Dr. Halvorg discuss his lingering infertility problem. Amai lays her final clutch of eggs. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Good morning, class!” You said on the first day.

“Good morning!” Fourteen bright voices responded.

All of the children except for baby Yenu were sitting on their tails behind desks in a room that had been set up as a classroom by the staff.

“So, every day each week we’re going to work on a different subject,” You began. “Mondays are reading and language comprehension, Tuesdays are maths and sciences, Wednesdays are social studies and economics, Thursdays are geography and history, Fridays are fun days with arts, crafting, music, and educational games. Today is Monday, so we’re going to start with reading. You should each have a workbook appropriate to your developmental level in your desks, so please take out your reading workbooks.”

As the children shuffled and searched for the right book, Dr. Halvorg stepped inside the classroom with a clipboard. You raised an eyebrow.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I’m observing the children in a school setting to see how they adapt,” He replied.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And I’m also assuming how I teach, correct?”

He dipped his head sheepishly. “I was curious. And it’s for my research.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Mm.” You turned back to your students and fell into your teacher’s voice. “Keenai, if you would begin reading the first sentence, please?”

Keenai picked up his workbook and started reading. “The small dog lives in a red house.”

“Can you tell me which of these words are verbs?”

“Um…” He looked at the sentence, frowning.

“To remind you, a verb is an action word, something someone does.”

“Uh… lived?” He replied slowly.

“Very good.” You said, and he smiled in relief. “Tani, you’re next. Read the next sentence in your book.”

“The red house was built on a wed… wedeness…”

“Wednesday,” You said. “That’s a hard word, I know. Can you tell me what the noun is in that sentence?”

“House?”

“Good! A noun is a person, a place, or a thing. I’m a noun, you’re a noun, the room we’re in is a noun.”

“Is Nenish a noun?” Jinsa asked.

“Yes.”

“Ha ha, you’re a noun!” Jinsa said, pointing at Nenish.

“So are you!” Nenish interjected.

“Hey, hey! Settle down, please!” You called over them, sitting on the edge of your desk. “Fuma, you next.”

Fuma read from his book, and then Amaia. Next, you went down the line of the four-year-olds, having them read a sentence and find colors, shapes, numbers, or sounds in the sentences. The three-year-olds were next, and they simply read small sentences. You then had the one-year-olds spell and say three-letter words.

Their quick development was normal for nagas, as they tended to age quickly until they hit puberty, when their aging progress slowed to accommodate for yearly hibernation, but it was also startling in conjunction with the developmental levels of similar creatures. You had never studied the advancements of a species’ young so closely before, and you had to admit, it was fascinating. You could see why Dr. Halvorg found it so interesting.

You set the children writing tasks appropriate to their learning level and took a moment to talk to Dr. Halvorg, who was scribbling quickly in a notebook.

“They have computers now that you can write on, you know,” You told him, amused.

He looked up over his glasses at you and quirked an eyebrow. “I am aware of that, thank you. I’m not quite so old-fashioned as I seem, regardless of what Amai might tell you.” He looked back down and continued scribbling. “I’m a chronic note-taker. A bad habit I can’t seem to break, though with my profession, it’s often a strength rather than a weakness.”

“Hmm,” You hummed. “And what do your notes say about my teaching?”

“Adequate,” He replied, still scribbling. “Don’t misunderstand, that’s not a criticism. I hold everyone to an extremely high standard. If you hadn’t met expectations, I would have dismissed you.”

“So I meet your expectations?” You asked sardonically.

“At the moment,” He said, snapping his book closed and standing up. “I still want to observe your other classes before I’m completely satisfied.”

“Hmm,” You said again.

True to his word, Halvorg attended every class that week, observing you interacting with the children. Other than a question or two about your future curriculum, he stayed quiet. At the end of the week, he asked that you submit a weekly progress report until you either found a replacement or were dismissed.

It seemed excessive to you, and you were beginning to wonder if he still saw the children as an experiment. He seemed to care about them, but how much of that was genuine and how much of it was his own self-interest? You were starting to feel leery of and disconcerted by him.

Perhaps he picked up on this, because he seemed to go out of his way to avoid you. He had you direct all of your questions and reports to his assistant and rarely picked up his phone. Any conversations were brief and succinct. He did send you notes on your curriculum, making suggestions for each child. If you weren’t already suspicious of his motives, you might almost have though it sweet.

“I think Halvorg is avoiding me,” You told Amai when the two of you went to lunch together. Now that the two of you could hang out after all the years, you made it a point to set time aside for each other and had lunch at least once a week.

“What makes you say that?” Amai asked, drizzling dressing over her starter salad.

“Ever since he watched me teach classes, he’s barely spoken to me. He seemed excited to exchange research notes when I first arrived, but now he seems to have no interest in speaking to me since he finished observing class.”

“He could just be busy,” Amai suggested. “The four year old’s birthdays are coming up. He always does something special for the kids on their birthdays.”

“Are you concerned that he only sees your children as test subjects?” You asked her. “He seems obsessed with them.”

Amai laughed. “I thought that way in the early days, but he genuinely loves kids. If anything ever happened to me or Yenuno, I’m confident Halvorg would take care of them.” She took a sip of her mineral water. “Are you coming to the kids party? You’re invited, obviously.”

“Will there be clowns? I hate clowns.”

She snorted. “Nothing so gauche. I think Halvorg set up a treasure hunt. The kids always love whatever he plans. Honestly, I know I complain about him, but he does make it easy for me sometimes. I haven’t had to plan any major events since the kids hatched.”

“Hmm… I don’t know. It’s strange to me how involved he is.”

Amai sat back in her seat and eyed you shrewdly. “Did he ever tell you about his son?”

You looked up in surprise. “Son? I thought you said he had no children.”

“He doesn’t… technically.” Amai set her fork down. “You didn’t hear this from me so don’t repeat it, but he had a wife nearly a hundred years ago who cheated on him. He raised a boy, thinking he was his son, but the child was actually fathered by the other man. His wife left him and took the boy with her and he never saw him again. I don’t think he ever got over that.”

“Oh, god,” You replied, horrified. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“He’s spend the last several decades saving dying races from the brink of extinction. In a way, he thinks of those children he helped bring into the world as his children, too. And every time he has to let them go, it’s like losing his son all over again. I think the fact that he gets to help raise our babies is something of a gift for him. Trust me, it’s not something he takes for granted.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that,” You said in dismay.

“Halvorg is stuffy, strict, and a stickler for protocols, so he can be difficult to read, but I assure you, he loves my children as if they were his own. It may have started as research, but he has a family now and I think that’s what he wanted all along. Try not to judge him to harshly.”

You conceded with a nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The following Saturday, you attended the kids birthday party as requested. The kids were excited and zooming around the receiving area, shrieking and laughing, all of them wearing party hats and nothing else. Amaia was piggy-backing on Dr. Halvorg, her tail wrapped around his waist for stability and her arms hugged around his neck. Dr. Halvorg walked around completely normally, as if this was a typical action and he was used to it. He watched the children playing with a wide, fond grin on his face.

You walked over to Amai and Yenuno, who were watching from the refreshments table with Yenu, feeding her crackers.

“Nothing like a little bit of chaos in the morning,” You said.

They laughed.

“You’ve never seen them after a group kill,” Yenuno said. “They’re uncontrollable after they’ve taken down an elk together. It’s pretty incredible to watch for me, personally. Nagas in the wild typically don’t work together and they especially don’t hunt together, not even siblings.”

“They are very close and friendly, for nagas,” You remarked. “Markedly different to most snake-related species I’ve met.”

“It’s Amai’s blood and influence that’s doing it, I’m sure,” Yenuno said, kissing his wife’s cheek. “She’s the most friendly and cheerful person I’ve ever met.”

“To be fair, sweetie, you haven’t met all that many people,” Amai said, laughing.

“That is fair,” Yenuno conceded. “My point stands, though.”

“Alright children, gather ‘round!” Halvorg called, and they flocked to him, swirling around him like a whirlpool. “Now, you guys are going to split up into teams to help Nenish, Tahara, and Sadji find their gifts. Nenish will have Tani, Jinsa, and Keenai on his team. Tahara will have Amaia, Osan, Ishni, and Dashu on his team. And Khuzho, Chidil, Fuma, and Itheti will be on Sadji’s team.” He handed a small leaflet to each team. “Follow the clues to find the treasures! Go!”

The kids scattered, giggling madly.

“Come get something to drink and rest for a minute, Halvorg!” Yenuno called. “I think you’ve earned it.”

Halvorg grinned boyishly, an expression that brightened his face and made him look… well… rather handsome. He jogged over to the table and had a ginger ale. Elves have hypermobile ears, and his ears were high and wiggling slightly, a normal indication in elvish peoples of happiness and excitement.

“I think they’ll really enjoy their gifts this year,” Halvorg said, taking sips of his soda. “And the treasure hunt is half the fun. It’s challenging, but not too difficult. If they work together, it should be no trouble at all.”

“You didn’t get them history books like last year, did you?” Amai asked with her eyes narrowed. “You might as well have burned the money you spent on those for all the use they got out of them.”

“No, I learned my lesson,” He said defensively. “I bought toys.”

“Educational toys?” Amaia asked shrewdly.

He stopped mid-sip and looked at Amaia with an eyebrow raised. “…maybe,” He said into his cup.

Amaia rolled her eyes. “At least Yenuno and I ordered some stuff the kids will like.”

“You don’t know that they won’t like them,” I said. “I loved educational toys.”

“Yeah, but you’re a nerd,” Amaia said, poking you playfully.

“So what? Your kids could be nerds, too. I’m pretty sure Osan is going to be a Star Wars fan. He’s been talking my ear off about the Mandalorian.”

“It’s so strange,” Amaia said, ignoring your response and looking off in the distance. “I thought that because the kids were hatched in clutches, they would be like twins or triples or the like and have similar interests and personalities, but they’re all so different. Different likes, different traits, different styles. It’s amazing.”

“It amazes me, too,” Yenuno said, staring into his drink with a wistful expression. “My siblings and I separated when we were young, so I don’t know what they were like or if we had similar interests. Honestly, until recently, I never gave them a thought. Watching my children work together… it makes me wonder what my own siblings were like, and if they’d still be alive today if we had helped each other.”

There was a contemplative silence for a few minutes, broken by excited voices reentering the receiving area.

“We found it!” Tahara said, holding up a wrapped gift. The other four were carrying smaller treat bags that had their names written on them. “Uncle Maël, look!”

“Excellent! Well done!” Halvorg said, bending to give Tahara a hug. “Now, let’s wait until your brothers return with their gifts before we open them, okay? How about you five play tag until then?”

“Okay!” Tahara said.

“I’ll play with you,” Yenuno said. “I’m starting to get fat, preparing for the incubation period.” He patted Amai’s belly, which carried his three eggs, likely to be the last clutch they’d have together.

“How soon?” You asked Amai as Yenuno took off to chase with his children.

“Any day,” Amai said with a weary sigh. “And I’m ready for it. These little guys are heavy.”

“Boys or girls?”

“We won’t know until they hatch. It’s too hard to get a clear picture with the ultrasound, and besides, even if it could, both the male and female genitalia are internal, so it’s nearly impossible to tell.” She took a sip of ginger ale. “We’re really hoping for at least one girl. Don’t get me wrong, we love the boys more than anything, but we’d like Amaia and Yenu to have some sisters.”

“I’d like to be present for the laying, if that’s okay,” You said.

“For your research?” She asked.

Your head rocked back. “No, because you’re my friend and I want to be there for you.”

Amai smiled fondly. “Oh. Of course, thank you.”

Dr. Halvorg had not added anything to the conversation with you and Amai, and instead went to the table and made a plate of snacks. You gave Amai a look and a cocked eyebrow, and she nodded understanding, slipping away from her spot to watch her husband and children play.

“Dr. Halvorg?”

He flinched and looked up, glancing around furtively and noticing that the two of you were alone. “Yes?”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again before responding, “I’m doing no such thing.”

“I’ve requested at least three meetings with you this past month, and you’re always too busy,” You said dryly.

“Well, I am,” He said, turning. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Are you avoiding me because I asked you out?” You asked bluntly.

He missed a step in his stride and stopped.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I should have realized from your professional demeanor that you wouldn’t be open to interoffice dating. I apologize.”

Halvorg sighed and turned to face you. “It’s not that. Not exactly, I mean.” He set his plate on the table and looked you full in the face for the first time in weeks. “I haven’t given a thought to dating in…” He rubbed his forehead. “Gods… decades. The question took me off guard, of course, and I actually had to sit down and give it some thought. I’ve been wrapped up in my work, of course, but I think I was just distracting myself.”

“From what?”

He sat on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “It’s hard to talk about. I don’t even really talk about it with Yenuno, and I would consider him my closest friend.” He sighed heavily and avoided your eye. “I’ve ignored my personal life in favor of spending my career and fortune in this century helping races achieve something I want for myself.”

“Children?” You guessed.

He nodded a little morosely. “Not just that, but that is a significant part of it. I’ve been following the reproduction rates of Celtic fae since the fae were originally integrated and it’s decreasing year by year. I live in constant fear that my own race will be extinct in my lifetime.” He quirked his head at you. “Your race still seems to be fairly prolific, is that correct?”

“Oh yeah, I have a bunch of brothers and a truckload of cousins. No problems there.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what the problem with my race is. I’ve studied genetic traits, magical impediments, marriage and divorce rates, and ratio of coupling to conceptions.The numbers are terrible and I don’t know why. That’s what drives me crazy. I hate not having an answer.”

“Have there been miscarriages?”

“No, that’s the crazy thing, the rate of conception is extraordinarily low. I think there have only been three live births of Celtic fae blood in the last year.”

“Oh, jeez,” You said, sitting against the table next to him. “I didn’t realize the problem was that severe. Have you considered whether it might be a physical problem?”

“How do you mean?”

“Have you ever done a sperm count? Or had an MRI of the area to see if there’s a blockage? That kind of thing can be genetic and men tend to be shy about stuff like that.”

He tilted his head and frowned. “No, I haven’t. It actually hadn’t occurred to me. Honestly, I’ve been so focused on my work to distract myself, it may have worked too well and I ignored such things.” He looked at you and smiled. “You’ve given me something to think about.”

You smiled back. “Good. I wonder if the females of the race have a similar issue. It may have been something bred into the people over time, over centuries.”

“That’s possible,” He said. “There’s certainly a precedent; some creatures have been bred to extinction. Remember the pug?”

“That tiny dog breed with the squashed face?” You said. “Yeah, they died out a while ago, didn’t they?”

He nodded. “That was human interference, though. Yenuno’s people were dying out due to antisocialism; too reclusive to even propagate their own species. Yenuno was the only one of his kind to take up this project, and even he was reluctant.”

“He seems happy now,” You remarked.

“Yeah,” Halvorg said softly, watching Yenuno laughing and chasing his kids with a sad kind of jealousy. “He does.”

You watched his face, the deep, deep sadness creasing his face and making him look older than he was.

“Follow up, Halvorg, see a specialist. This may have a fix that didn’t exist the last time you tried.”

He nodded, smiling at you, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I will.”

As you stood up, you bumped his shoulder lightly. “Thank you for talking to me. I appreciate that you trusted me enough to discuss such a sensitive subject. I get the feeling that you don’t share yourself with many people.”

He laughed. “No, not really.” He looked up with a smile that seemed more sincere. “Thank you for listening.”

Amai went into labor three days later. She was taken to the laying room, where both Yenuno and Dr. Halvorg were present in addition to the interspecies OBGYN. You were suited up in scrubs and the paper gowns that surgeons wear, as was everyone else in the room besides Amai, who was completely naked, and Yenuno, who never wore clothing. There were natal heart monitors on her belly and an EKG hooked up to her chest.

Amai was sitting on a specially designed chair that would allow her to pass the eggs through her birth canal and into the waiting arms of the doctor. She was already sweating and panting by the time you arrived. The OBGYN and Dr. Halvorg were having a quiet conversation. You went to the other side of Amai and took her hand, trying not to wince when she nearly crushed your fingers.

“Is she okay?” You asked in alarm.

“She’s not fully dilated yet,” Halvorg said, pulling his braid into a surgical cap. “The eggs are getting impatient, it seems.”

“Yeah, well, so am I, so they can settle the fuck down!” Amai shrieked at him.

He bore the abuse with no reaction other than a wry smile. Yenuno wisely said nothing and simply wiped Amai’s forehead with a cloth.

“It won’t be long,” the OBGYN said. “She’s almost there.”

“Just saw me open and get them out,” Amai moaned. “It would hurt less.”

Yenuno tried to kiss her cheek, but she swatted him away weakly.

“No,” She said peevishly. “No touching ever again.”

“You said that last time,” He said, smiling fondly.

“Yeah, but I mean it this time,” She said sulkily.

“Of course you do, darling.” He patted her head. She scrunched her face up at him in annoyance. She was always adorable when she was miffed.

“I’ll make you into shoes,” She said sourly. “And a matching purse.”

It took a while for Amai to dilate fully, and by then she was very tired. Yenuno was looking worried; she’d laid several eggs over the years and never struggled this much before. Perhaps this being their last clutch was a good idea.

“Okay, I think we can start pushing now,” The doctor said, getting ready to catch the eggs. “Amai, when you feel the next contract, hold your breath, bear down, and push.”

“Okay,” She breathed. “One’s coming.”

We all braced for the push. Amai took several quick deep breaths and held it, her face pulled tight in pain and effort, doubling over in the chair as she did. You and Yenuno held her hands and patted her back and murmured encouragement. Halvorg was waiting with a soft cloth to take the eggs for cleaning, after which they would be laid in a specialized incubating carrier to be taken to Yenuno’s cottage.

The first egg came slowly and with much screaming. The doctor caught it and handed it off to Halvorg. The shell of the egg was soft and needed extremely delicate care, but Halvorg was well practiced by now and got the egg washed and into the carrier under ninety seconds and returned for the next.

The second egg came more quickly, but Amai screamed the whole time. By the time the third and final egg was laid, her voice was raw and she was too exhausted to scream.

But it was over. She fell back into the recline of the chair as if boneless and breathed in shallowly, her eyes barely open.

“You were amazing, darling,” Yenuno said gently, kissing Amai’s face. “Rest. I’m taking the eggs to the cottage. The children will visit you when you’ve slept.”

She turned her head slowly to look at him and touched her fingertips to his face, tracing down his cheek, chin, neck and chest before letting her hand fall back to her side, and her eyes closed. Nurses came to whisk her away to a recovery room, the OBGYN following behind. Yenuno and Halvorg left to take the eggs to the cottage for the incubation, and you were left alone in the laying room.

As you were shedding the paper gown and surgical cap, you noticed a small book lying on the ground. It looked to be one of Halvorg’s research journals, though it was smaller than his usual ones. He must have dropped it out of his back pocket when he was disrobing. You picked it up and took it with you with the intent on returning it to him in the morning.

And of course, you’d completely forgotten by the time you woke up.

Amai recovered enough in a few days to be up and walking around. She and the children took turns keeping Yenuno company, as he grew morose if he was left alone too long. You had declared half days until the new babies hatched so that they could have more time with their dad.

One afternoon, after the children had left class for the day, Dr. Halvorg came in and sat on the edge of your desk.

“Hello,” You said pleasantly, closing the folder with their latest work for grading. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I wanted to let you know I took you up on your advice,” He said, looking a little bashful. “I went and saw a specialist. They’re going to be doing some tests soon. Sperm count, blood tests, an MRI. Any test that can be done will be done.”

“Good!” You said, swinging your chair around. “I’m glad. Maybe you’ll finally get an answer.”

He sighed, looking pensive and anxious. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I still wanted to thank you for pushing me to do it.”

“I didn’t push you to do it, Maël,” You said. His eyes narrowed at your use of his first name, but he didn’t say anything. “I just brought the subject up. It was your decision to do it.”

“Well, thank you all the same,” He replied. “I admit, I’m nervous about it. I could either get wonderful news or have my worst fears confirmed. I don’t know how I’ll react to either option.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” You asked him.

He looked at you in surprise. “You… you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t,” You replied. “But this is the kind of thing you need friends for. And since Yenuno is tied up with the eggs, I could be a good substitute. You don’t even have to think of me as a friend, if you don’t want to, just an emotional support associate.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I think of you as a friend.”

“Well, thank you. I was hoping we’d get there eventually. So? What do you think? Want some support for this?”

“Not for the tests, I can do those by myself perfectly well,” He said, adjusting his tie nervously. “But… for the results… perhaps… a friend would be nice.”

“I’ll be there for you, then,” You said, standing and patting his arm. “Does Yenuno know about this? Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” He replied. “I didn’t want to tell him while he’s dealing with his own new babies. Besides, if the news is not good, I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. If the news comes back positive… I don’t know… I think this is one thing I’d rather keep to myself.”

“Except for me, you mean,” You said.

He nodded concedingly. “Besides you.”

“Let me know when the results come back and I’ll go with you. We’ll make a day of it, go to a spa, get a bikini wax together, eat some overpriced salads, buy something ridiculous we want but don’t need. It’ll be a blast.”

He actually laughed a little. “Sounds like a plan.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[ginevranights]

The Rose

Pairing: Neal Caffrey x Female! Reader

Co-writer: @bathed-in-lilac 

Summary: Early in his career as a con man, Neal Caffery met a woman who went by the name ‘Victoria Rose’ Aka Y/N L/N. Soon after, he realises she’s also a con artist and he falls for her...hard. However, Y/N seems to be the only one of them who realises that maybe people in her profession don’t get to find love.

A/N: So...if your name's Victoria Rose 1) cool name! 2) for the sake of this fanfic you can imagine a different first name used...I guess Grace. Anyway… this was co-written by the wonderful bathed-in-lilac and honestly I could not have written this without her. She literally wrote everything I got stuck on and helped me develop my ideas. So thank you so much!

Warnings: Spoiler for White Collar I guess. It has been out for over 10 years now.

Words: 2800

--------------- & ---------------              

{Paris-----&-----2000}

Y/N L/N was not a name that one would find on the invite list and yet here she was, standing on the balcony of an engagement party she wasn’t invited to, staring out over Paris. She was wearing a simple dress, appropriate for the occasion, and had jewellery that screamed ‘I have money!’ Whether the jewellery was actually expensive was another matter…

She had gotten into the party using the name ‘Victoria Rose’. Victoria was a distant family member of the future groom and she ran a successful flower business in cities like London, New York and - of course - Paris. Y/N L/N, however, was a con artist. And a good one at that.

“You’re not a fan of choreographed dances?” Y/N turns around and is faced with gorgeous blue eyes that belong to a handsome brunette. Y/N blinks slightly but takes a sip of her drink.

“You’d think a couple with such impeccable wine taste would know that choreographed dances are cheesy and tacky.”

“Point taken,” the man nods and stands next to her, putting a hand out in greeting. “Nick Halden.”

“Victoria Rose,” ‘Nick’ places a gentle kiss to Y/N’s palm and she smiles slightly “such a gentleman.” 

“Are you on the bride or groom’s side?” 

“Groom’s,” Y/N lies “I’m assuming you’re on the bride’s side?”

“Yeah,” ‘Nick’ nods. “I’m happy for her, it seems like he’s a good one. I mean, by the looks of that ring, she probably won’t have to work another day in her life. I mean, they have to keep that thing in a safe. It probably costs a fortune.” Y/N inwardly smirks, she knew this tactic, it seemed Nick Halden may be someone of the same profession. It was time to change the subject.

“Who needs a big flashy ring when you’re in love?” Y/N asks with a small smile “I mean did Romeo and Juliet give each other anything fancy? No. And their love story is famously one of the best. It was tragic, yes. But it was… beautiful in a way.”

“You sound like you haven’t found your love story yet…” 

“No… no I haven't and I don’t think I will. My job involves me moving around a lot and it’s hard to find someone. Actually...I don’t even really know if I want someone,”

“Everyone wants love… in one way or another. Maybe you just need to find someone who’ll fit your lifestyle,” ‘Nick’ says slowly, maintaining eye contact with Y/N.

“Hm, and on that note, I need more wine,” she waves her empty glass and heads back inside, sparing a glance at the man she was never going to see again. It was a polite conversation that would go nowhere. She was more prepared; she was taking the ring tonight and he didn’t have a clue where it was even stored.

{Neal’s hotel-----&-----Later that night}

Later that night, Neal Caffery and Y/N L/N returned to their respective hotels, one with a two and a half million-euro engagement ring, the other an anxious expression as he prepared to tell his co-conspirator that the ring was already gone when he got there.

“How did this happen?!” Neal was silent as Mozzie stared down at him. “Okay, start over. Tell me everything you did. Somebody else must have known what you were going to do and got there before you.” 

“I don’t know what happened, Mozz. I barely talked to anybody there. The only person I properly talked to was some woman for a couple of minutes and she didn’t seem like a threat.”

“Neal…” Mozzie sighed and pinched his nose, clearly exasperated. “What was her name?”

“It was Victoria something…like the queen, y’know? She was pretty enough to be royalty, and she said she was related to the groom -”

“Neal, I don’t care. I need her name,” Neal takes a moment. He remembered a flower…

“Oh! Yeah, I think her name was Victoria Rose.”

“Victoria Rose? Victoria Rose?! That’s who you chose to talk to?!”

“Yes Mozz! What’s so important about her?”

“Neal you’re an idiot.”

“What, why? What did I do? It’s not my fault somebody else got to the ring first.”

“Well, seeing as you were talking to Victoria Rose it sort of is your fault.”

“Mozzie, I still have no idea who that is. Besides, I’m sure we can find another ring, expensive engagement rings aren't that rare,”

“Neal...you just met one of the best con artists. To the criminal world, she’s a myth, to the feds, she doesn’t even exist,” Mozzie muttered, eyes narrowed as he looked in Neal’s direction. “Nobody even knows her real name.”

“Oh really?” Neal tilted his head curiously, the words clearly not having the effect that Mozzie wanted them to. Instead, Neal let a faint smirk appear on his face “That’s kinda-”

“Nope… nope, I don’t want to hear it.”.

{Edinburgh-----&-----2000}

Y/N didn’t know the people who threw the party, but she did know some fellow...colleagues she had to speak to. Although, that business was over quickly and she had time to mingle. She had grabbed another glass of champagne when he had come up to her “I love your alleged work,”

“You didn’t even know who I was a few months ago,”

“That’s a compliment to you,” Y/N had looked into those blue eyes again and decided she could stay to chat. He’d introduced himself properly and she’d been shocked that this was who her New York contacts were talking about - Mozzie’s new partner. She’d given him her current allies and he’d raised an eyebrow. However, that didn't stop them from talking for hours and when the countdown started, Y/N had let him place a gentle kiss to her lips before disappearing… it was tradition.

{Italy-----&-----2001}

When Y/N snuck into a gallery that night in Italy, she had definitely not expected to see Neal standing there - she was always shocked when he appeared. He had been entirely unaware of her presence when she first made her way into the main room, instead he was focused entirely on the gallery’s main exhibit: the chandelier. Y/N had decided to change that, slipping on a faint smile as she made her way toward where he was standing. She tapped him on the shoulder, relishing in the amusement she felt when he jumped. He had turned around and, for some reason, he seemed to smile when he saw that it was her. It was almost as though he was happy.

“Good evening, Mr. Halden,” she had said, a sly smile on her face. “It is still Halden, isn’t it?”

There had been no verbal response, simply a faint hum and a nod of his head. She had watched him, an amused expression on her face as his eyes met hers. Whilst Y/N was wondering if he was also here to check the gallery's security, he was distracted by her eyes. Given that information, it was no surprise when he turned and fell face first into the chandelier on display. It had tumbled to the ground with a loud crash and, before she could even think about what she was doing, Y/N had grabbed Neal by the hand and tugged him toward the door. That night they both got away and, when Neal kissed Y/N’s cheek in thanks, nobody would have known about the heat rapidly rising up her body.

{Monte Carlo-----&-----2002}

The next time they met, Neal was the shocked one. He had been in the middle of replacing a painting that had just been delivered to the museum with his own forgery when Y/N had appeared out of nowhere. She was dressed like any female thief would be and was obviously also surprised to see him nicking a painting. She’d raised an eyebrow and made some confusing hand gestures, to which he had responded with even more gestures. Neal couldn’t believe it was the ‘myth’ con artist Mozzie had named ‘The Rose’ who just sighed and left the gallery. She’d let him take the actual painting with no fuss. She could’ve gone to the police and gotten the competition out of the way. Instead, he got a free drink at the bar later that night and a note saying he should think about making some original artwork. Neal had realised there and then, he may have a little crush on ‘The Rose’.

{London-----&-----2003} 

 After that night, Neal and Y/N met frequently at museums, parties, galas, basically anywhere with anything of any value inside. And at some point, they stopped meeting at those places and started meeting at hotels instead. Hotels where they'd get drunk and stumble into bed, clothes covering the floor. Hotels where they'd wake up wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about nothing and everything at once. But still… Neal didn’t know her real name. 

That seemed like centuries ago now though, as they lay in their latest hotel bed. It was early morning, the light from the sun just barely managing to light up the room with its warm golden glow. It was that golden sunlight that ended up waking up the couple that was still tangled in each other’s arms. Neal woke up first, slowly blinking his eyes open and then glancing down at Y/N who was starting to wake up. She made a faint humming sound as she rested her head against Neal’s chest and then pressed gentle kisses to the side of his neck. He smiled at her, one hand beginning to gently card through her hair. When she mumbled good morning to him, he could feel her words warm against his skin.

There was something about the situation that just felt so right. It was almost as if it had been designed this way. They were supposed to work perfectly together. Still holding her close to his chest, Neal leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the top of Y/N’s head. He thought about how wonderful it would be if he could just stay here forever. If only things could be that easy. He knew that maybe their lives were just meant to be complicated. It almost seemed fitting that Romeo and Juliet had been the first thing they talked about.

“I’ve been thinking…” Neal starts, testing his voice out for the day

“Hmm, that’s never good,” Y/N responds quickly, her voice croaky as she snuggles her head further into his chest.

“When we met... you mentioned Romeo and Juliet, but you never told me if you were a fan of Shakespeare.”

“No, it was just the first example I could think of and a good excuse to change the subject,” Y/N laughs slightly.

“I think you’re lying. Or I think that deep down you want something like that; you like romance.”

“Do I? Well then maybe you should step it up a bit because this is not the beautiful love story idea I had that night.”

“It could be,” he whispered slowly. “We could move to Paris. I mean, we could go right now - run away. Take the train on the Eurotunnel across to France and ignore everything and everyone.”

“That’s a nice dream to have, but that’s all it is, isn’t it? A dream? We can’t actually have that.”

“But why not? What’s stopping us?”

“I… I just can’t. I’m sorry,” she whispered, a regretful expression on her face.

“At least tell me your name. Please?”

“Let’s just go with Juliet....”

 {2009-----&-----2012}

Things became more complicated after Neal got sent to prison. However, there was still something pulling them together - an unexplainable force. Y/N kept her distance for a time, but she couldn’t keep herself from meeting with him once she had heard about Kate. She was worried about him. She knew him well enough to realize that he needed somebody to check up on him. That’s the only reason she was going: to make sure he was okay. She wasn’t there to get back together with him because she knew she didn’t have the energy to try. All she wanted was to make sure he was okay so that she could stop worrying and move on with her life.

Of course, things didn’t go the way Y/N had hoped. Neal had charmed her the moment she saw him in one of those damn suits and soon, she was finding herself meeting up with him again, and again...and again. She couldn’t remove herself from the situation. She knew Neal worked for the FBI now and one wrong move could destroy her, yet she was always going back to him.

The restaurant Neal chose looked lovely that night. Y/N had been sent a rather formal invite and she realised immediately that Neal had told the owners it was a special occasion. Was it going to be? The table had been set and a vase of roses served as the centrepiece. The two had sat down to talk and Neal’s reason for inviting her over was soon made clear. He wanted her to stay.

Of course, they’d started with small talk. They spoke about Y/N’s hotel, the weather along with traffic and strangely the latest art thefts. But soon, the topic moved to the mornings when the two would lay in different beds and talk about their future. When Neal would suggest they fly to Paris and settle down.

“I know it may not be Paris...but what if you moved here. What if we spent more than a night together?” Y/N hadn’t known how to respond, but she let him talk, she let him fantasize. Neal seemed to have everything planned out, he wanted her to move to New York, he wanted her to settle down with him and the way he spoke about it… made sure that Y/N could never refuse.

She couldn’t stop herself from nodding and letting herself get lost in the dream Neal was talking about. Maybe she could actually move to New York and forget about her old life. No one knew who she was, she could tell Neal her real name and she could get a job, an actual legal job.

Once Neal was sure Y/N had agreed, he started rambling, an excited look taking over his face whilst he started explaining what their life was and could be like. He’d told her about his work, about his colleagues and his newfound family. Y/N could barely believe that he was talking about the same Peter who had hunted him across the globe for years.

Eventually the night had ended and the two parted ways yet again. Neal had offered to take her back to his place, but Y/N had laughed slightly and declined. Neal being Neal was prepared for this, and so he brought out the rose which was on the centre of their table and tucked it behind her ear. Y/N blushed and quickly left, kissing Neal briefly before setting down the street smiling. 

Her mood was quickly ruined though. She’d stopped to quickly read through the news headlines on the day’s papers - as one does when you know many criminals. One had caught her eye and as she read the article, she realised that the crew that had approached her a few days ago with a job, had been arrested by ‘Peter Burke and his criminal consultant’. She’d almost taken that job…

Now in a panic, she turned around and saw Neal still there, smiling fondly as he waved. She ignored him though and rushed off, disappearing into the nightlife of New York.

It was dangerous being around him, Y/N had always known that but when she had sat at that table and listened to him talk so fondly about Special Agent Peter Burke, she realised he had grown comfortable with his life. Everything she had, everything she had worked so hard for could be taken away just because of Neal Caffrey. He had too much power over her and she knew that the moment she had blindly agreed to moving to New York. And so, after that dinner she decided it was time, time to say goodbye to him. She’d made promises she knew she could never keep. After all, she was a con artist, and perhaps the greatest con she ever pulled was letting herself believe that her and Neal could be happy.

[ot7always]

Forget-me-not

Word Count: 7.4k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Village!AU. Angst. Seriously, it hurts.

Warnings: Mentions of war. Death, grief.

Rating: PG-15

Summary: As much as this had always been a possibility, you never thought that one day your best friend would actually be stolen from you. 

A/N: This fic is part of my 1k Milestone Requests that was picked randomly out of the pool of requests I got!! Thank you to the lovely @jinpanman​ for sending such an interesting request in!! When I started writing this I had just come off of writing so much fluff, so I thought: I guess it’s time to write ANGST and this physically hurt me fhkfldhgf 

--

“Y/N!” a voice called out loudly from downstairs, startling you enough to drop your sewing needle into the mess of fabric on your lap. Your sister had once again managed to tear one of her dresses running around doing whatever it was she did with the neighbour’s youngest son. Not that you could have boasted any more appropriate behaviour when you were her age.

“Just a moment, mother!” you responded, eyeing the damage. Truly, it wasn’t as bad as she made it sound when she came to you in a panic, dirt on her hands and tears on her cheeks. Surely it couldn’t take you more than a few minutes to fix.

“Come now, love! There’s a messenger from the capital outside!”

That had your brows furrowing instantly. A messenger? Here? Surely your relatively small, riverside village was of nearly no importance to the capital aside from paying the annual taxes.

“Coming!” you shouted, rising quickly and tossing the garment onto the chair behind you. The sewing could certainly wait, whereas the capital did not wait for anyone. It was possible the messenger had already started his spiel, and you were much too nosy a person to sit at home while something interesting was happening.

You slipped into your shoes quickly before rushing downstairs and out the door, hoping you still appeared as put together as you had that morning. Perhaps you should have thanked your mother before running full-speed toward the village’s centre, but it was much too late for that now.

When you arrived, a well-dressed man was already standing in the centre of a crowd, luckily only seeming to have just begun speaking.

“-sends his regards from the capital, but also his deepest apologies.”

Before you could ponder his words much, a sudden towering presence beside you stole your concentration for a moment.

Dark brown hair unruly, coat hastily done up, boots unlaced – how Kim Namjoon managed to make looking like a total mess a fashionable statement, you could never understand. But according to the whispers you heard as you went about your day, his unkempt, boyish manliness had stolen many ladies’ hearts in your little village. You would almost be annoyed, if not for the fact that he was so oblivious.

He shot a quick, dimpled smile your way, returned by one of your own before you both concentrated on the man’s speech once again.

“-army had taken a massive hit after the last war. As you know, that was only one year ago, and we have yet to recover properly after the close victory. And it appears that Reina is looking to take advantage of this.”

Reina. A country nearly 2 weeks away by horse, one who recently allied with Xenia through marriage, who your Kingdom’s army had barely defeated last year.

Unease settled over the crowd immediately. You grabbed for Namjoon’s arm instinctively, his hand raising to cover your own only a second later. This couldn’t possibly be what you thought it was, right?

“War appears to be imminent, and it can only be so much longer before tensions snap. We cannot let the Kingdom fall without a fight, and we are calling on all of our allies for assistance. But it is not enough.”

You sucked in a breath.

“The capital has decreed for all able-bodied man over 20 years of age to report for training and assignment. Women may volunteer to join the forces.”

Whispers and hushed cries of disbelief rang out through the crowd, but were quickly quieted by the continued announcements.

“You are expected to be in the capital within one weeks’ time. You may report to me for additional details. That is all.”

You turned to Namjoon with a helpless expression colouring your face, but the one on his was already one of resignation. Every man knew this could always be a possibility – hell, the same thing had happened only years ago for similar reasons, though that that time, your best friend had been too young to be conscripted.

But not this time.

“Namjoon-”

“It’ll be fine,” he cut in quickly, trying to quell the steadily rising despair taking over your features.

It seemed that the other men in the crowd felt the same sort of sad acceptance, hushing their daughters, wives, and friends in the same way.

As much as you might as joked to anyone who asked that Namjoon was nothing more than a nuisance, you hardly went a day without seeing him. His family home was only down the street – a fact you’d learned only days after you grew old enough to play with the other children on your own.

His tiny body had come barreling into your smaller one in a rush, sending your 6-year-old figure straight into a nearby bush. And as any young girl would do after having torn the new dress gifted to you only weeks earlier, to no fault of her own, you recalled throwing quite the tantrum.

You only saw more and more of him after he brought you to his home in a hurry, pushing you towards his mother in a wordless plea to fix whatever problem he caused. And so she mended your dress, urged you to return for tea the next day, and thus began your odd relationship with the clumsy boy.

You were not quite fast friends, your friendship with his mother developing much more quickly than any relationship with him. The younger you was quite adept at holding a grudge, and you didn’t dare forget that this was the boy that almost ruined your birthday present.

But, as children did, you got over it before long, especially after learning that you would be attending the same classes that same year. While a year older than you, an unfortunate illness had befallen him two years prior, holding him back several months.

After weeks of taking the exact same walk to and from school, you’d warmed up to the boy quite a bit. He liked to show you his strange collection of rocks, and in exchange you showed him your collection of fabrics you’d collected from old clothing and blankets over the years. The fact that you’d acted interested in each other's odd habits must have been a testament to your strengthening bond.

Spending your days with him became second nature over time, right up until he’d grown at least a head taller than you and become more man than boy.

You’d seen each other through almost all of life’s troubles; studying together in a harried panic, hurriedly throwing together gifts for birthdays you’d forgotten, and eventually cheering each other on in finding an occupation for yourself.

It must have been a surprise to the other villagefolk that it was you who had become the teacher, and not Namjoon, because it was him dazzling your teachers with grand speeches and uncanny wisdom for his age. Though they could not be surprised long, for it was Namjoon who spent many months of the year in neighbouring villages, and sometimes even the capital, studying to be a doctor.

There were few people in your village with the capabilities to study such a profession, but Namjoon excelled. He preferred not to boast of his abilities, but you heard frequently from your mother that many travellers sung his praises. Your best friend was a rare gem whose future appeared to span far beyond the tiny walls of your village.

Which was why you could not simply accept that he would go off to war, possibly never to be seen again.

“How can you be okay with this? How are you not panicking? Namjoon, I-”

You were unaware of your rising volume until steady hands settled on your shoulders, moving to shield you from the curious eyes now pointed in your direction. How could he possibly take care for your reputation when the country was asking him to give up his life?

“We always knew this might happen some day, Y/N. You know it as well as I do.” His words were firm, but his eyes spoke different words, pained words. Words that he could not say here, for to publicly voice his displeasure would not be taken well. Especially not when so many of the men around you had already gone to war and returned.

He was right that you knew this could happen – you would be a fool not to realize such a thing. Even your father had been lost to war when you were only a child, as is the reality for many children in your village. But did that make this any easier to bear? No person could say that preparing for a possible goodbye made the event any less gut wrenching.

“I’m worried for you,” you eventually whispered, head tipping back to stare into those eyes that had become a constant in your daily life, eyes that, one week from now, you might never see again. That thought sent a new wave of dread through your very being, a hole opening in your chest at the thought of Namjoon riding off, never to be seen again.

“Y/N,” he said, squeezing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of your head and back into this moment with him. “I need to speak with the messenger. Will you wait for me by the pond?”

You could only nod mutely, afraid that if you were to open your mouth, the only thing that would come out would be more words of displeasure.

“I’ll come as soon as I can okay?” he asked gently, voice filled with compassion. A part of you was ashamed that he was here comforting you when it was his life on the line.

When you didn’t make to move on your own, the hands still on your shoulders nudged you to turn around, further words of assurance falling from his lips.

It was as though you had been possessed. Your mind felt suddenly blank, your chest empty, your movements not your own. You hadn’t even realized you were approaching the pond near your home until the water was glistening right in front of you.

You stood as close to the water as one would dare, what with the notoriously slippery rocks at your feet. You stared at your reflection in the crystal-clear shallows before you, as though she could tell you how to deal with this situation. And as you watched your skirts sway gently in the spring breeze, you wondered if your eyes appeared as empty as your soul felt in this moment.

Being here only spurred up more shared memories. Summers spent playing in the water, digging up insects, even chasing each other over the wet rocks, much to the disdain of your mother.

Not only that – this place felt safe. It was where you came when you were upset, where you always were when Namjoon came looking for you to make things better. It was where you found him when he was contemplating whether he was fit to be a doctor, where you assured him that he was the most intelligent person you knew of.

Without even realizing it, you had begun digging up every good memory you had with Namjoon, as though to mourn them before you’ve even lost him.

It seemed that a part of you had already accepted the possibility of losing him forever, already accepted that as many memories as you had together, you might never have the chance to make any more.

But rather than sadness, sorrow – all you felt was a gaping emptiness within you as you stared, unblinking, unseeing, into the water before you.

Was something wrong with you, not to feel? Someone akin to family was about to be ripped away from you, yet your eyes were dry. Shouldn’t you be screaming, sobbing? Didn’t he deserve at least that?

“Y/N.”

You didn’t have the slightest idea how much time had passed before Namjoon was calling your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned slowly before meeting his eyes, the distance between you unusually large. He appeared as though he didn’t know what to do with himself, as though you hadn’t spent over 15 years at each other’s side. He looked to be brimming with words he wanted to say to you, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his mouth shut.

“So?” you managed to force out, voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

He only gave you a pained smile in response, closing the space between you and eventually sitting next to the place you stood. When he patted the ground at your feet, you joined him.

Minutes went by with both of you silent, gazes staring blankly across the water, as though failing to address the subject at hand would render it nonexistent.

However, patience was never your strong suit, and you could not hold your tongue any longer, even if you would only receive bad news in return. Though, it appeared Namjoon had the same idea.

“What-”

“I-”

As quickly as you had both opened your mouths, you had stopped talking. A slight smile finally cracked your stony expression as you met Namjoon’s eye, his expression sheepish, as though he could have known he was going to cut you off.

“You first,” you chuckled, tension seemingly broken as you watched Namjoon collect his thoughts.

“I spoke to the messenger...” he started, taking another breath as you acknowledged him with a low hum. “He told me I would be able to work with the doctors there.”

You perked up immediately at his words, hope blooming in your chest. “So you won’t have to fight?”

But the troubled expression on his face told you it wasn’t that simple.

“Not on the front-lines, but I’ll have to be close by. Wherever they decide to send me.”

“You’ll be in the camps.”

“Right.”

That coiling feeling in your gut returned. “And the camps get raided often.”

“Right,” he murmured. “I could...”

“You could die.” You cut him off with a whisper, turning your head away to hide your furrowed brows, nails digging into your forearm as though the physical pain could ease the burden in your heart. “How are you not more upset?”

“Part of me always expected for this day to come,” he sighed, hand drawing senseless patterns into the rocks at his feet. “As a man in a country at war, it’s like I was born just to die.”

“Don’t say that. Why do you accept your death so easily?” you forced out through gritted teeth, burying the sorrow in your chest that was creeping up your throat, threatening to burst at the seams. Did he value himself so lowly that it was so easy to throw his life away for his country?

“There’s nothing I can do about this, you know that,” he said lowly.

“I know,” you replied simply. You did. But that didn’t mean you could accept it so easily. You should have been more like him, should have expected that this might eventually happen to the two of you, but too much of you didn’t want to think about a reality without your best friend in it. Perhaps it was naïve and foolish of you, but you were happier thinking that the time you had with Namjoon was not defined by an hourglass that tipped at the notion of war.

The silence that followed was heavy, the emotions that laid between you more than words could express.

To think that his hulking presence in this place you grew up together – when he visited you in the classroom with treats for the children, when he ran through the village streets with your sister on his back – to think that one week from now, those might just be memories, never to be seen before you again. Was it selfish to mourn how lonely you would be without him?

You thought you could hold yourself together until you returned home, but it was the arm circling around your shoulders and the words that came next from his lips that broke you.

“Will you remember me well?”

It was as though the single thread holding you together snapped, sorrow rearing its ugly head as tears spilled from your eyes. You kept your face from him, but no matter how quietly you cried, the heaving of your shoulders, gave you away.

Namjoon didn’t comment, only pulling you closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” you sobbed, voice strained as you angrily wiped at the tears on your face. “I hate you.”

You swore you heard Namjoon snort at that. After all, he heard that phrase from you at least 5 times per week.

“I know, I know.”

You finally turned towards him, but before he could get a good look at you, you buried your face in his chest and wrapped your arms around him. When you realized that this could be one of the last times you held him close like this, another strangled cry was wrenched from your throat.

He didn’t dare comment on how tightly you were holding him, nor how wet the front of his shirt was becoming.

Another comment on how well he was keeping himself together was on the tip of your tongue before you felt the shuddering of his body beneath you.

Namjoon was a silent crier if you’d ever seen one, and if not for the breath catching in his throat, it would have been hard for anyone to tell without seeing him.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that, half-sprawled across his body, tears falling until there was nothing more for your body to give. Namjoon’s hands trembled in their place on your back, and you wished more than anything that you could make this easier on him somehow. It was his life on the line, after all, and not yours.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the sound wrought with emotion.

You pulled from him enough to meet his eyes, the pain you found there a reflection of your own. His hand rose to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks before moving to lace his fingers with your own.

“Take care of my mother for me. Please.”

You nodded gravely, reaching for his other hand as well. “Of course,” you replied, breaking eye contact lest you fall apart all over again. “Only until you get back.”

“Only until I get back.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noted the setting sun above the tall trees surrounding you, though you still had no grasp on how long you had been here together. Everything felt to be a blur of fear and despair.

“When do you leave?” you asked.

“In five days.”

You nodded. Five days left with your best friend before you had to send him off to a war he might not return from. You were certain those days would be spent busy right from dawn until dusk, but you would steal whatever moments with him you could.

You eventually returned to your original position sitting beside him, facing the water as a slight breeze sent a shiver through you.

“We should head back soon,” he said, but he didn’t sound to want to leave very much. “It’s getting dark.”

“Stay with me a while longer,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

So he did.

--

The days following passed in a whirlwind. Despite your dedication to spending as much time with Namjoon as possible before his departure, it proved difficult with the preparations he had to make. Writing letters to his colleagues, saying goodbye to old teachers, securing a horse, packing his belongings – there was unfortunately not much time left for the two of you to simply spend with each other, though you stole what moments you could.

It was almost surreal, what you felt in that time. You couldn’t help the tears that came that night after the pond when your mother held you. Since then, it had almost been an endless cycle of sorrow followed by emptiness, over and over and over.

But the morning before Namjoon would set out on his own, you were determined not to break down again. You were determined that you would send him off with a smile, no matter how difficult it would be to manifest one. He deserved to leave on a good note, not having to comfort you yet again right before he left. You should be the one making him feel better, not the other way around. You would support him as best you could, and momentarily put aside the worst-case scenarios that had been circling through your head ever since the words came from that messenger’s mouth.

“Were you waiting long?” came a voice from behind you.

Turning around, you smiled as you met Namjoon’s eyes, his body already clad in a riding outfit and sturdy boots. It looked good on him.

“Not at all.”

The two of you had decided to spend the last of his time in the village together at the pond. It felt fitting – it was a place ever-present in your childhood memories together, a place you felt a strong emotional attachment to. Not only that, it was peaceful here. Quiet. Perfect.

“Sit with me,” you said, settling yourself in the grass beside a basket you brought with you.

“Is that what I think it is?” he questioned, clearly trying to keep the childish excitement from his voice, though failing.

When you removed the cloth covering what laid within, you had to keep yourself from laughing at Namjoon’s sudden intake of breath.

“Apple pie, fresh from the oven about... an hour ago?” you hummed nonchalantly, not bothering to hide your grin at his excitement. “It’s not exactly breakfast, but I thought you would appreciate it. You can take what’s left with you.”

“You really know how to cheer up a guy, don’t you?” he breathed, sending a reverent ‘thank you’ as you handed it over to him.

As he distracted himself with the pie, you took the chance to study him.

You quickly dispelled the thought that you had to memorize his face now, burn the picture into your memory while you could.

What startled you was that he looked... happy. Well – as happy as he could be considering the situation, but truly, he looked content. As though accepting his fate was no difficult thing, as though he wasn’t leaving his family behind within hours.

Perhaps you should not have been so surprised, though, as Namjoon had always been someone who adapted well to change and thrived wherever he went. All you could do now was have faith that that would hold true now.

“Something on my face?” he teased, snapping you out of your thoughts before darting a slightly embarrassed glance his way.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I’m going to miss you.”

A flash of pain went through his gaze before he snapped his head down to hide it. A pang of guilt shot through you at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” you hastened. “I promised myself not to be negative today, I just...”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, right?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” you whispered, reaching for his hand as you pushed the leftovers of the pie out of your way. “But it’s okay. You’re so stubborn I know you’ll come back.”

Your words had their intended effect, those dimples you’d come to grow and love making their appearance again as he exhaled a laugh. The momentary joy you saw there, though, was quickly put away and replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone sounding unsure and entirely unlike him. A furrow worked its way between your brows immediately and you were about to comment on his apparent nervousness, but he spoke up before you could. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hm?” you responded, caught off guard. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“I... This is – Well...” he stuttered, taking you off guard even more. Anything that rendered Namjoon an ineloquent speaker must have been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Namjoon?” you prodded, tone laced with concern. You had never been one to mince words with each other, and so his inability to come out with what he was thinking was unusual.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you right now,” he blurted out in what must have been half a breath. “But I don’t want to leave here with any regrets, you know? In case... well, you know...”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, your heartbeat increasing already just from watching him fumble around with his words.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “But before I go, I just have to tell you that I...”

He took a long pause then, several moments passing as he gathered himself. Just as you were about to cut in again, he said the words all at once, almost too fast for you to process.

“I love you.”

You spent a moment staring at him blankly as you registered what he said.

But once you did, you were left no less confused than you were before.

“I love you too, Joon, you should know that-”

“No,” he interrupted loudly, wincing slightly in apology when you jumped in surprise. “That’s... that’s not what I meant.”

That’s not what he meant? What else could he have possibly-

Wait.

Namjoon spotted the exact moment you realized exactly what he meant by his words, confusion, realization, then confusion again flashing in your eyes.

It was silent for several moments as you simply stared at him, no part of you knowing what to do with this knowledge.

“What?” was what you settled on, and you inwardly cursed yourself for not having anything better to say.

He gave a bit of a self-deprecating laugh then, and something in your gut wrenched knowing you were the cause of that sound. He broke eye contact, bravery seemingly used up, instead staring blankly into the water.

“I know it’s unfair to tell you this now, and honestly,” he paused as his lips upturned in a mirthless grin. “I don’t really know why I did. It doesn’t change anything.”

You wanted so badly to be able to comfort him, but you couldn’t tell whether your touch would just make it worse.

“I-I don’t know what to say, I never-”

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I just had to get it off my chest since...”

He let his words trail off, both of you already knowing what he was referring to. There was no use saying the same thing again and again.

“I never thought about it,” you whispered, glancing over at Namjoon in a new light. In love with you? You couldn’t say there was never a moment where you thought you and him could be together like that – you'd spent much of your life together, after all. But it was never something you’d entertained seriously, never something you allowed to linger in your brain.

“I know,” he said, and you ignored the way his voice cracked at the end of the phrase. “I just didn’t think our story would end like this, you know?”

“Namjoon...”

“I thought I’d have time to muster up the courage, time to make you fall in love with me too,” he continued. “You always told me I was naïve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have said something earlier, stopped hiding, stopped pretending...” He sighed. “There’s no use dwelling on it now. Find someone who makes you happy, okay?”

It was as though all of the words had been stolen from your body. You didn’t know what you could possibly say to him, how you could possibly ease his pain. And despite not having known, you couldn’t help the guilt that washed over you. You were the one causing him this pain, you were the one somehow too oblivious to see something in the man you claimed to know everything about. And at the same time, you wished he said something before, because now was too late – whether you could have been happy together didn’t matter now. Fate was cruel with her strings.

“Y/N.” His stern tone broke you free from your thoughts. “It doesn’t bother me now, okay? I just... couldn’t leave with secrets.”

“I understand,” you responded, though you could not stop thinking on the notion. What you might have been together had he not been called to war, had he had time to enact his grand plan to win your heart.

But none of that mattered now.

After several minutes of heavy silence, his voice startled you out of your melancholy.

“I need to say goodbye to my mother.” He stood, offering you a hand to join him.

“I’ll walk you,” you offered quietly, not letting go of his hand. He didn’t comment on it.

You felt almost dazed after his confession, the two of you arriving at Namjoon’s family home within what felt like seconds.

When you looked up at him he was staring at you quizzically, and you quickly removed your hand from his own.

“Will you meet me at the gates in a half hour?”

The gates. The place where you would say goodbye to your best friend, not knowing if or when you would hear from or see him again. You pushed down the dread once again, determined to show a brave face.

“Of course,” you replied weakly, sending him a smile that surely didn’t meet your eyes.

Before he could express his worry at your behaviour, you patted him on the back as you set out for the gates.

--

The entrance to your village was a beautiful place – surely the most beautiful in the entire area. One of the village teachers had a special gift for horticulture, tending to the hedges and flowers almost every day. You had tried your best to help him when you were young, though it was quickly proven that despite your love for flowers, you lacked the ability to care for them properly.

The primroses were in full bloom, the array of colours surrounding you from where you sat in the grass. The butterflies were rampant this time of year, enough that some of the grumpier citizens likened them to pests. But you had always admired their beauty, silken wings of white, yellow, and orange fluttering gently through the warm breeze.

Perhaps such painful goodbyes could be made slightly easier in scenery such as this.

The grass was soft where you sat waiting, nothing like the thick, pointed blades near the pond. You allowed your fingers to trail through the greenery on either side of you, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to greet the warmth of the sun, only having just taken its place in the morning sky.

You didn’t move even as you heard the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, as footsteps approached and arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

He was warm, and safe, and alive, and you would give anything and everything to keep him that way.

But sheer will and sacrifice could not win a war, no matter what the folk tales claimed.

You allowed yourself to relax into his hold, despite the awkward position of Namjoon hovering above you.

You didn’t remember doing it, but at some point, you must have pulled him down with you. Because the next thing you knew you were in his lap, face hidden away in his chest as you trembled, holding back tears.  

The hands on your back and on your head almost hurt in the way they were crushing you to him, but you didn’t dare complain, not when you were doing the same to him. Not when this one moment needed to last you until you could see him again.

If you could see him again.

But now was not the time to explore that train of thought once again.

Pull yourself together and be strong. For him.

Forcing yourself to take several deep breaths, you eventually pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes for the first time since he walked up.

You didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that the deep brown of his eyes held only a resigned acceptance, lips upturned in a smile that looked more self-deprecating than anything.

Neither of you dared to break the silence, and it dawned on you then that to anyone else, you might have looked like lovers, wrapped together amongst the flowers, gazes locked.

Yes, fate was cruel with her strings.

The bell from the clocktower several blocks away was what broke you free of the moment, your heart dropping in your chest when you processed what you’d heard.

The seventh hour.

He had to leave now.

You stood up wordlessly, almost as though you were in a trance. You couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up, staring intently at your feet.

“Y/N.” His voice came with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to keep you from hiding any longer. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“Okay,” you whispered, covering his hand with both of your own.

A moment passed before you led him to where his horse was waiting. You managed to crack a smile at the sight of the remnants of your pie bagged and tied messily to the saddle. With a knot like that, you were dubious that it would make it to the capital in one piece without being left behind.

You clung to his bicep the entire time you walked the horse past the gates, your fingers digging into the flesh as though you had the power to keep him there.

His hands moved to cup beneath your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes one last time before he left.

You didn’t even blink as his gaze darted across every inch of your face, memorizing it as if he didn’t see you in his dreams every night already.

“I guess this is it,” he murmured, allowing his thumb to stroke mindlessly along the soft skin of your jaw.

It wasn’t often that he got to touch you like this, and he would make this one moment last a lifetime if you would let him.

He gave you a smile then that was small but as genuine as you’d ever seen it, and your face was lighting up in return before you even gave it any thought.

You only nodded, afraid in that moment of what would leave your lips if you dared to part them.

His hands left you slowly, leaving warmth in their wake. When he turned his back to you, about to climb atop his horse, you didn’t know what came over you then. The warmth, the pain, emotion you couldn’t put into words – something in you snapped.

You saw the breath leave him in a sigh, and right as his leg begun to raise from the ground-

“Wait!” you yelled, yanking his arm to turn him back around, a yelp leaving him as he almost lost his balance.

His eyes were wide with alarm, but you didn’t give him the chance to ask what you were doing before you threw yourself at him.

When your lips met, sparks didn’t fly, nor did time slow to a pause.

But something within you blossomed at the touch, a hand raising to rest against the nape of his neck even as he stood frozen with shock. His hands hovered in the air as his mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process the fact that you were kissing him.

Just as you were about to spring away from him, concerned by his utter lack of reaction, he groaned into your mouth, arms circling around your waist.

You’d clearly awoken something in him, his lips responding to your own with vengeance, pulling your body as close to his as possible. Your neck ached fiercely at the harsh angle, but that was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t pinpoint what this feeling was – you only knew that you didn’t want to let it go. This warmth, this safety, this moment with the sun warming your skin, his hands clutching you, his lips soft, patient against your own.

What started out hurried and desperate soon became slow and calm, but your heart was pounding in your chest regardless.

It was the horse’s whinny at your side that broke you from your daze, your lips separating as you looked at him wide-eyed.

“Y/N-”

“Come home safe,” you cut him off, finally disentangling yourself from him and stepping back.

He looked like he had so much he wanted to say to you, and you shared the sentiment.

But there was no time if he wanted to reach the capital before sundown.

He would just need to come back.

With a sombre nod and a quick touch of his fingers to his lips in disbelief, he turned to finally mount his horse.

You locked eyes once more, forcing your mouth up into a smile as you weakly waved farewell.

But your heart hurt, your eyes stinging.

All he could do was try his best to return it.

And with one last tilt of the head from both of you, he set off.

Come home safe.

Please.

--

It was a long and grueling six months.

You were beside yourself once Namjoon left that morning. It must have been days before you felt well enough to leave your bed, but time was a blur then. Your sister did her best to comfort you, cuddling her much smaller body into your side until you both fell asleep.

But you could not spend all of your days moping. Not when you had your own responsibilities in your home and with your students. Not when that would be the last thing Namjoon wanted, either.

Each time a letter arrived from Namjoon, your hope renewed. They came every few weeks, one for you and one for his mother.

You always ran excitedly to her house when a letter came for you, eager to share what words he was able to put down in a rush at the camp.

He was clearly a busy and well-needed man, stationed at one of the more populated camps on the edge of the battlefield, tending to the wounded at every hour of the day.

Despite his short letters and scribbled words, he always included petals or pressed flowers in his letters to you.

It made you giggle when you opened the first one to find a badly-crushed hyacinth stuffed into the sheets.

It was no secret that you went through a phase in your adolescence in which you loved to collect flowers in notebooks. You’d had many short-lived passions, but this one lasted for years. Books and books of dried, pressed flowers, enough that your poor sister sneezed whenever she entered your room.

It became routine to find flower after flower in his letters to you, and you had to admit that your heart fluttered each time, excited to see what he included for you that time.

The flowers on the other side of the country were much different from your own, and it was no small thrill to see what beauty was in store for you with each letter.

--

Stretching your arms far above your head, you sat up in bed, having been woken by the sunlight streaming in despite your closed curtains. Perhaps you would soon need to invest in buying some heavier, darker fabrics.

Hopping out of bed quickly and tossing on your skirts and apron, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out to wash up and make breakfast.

You were often the first one up, your mother much preferring reading or knitting until late at night, lit only by lanternlight. Your sister, on the other hand, slept early and woke up late. The girl got an obscene amount of sleep, though you supposed her growing body must have needed it.

You didn’t mind the quiet, your hushed footsteps and soft humming only ever interrupted by birdsong and crickets chirping.

You were in a particularly good mood as of late, constantly receiving news of battles gone well and your country’s forcing advancing. The village elders had told you that with the way things were going, the men should be back in about a month or two, perhaps even sooner should your opponents surrender.

The thought of seeing Namjoon again in only a month had a soft smile spreading across your face before you had realized it.

You didn’t know what you were feeling for Namjoon, didn’t know if it was love, but you knew that with every letter, he wrapped himself around your heart even more.

Reaching the kitchen, you reached for a hair bandana before turning in search of flour. Perhaps you could make pastries before your family woke up?

But as you turned, a flash of white in your peripheral caught your eye. Spotting an envelope on the near the front door, the bandana fell forgotten to the floor, feet racing across the room.

Scooping the envelope from the floor, you hurried over to the table, setting yourself down into a wooden chair in preparation for another of Namjoon’s letters.

But when you examined the letter closer, you frowned.

It was addressed to you, but the handwriting wasn’t one that you recognized. Who else ever sent you letters? Who could you possibly not recognize despite them knowing where you lived?

Doubt and dread rose in your gut, but when you turned the envelope around, you could have sworn your heart stopped.

A military seal.

Bright red, and clear as day.

With trembling hands, you reached for a nearby knife to cut the envelope open.

Pulling the paper from inside, you had to muffle a cry when you unfolded the letter, a flower falling into your waiting hand, Namjoon’s writing covering the page.

Unlike his normal, scribbled, rushed handwriting, this was meticulous. Neat.

It made you feel sick.

Already feeling like you were sinking, you begun to read.

My dearest Y/N,

I pray to anyone who may be listening that your eyes never see the words written on this page, that I return to you a stronger man, prepared to do anything to have you kiss me again.

In the event that you are reading this, I’m sorry.

I asked my commander to send you a letter in the event that I do not make it out of this war alive.

It pains me to write this, and I fear staining the paper with my tears as I do. There is nothing I want less than to leave you alone, than to leave you behind as I leave this plane.

There was something you said to me once when we were perhaps 11 or 12, I’m not sure if you remember it. It was after we got into one of our silly, petty fights, and I ignored you for a several days.

When we met again, I remember that you were crying. Your eyes were wet and red, and my heart hurt then. You told me, “Never leave me alone again.” I told you I wouldn’t, and I never did something like that again. From then on, I promised myself that I would never leave you. I would stay by your side in whatever capacity you let me.

I'm sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to come back to you.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m sorry.

I never want to cause you pain, and it kills me knowing that if you ever have to read this, I won’t be there to ease the hurt.

I want you so badly to be happy no matter what, and I want nothing more than for you to look back on our moments together with joy. Please don’t let my death take that beautiful smile from your face forever.

I’m sorry.

With all my love,

Your Namjoon

You didn’t know when you had started crying, but fat teardrops covered your hands, splashing against the ink on the page.

Why?

Why?

Why did your story have to end here?

You tried to quiet your sobs, but it was no use. You were lost to sorrow, overcome with pain, your vision blurry with tears.

As you balled up your fists in rage and agony, you felt something poke into your palm.

The flower.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you looked down into the palm of your hand, and another gut-wrenching cry was pulled from your throat.

Because there laid a browning, wilted, crushed, forget-me-not.

--

Tagging: @jinpanman​ @ezralia-writes​ @wwilloww​