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emilia3546 · 3 years ago

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The Rest of Our Lives - Nessian

Happy #nessianmonth guys! Thanks @illyrianet for organising!

Here we go with the first one: nessian’s mating ceremony, finally filling the gap that Sarah left us with at the end of ACOSF.

*****

The temple was absolutely beautiful, Rhys really had come through on this one, this was sure to be the most extravagant party Nesta had ever been to, and that was saying something. She glanced around, checking that everything was ready, nothing could go wrong, everything was perfect, all she needed now was to calm her nerves and get on with it.

"Nesta?" Nesta whirled at the sound of Feyre's voice behind her, "Do you want a hand getting dressed?" Right, because she was supposed to already be dressed, had told Emerie that she was, even while she'd just been staring at the dress, nerves racing through her. She nodded,

"Thank you,"

"Come on," Feyre squeezed her hand gently, "Let the guys finish off here, everything's perfect, okay?"

"Okay," Nesta squeezed her eyes shut when Feyre winnowed them back to the River House, to the room she'd slept in last night, "I don't get the tradition of not being allowed to see him before the ceremony," she muttered,

"Honestly, me neither, but we don't want one of you to chicken out and you guys to end up mating beforehand, then to go to the ceremony with you both riled up with a new mating bond," Feyre chuckled, "Rhys was bad enough, but I dread to think what you two will be like,"

"Oh hush," Nesta muttered, "We're not that violent,"

"Not usually, but you never know," Feyre teased, "Dress, c'mon," Nesta nodded, turning her gaze back to the dress waiting for her, she gingerly took it from its stand, stepping behind the curtain to slip it on, but stepped back out to let Feyre help her with the clasps and ties at the back. She almost didn't want to look at the mirror, if she did, her nerves would catch up to her again, but Feyre offered a little encouraging smile,

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Nesta laughed, "I don't even know why,"

"You look stunning," Feyre breathed, "And that feeling's normal, I think," her sister was right, no matter what anyone could say, Nesta was beautiful, with the fitted bodice rising just above her breasts, cinched in the back to accentuate her figure, whorls of silver thread forming Illyrian runes across the bodice. Runes for luck, prosperity, love, Cassian might not be much of an artist, but she knew full well that he'd helped Feyre designing the dress, especially with the occasional rune for witchcraft, or more violent things having slipped past her sister's notice,

"You can't read Illyrian, can you?"

"No, Rhys has tried to teach me, but his particular style of teaching doesn't work so well with the runes, I know some, but not many, did I get one wrong?"

"No," Nesta laughed, "I'd just be surprised that you'd let Cass call me a witch on my wedding dress," Feyre flushed bright red,

"He what?"

"This one, it means witch,"

"It does not, he said that it meant loyalty," Nesta stifled another laugh,

"He lied, aww you believed him, he definitely lied to you about a few of these runes then, you should know better than to take his word at face value,"

"I did check with Azriel,"

"Oh he was probably in on it, knowing them, the idiots," she chuckled again, spinning around in front of the mirror, "I love it, and I would never have suggested he help if I didn't want something a bit less formal, it's not like anyone will be able to read the runes, it's just for us,"

"Right, sit," Nesta just about managed to lift the skirts of her gown before Feyre tugged her across to the chair waiting for her, mountains of cosmetics beside it, "I asked Elain what she thought would work, then Mor, and they're both wrong,"

"Is that so?"

"Mhhm," Feyre was hardly listening as she dusted something along Nesta's cheekbones, the tang of magic filling the air, "I'm just setting it in place, not even Cass can fuck this up later," Nesta snorted at that, but Feyre held her head still, "Stop it, you're going to make me mess up," she hissed just as the door opened,

"You told me you were already dressed!"

"I lied,"

"Shush, I can't do this if you keep moving," Nesta did fall silent, but held Emerie's disapproving gaze while Feyre finished, twisting her hair up onto her head in a knot of intricate braids, setting gemstones through it, Nesta had no words when Feyre span the chair around for Nesta to see her handiwork, those jewels caught the light, making her hair shine and glimmer as she moved. She almost couldn't believe the person who was staring back at her, she'd changed so much over the last year, the person staring back at her was beautiful, confident, tears formed in her eyes, "Nesta,"

"I'm okay, I just, it feels like some stupid dream and I'll wake up any minute back in that apartment," Feyre threw an arm around her shoulders,

"It's real, I promise it's real, enjoy it, Nesta, you've earned it," she glanced back at the female in the mirror, the way her eyes sparkled with life, her cheeks glowing with health, especially with the rouge that Feyre had dusted onto them. Feyre had painted her lips red, an almost sinful color, and she blushed at the thought of exactly what Cassian would be thinking when he saw her,

"There we go," Emerie laughed, "Dirty mind, she's fine,"

"Oh shush," Nesta laughed, but didn't deny it, "You're just as bad as I am,"

"While that may be true, I'm not the one about to get married." Married. She was about to get married, shit. She didn't know what she was doing. What if she tripped? What if she forgot her vows? What if she panicked and froze up? What if she embarrassed herself, embarrassed Cassian? "Deep breath," this time it was Emerie, "Still your mind," she did, closing her eyes, deep breath, deep breath, she was the rock against which the surf crashes, she was a Valkyrie, and she could not be broken, not by the Blood Rite, not by marriage. "Drink this," Emerie handed her a foul-smelling tonic of some sort,

"What is it?"

"Just an anti-sickness tonic, for your nerves, but you'll fine once you get there," Nesta wasn't so sure of that and downed it in one, the effect almost instant,

"Are you drugging her, Em?" Nesta almost spat it out at the sound of another voice, "Everything's ready, you look beautiful, Nesta," Azriel smiled as he spoke, "Cass won't know what's hit him,"

"Thank you," Nesta ran through the ceremony again in her mind, automatically finding everything that could go wrong, "Em, I'm gonna fuck up,"

"No you're not,"

"Easy for you to say, you've never done this,"

"I have," Feyre said, squeezing Nesta's shoulder, and Nesta almost winced at the memory that she hadn't bee there when Feyre and Rhys had had a proper ceremony, being too lost to her fears to care or even notice, "You'll be fine, Nesta," It's okay that you weren't there, you're her with us now, Nesta started at Feyre's voice in her mind, and she nodded, still not quite believing her, but if Feyre forgave her, she could start to forgive herself for everything she'd missed this last year. "Just ignore everyone, focus on Cass, okay?"

"Okay,"

"Step-by-step, walk up to him, let him say his vows, say your vows, exchange rings, food, kiss him, and walk back, you can do that,"

"Yeah, yeah I can do that, thank you, I'll be fine," she shot a grateful glance at Azriel as he offered her an arm, but she still squeezed her eyes shut when he winnowed them back to the temple, just outside the door,

"Ready?" Nesta took in one last breath and squeezed Azriel's arm,

"Yeah, and thank you,"

"For what?"

"This. Walking me down the aisle," she refused to allow herself to tear up at the thought that her father should be the one doing that,

"I'm honestly honored that you asked me,"

"There would be no-one else I would want to," she mumbled,

"Oh, so I'm the last resort, I see," Nesta chuckled when he finally stepped forwards, and was still laughing when they crossed into the temple. Everyone was there, everyone was watching her, but she remembered Feyre's words, gripping Azriel's arm tighter as she lifted her gaze to the end of the aisle, to Cassian. The moment she locked eyes with him, Nesta forgot to be scared, forgot that she was nervous, excitement taking over, and she lessened the vice-like grip on Azriel's arm, earning a soft chuckle. Each step took her closer to that dais, to Cassian. Each step took her closer to the first day of the rest of her life. Each step brought her closer to finally stepping out of the shadow of the war. Each step brought her closer to her mate.

At the top of the dais Azriel released her arm, and Nesta almost swayed on her feet, a sort of dizzy feeling washing over her at the prospect of saying the proper words, words that she had been waiting for longer than she'd care to admit to say. She clasped Cassian's hands in her own, holding on tight, reassuring herself that this was all real, that he was real. She hardly noticed the movement beside her until Rhys spoke,

"Nesta, do you come to this place of your own free will, with love in your heart to wed this male?"

"Yes," she breathed, "I do," she was still staring at Cassian and hardly registered the same question being asked of him, until he gently squeezed her fingers and started to speak,

"I, Cassian, swear to love, to cherish, and to protect you, when you actually need it," he added with a smirk, and Nesta had to hold back a fit of giggles, "I swear to love you through the best and worst the world can throw at us." With the official words said, he continued to add his own, "I never knew what was coming that day I first met you, Nes, when we arrived to ask for help, and I didn't find just a human woman, but an Illyrian without her wings, honestly I think I started falling right then, and kept falling with everything since. It didn't take long for me to figure out what you were to me, but long before that, I'd already decided that I wanted you, just you, mate or not, and I cannot thank the Cauldron enough that it saw fit to bless us with that bond." Nesta blinked tears out of her eyes, losing track of the murmurs around them, "You, Nesta, are everything I could have possibly dreamed of, and more besides, your courage, your strength, I don't know what I would have done without you at this point, I knew full well that I loved you when you refused to back down, when you made sure to protect your family from anything you thought was a threat, even me," Nesta let out a little chuckle at that,

"You didn't exactly correct me," she laughed,

"I'm not finished, Nes, it's your turn in a minute," she snorted, but allowed him to finish, "I have loved you through everything, but I never once believed that you could return that love and I promise, Nesta, that I will continue to love you until my last breath and beyond." Nesta couldn't stop the tears now flooding down her face, and thanked the Mother for Feyre's shield to protect her make-up from ruination. When he finished, she took a few breaths before beginning her own vows,

"I, Nesta Archeron, swear to love, to cherish, and protect you, because gods know you do need it." Nesta grinned at the mutterings among the few Illyrians chosen to represent their people at her changed vows, never 'obey', not for them, never for them, protect, yes, but never obey. "I swear to love you though the best and worst the world can throw at us." She grinned again when Cassian laughed, "I knew I loved you when I feared I might lose you, and I was so scared that you wouldn't want my love, that I didn't deserve yours, but thank the Cauldron that you reached me, I really don't know what I would have done this past year without you, and I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. I promise to love you until my last breath and beyond, until this world is nothing but a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, until whatever end, I will love you."

Nesta's vision was still blurred as Emerie stepped to her side, handing her a ring, its partner in Cassian's hand as Azriel stepped back. She let her tears fall as Cassian slipped the ring onto her finger, a beautiful red stone capturing the light, surrounded by seven smaller silver ones, the reverse true of the one she placed on Cassian's finger.

"The red stone is hewn form my siphons," he murmured, "So that I'll always be by your side, I had them made specially," Nesta had no words as she held his gaze,

"Now, Lord and Lady Archeron, I declare you husband and wife now-" Nesta couldn't wait any longer, surging towards Cassian and showing him how she felt in the only way she really knew how. Rhys sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "Do that, I guess,"

"Sorry, Rhys," Cassian chuckled when he stepped back, keeping a hold of Nesta's right hand as they both turned to face Rhys, taking the twin biscuits offered by Feyre and Elain. Nesta had insisted on the biscuits, just for the look on Cassian's face when he realized what she'd made,

"Witch," he muttered,

"Brute," she responded, breaking off a bit of the biscuit to feed him, hoping desperately that it tasted alright, but relaxed when he fed her piece of the other one, it was okay, nothing like Elain's cooking, but it was hers, she'd made it, for him. Cassian held her gaze as Rhys cleared his throat, the black ribbon in his hands the final piece they needed, the last thing before they could be declared officially mated.

Nesta wasn't sure that her heart was beating as he tied it around their joined hands, grinning, even when he met Nesta's eyes. Her brother, that was what he was, even more now, and she smiled at him as Cassian swept her into his arms to carry her back down the aisle,

"I can walk," she laughed,

"I know, I want to carry you," he laughed,

"Oh really, husband,"

"Yes, wife, I wouldn't want you trip, it's bad luck you know," Nesta laughed again as Cassian stepped outside, the first day of the rest of their lives, that's exactly what this was, and she wasn't scared anymore.

#fanfic #fanfiction #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #nesta #nesta archeron #nessian #nesta x cassian #cassian #wedding #nessianmonth #nessian month

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ethereousdelirious · 2 years ago

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Sicktember 2022: Day 4

Prompt: Hangover

Fandom: Dr.eam D.addy

Wordcount: 1,395

Summary: D.amien wakes up after night of drinking, down one shoe and nearly all his memories of the previous night. His walk of shame leads him directly into R.obert's arms.

Comments: Happy birthday to me! I'm officially 27 today! Sorry, D.amien 💕🥳

CW: Non-graphic depictions of vomiting/nausea. Not to spoil anything, but let me assure you, R.obert's boots are waterproof. Also, very brief, vague allusions to drugging and alcoholism

Damien's heart was going to explode. Probably. If the pounding in his head didn't turn out to be a deadly stroke.

In a pinprick moment of clarity, he sat up, looking around at the blurry walls (outdated wallpaper, framed school photos) and panted. The reek of alcohol on his breath drowned out the warm scent of coffee in the air— Coffee! That was what had woken him up.

His heart settled into a slower (but not slow) pulsing rhythm. He stood up and Hugo's tacky wallpaper whirled around him. Shit. Hugo? Damien brushed his hair out of his face, but Lucien and Ernest were nowhere to be found. Thank Baphomet. Although, judging by the light peeking through the curtains, it was very early in the morning.

Damien limped toward the kitchen and oh god, was he only wearing one shoe? Had someone tied his hair back? Hugo, maybe? Must have been Hugo.

Damien flopped down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his arms, too exhausted to care about propriety. Hugo had been busy at the coffee maker, but there was no way he missed Damien flopping around like an overgrown bat, cape twisted around one shoulder and catching on the chair and table legs.

Sure enough, Hugo's voice sounded like an explosion in Damien's head. "Morning!"

"Uunngghhhh," said Damien eloquently.

"Coffee?"

Damien peeked up over his forearm, considering it. His stomach twisted and he shook his head, which only made it worse. "Oh, god. No thank you." Hugo brought him some water instead. Damien sipped it quietly, his heart still hammering away. "Um…" he said. Eloquence danced just out of his grasp, words he could conceptualize but not string together. "I hope I didn't." Heat flooded his cheeks but he persisted, running the tip of one fingernail down the edge of his glass. "Last night, I mean, I hope— I, uh— Thanks for letting me crash on your couch."

Hugo's smile was evident in his voice, even though all Damien could see of him was a blur of yellow and brown in his peripheral vision. "Of course. I figured, since Lucien was already here, I might as well complete the set."

"Oh, shit." Damien sat up. "I can't let him see me like this. I gotta go."

"Are you sure? I was just about to make pancakes for the boys."

Damien swallowed hard as his stomach gave a lurch. "No, I should— I'm gonna—" He got up and had to hold the table for balance as the kitchen rocked in front of him. "Th-thanks, Hugo." Damien's face burned like he'd spent four hours face-up on the beach. He staggered toward the door, still limping on his bare foot. He didn't bother to stop and take his shoe off. He had to get out get out get out before the shame swallowed him alive.

If Hugo had seen him blackout drunk, who else had? And how exactly had it happened? He had hazy memories of Mary coming to pick him up, but they were only supposed to get a few drinks. Shit, where was Mary? Damien fumbled for his phone. It was dead, of course. Oh, well. Mary was better at handling herself, knew her own limits. She was probably at home, sleeping peacefully in her bed. Unlike Damien, who'd probably shown up at Hugo's house at 3:00 am raving about cravat knots and the collected works of Edgar Allen Poe. Ugh. He was going to throw up.

Maple Bay was far too bright at this early hour, the June sun casting its rays on every damn thing, including Damien in his black clothes and heavy cape. Sweat was already soaking into his dress shirt and the heat in his face became more urgent and irritated. At this rate, he was going to end up with a heat rash. Where the hell was the ocean breeze when you needed it?

For that matter, where was his house? Any attempt to look around earned him dazzling light in his eyes, which stung like hell— Ah, god, he was still wearing his contacts. And his binder. He paused, balancing badly on his feet, and forced a few deep, chesty coughs up his dry throat. His liver was probably in bad enough shape, he didn't need to mess up his ribs and lungs, too. Whoever had tied his hair back had at least done a good job of it; it didn't get in his face at all despite the paroxysms of his aching body. God, he felt like shit. Really and truly. He was never drinking again.

Okay, well. Maybe just red wine. For the aesthetics. But no hard liquor.

Coughing had agitated his upset stomach, sending it into overdrive. The teasing little flutters of nausea became a dangerous pressure, his head swimming. Damien wrapped his cloak around himself despite the heat and trudged onward, his eyes downcast. One step at a time.

"Shit, Damien!" Robert's voice came out of nowhere. Damien looked up, blinking. Curse his commitment to all things vampiric, his vision had gone red and fuzzy from the off-kilter contact lenses. "Did you get jumped?"

His face came in and out of focus with every blink until Damien could see him clearly. He smelled like grass and— Was he holding a shovel? "Are you burying a body?" Damien asked. Then he pitched forward and threw up all over Robert's grass-stained work boots. He fell into Robert's chest with a pathetic whine and oh god, this was it, he was actually going to die of embarrassment. And Robert smelled really good, a weirdly fresh combination of deodorant and grass. "I'm so glad you quit smoking," Damien muttered, and swooned.

Actually swooned, like the heroine of some trashy-yet-delightful bodice ripper.

"Oh, buddy." Robert chuckled, Damien could just barely hear it over the roaring in his head. Robert moved but never broke contact. "Hop up on my back, okay?"

That required opening his eyes. And a level of coordination he certainly wasn't capable of. So he clambered up instead, nearly knocking them both over when his boot got caught in his cape. "Think m'dying," Damien slurred.

"Yeah, I get that." Oh, shit, Robert sounded angry. When did Robert ever get angry? Oh. Was Damien triggering him? "Listen, did you leave your drink alone at any point last night?"

"Mary was with me," Damien muttered into Robert's neck. "You smell good."

"Focus, buddy." Robert turned, bypassing his front door, and went sound the side of the house. He twisted the faucet for the hose with a jerky, violent motion and bent awkwardly to pick up the hose, bringing Damien's head down in a way his stomach really didn't appreciate. "Where did you wake up?"

Damien swallowed hard. Throwing up on Robert's work boots was one thing, throwing up over his shoulder and down the front of his shirt would be quite another. "Hugo's house."

Robert's muscles relaxed, his whole body seeming to sag. "Good," he said shortly. Then he laughed, spraying hose water over his soiled boots. "You sure made a mess of yourself, huh, Dames?"

"Were you gardening?" Damien asked.

"Landscaping, yeah." Robert brought Damien inside and turned his back to the couch. "Alright, down you go." Damien forced himself to let go. Robert was warm and sturdy and he smelled good and had left enough drunken voicemails in Damien's inbox that he probably owed Damien this, anyway. He vocalized that thought and Robert laughed. Heavens, he was so handsome when he smiled. "Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The math checks out."

Damien flopped over on the couch, folding one arm over his stomach. "You never threw up on me, though. So I think I'm in the red now."

Robert ruffled his hair, his calloused thumb brushing Damien's temple. "Hey, babe, you can throw up on me any day."

"Horrible," Damien muttered, burying his face in the couch cushions despite the smell of old cigarette smoke. In a moment, he'd have to get up and take off his binder and figure out what to do with his contacts and probably throw up again. But he could have this moment, this split second of peace, with Robert's comforting presence and the ghost of his touch still tingling on Damien's skin. It was nice. In fact it almost made up for the hangover.

#ethereous writes #sicktember 2022

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iamverysmall-andihavenomoney · 4 years ago

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Hi I just found your account and I enjoy your writing a lot the flow of it is refreshing that’s besides the point though 😤✋I was wondering if you would write a street racing AU where Kenma and Kouroo are interested in someone from a rival group

Street Racer Rivalries

Haikyū!! Masterlist

Pairings: Street Racer! Mechanic! Kozume Kenma x Mechanic! Street Racer! Gender Neutral! Reader, Street Racer! Kuroo Tetsurō x Street Racer! Mechanic! Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Street Racing AUs, Saffron shows off their lack of car knowledge, illegal street racing, rivalries, strong language, talk of racing injuries.

A/N: Hi there! Thank you, I'm glad you enjoy it! ☺️ But umm -- yes? I live for this idea (i might even make a series out of it, if anyone wants 🤷) but thank you for the request!

Kenma Kozume

He really doesn't like racing, let's be honest.

If he could, Kenma would stay in his shop all day long.

Hell, it's not like he needs the money.

He's such a well-known mechanic in the underground racing scene, he easily makes all of the money he could ever need.

His only real competition is Akaashi Keiji and someone named L/N Y/N?

Akaashi he could deal with, as Fukurōdani's group was rather well acquainted with Nekoma, hell, the held practice races all of the time.

But whoever this other up-and-coming mechanic was, was seriously pissing him off.

It wasn't that they were stealing all of his customers, he still had a lot of business.

It was that they just had to be with Karasuno.

The one group Kuroo was obsessed with besting - in everything.

Plus, who could have such a reputation for someone who'd only just joined the scene?

They, along with Karasuno's newest racers had put the group on a fast-track to the top.

They hadn't surpassed Karasuno.

Yet.

He wasn't sure why hearing your name pissed him off as much as it did.

But here he was, ranting to Kuroo as he worked on one of the group's main racing vehicles.

"Why won't Shōyō tell me anything about them either? They're so secretive about this new mechanic - all of them. Are they waiting for a fucking debut, here?"

"It took years for Nekoma to get the reputation it has, same for everyone else. Why does someone with no prior affiliation with any group, so easily surpass so many people?"

Then Kuroo worsens it by teasing Kenma.

"Are you sure this isn't just because Hinata is keeping a secret from you, for once?"

Now, it's a month later - the first big race in a while.

Lately, the cops had been far too aware of where the groups would be for anyone's comfort, so they collectively decided to lay low for a while.

And he's finally getting to see Karasuno in a big race.

He wasn't sure of everyone's official racers - but you usually weren't, until they lined themselves up.

Kenma wasn't particularly invested in the race, more here to finally see if you were all everyone talked you up to be.

"Are you really trying to 'wow' them in a tank top and coveralls?" Bokuto turns his nose up as he looks over Kenma's choice in clothing.

A black tank covered Kenma's chest, while his navy coveralls covered him from the waist-down, sleeves knotted together, around his waist to hold them up. His hands and arms are still stained dark from his work this morning and he's not quite sure on the status of his face, with the lack of looking in a mirror today. With a shrug, Kenma brings another chip to his mouth.

After a moment of silence, a scoff leaves his lips, "I'm not trying to 'wow' anyone. I'm scoping out the new competition, at most."

"I thought you said, just yesterday, they weren't worth your time?" Kuroo smirks at his smaller friend. Despite Kenma acting so peeved with your presence, he knew that it was all a front. He knew his best friend better than anyone end he could tell that his interest in you was just being covered up by feigned annoyance.

Kenma rolls his eyes, "I mean, you aren't either, but here we are."

Akaashi lets a breath escape him, before glancing over as he sees a flash of several headlights, looking over at the orange and black themed cars rolling in. "Looks like you have your chance to... Scope out your competition. Won't be long until Itachiyama and Shiratorizawa start arriving, as well."

Bokuto claps a large hand on Kenma's tattooed shoulder, making the faux-blonde cringe at the contact. "Go on, Ken! We'll catch up with you, soon!"

Kenma doesn't hesitate to step away from the other three, taking easy strides on his way over to where the vehicles were now parked, scattered around one another. The first to take notice of him, Shōyō, lights up, straightening from his position, previously leaning against the hood of his car. Though, seeing that he wasn't moving to greet Kenma, they cat-eyed male look at who he was talking to.

Finally laying eyes on the person he'd found himself 'hating' for the past few nights, any insults he had for you left him. Seeing you reclined against the hood of one of Karasuno's best cars, looking like you'd just come from the shop, much like him.

When your eyes found his, he notices that whatever you had been saying slowly faded out while you focused on him. And oversized orange and black jacket adorned your figure, keeping you away from the crisp breeze. He wondered if it was yours by the way or enveloped you, though on the arm, your last name shown clear, orange lettering bold against the black.

You slide from the good of the vehicle, your jacket falling from your body so you can tuck it in through the open window of what he guessed to be your car. You were dressed in nearly the same thing as him, black coveralls tied up around your waist and a large black shirt that seemed too big for you, as well, tucked into it. Not hesitating to step forward, Hinata finds himself falling back, wanting to bare witness from afar.

The smug grin tugging at the edges of your lips makes Kenma narrow his eyes further, "This is the great Kozume Kenma? Wow, no one really did you any justice, now did they?"

Of course you would be the smug type. Though, he supposed you had every right to be. You were an impressive individual. "And you're L/N Y/N... For someone who wanted to be so mysterious, you sure weren't hiding."

"I can't take credit for that idea. It was all Suga. Said we needed an ace up our sleeve." Shrugging nonchalantly, you flash Kenma a lazy grin. Mainly because it was oh-so obvious it was getting under his skin. "Though I have heard someone has been a bit obsessed with me, recently."

Kenma finally lets out something near a laugh, "You would be so lucky. Are you racing tonight?"

Hearing the rumble of other engines, the both of you realize that it wouldn't be long before you would both have to walk away to be with your separate groups. "Wouldn't you like to know," Kenma turns his head back towards you, raising an eyebrow. "I guess you'll just have to keep an eye out for me, won't you, Kozume?"

You take an easy step back, before turning to walk away, "I look forward to racing you, one day, Kozume."

"Likewise..." Kenma finds himself staring at you as you walk away from him, impressed by how bold you are, despite himself. Belying his previous 'hate' towards you, a slight smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

Much as Kenma found himself excited whenever he raced or encountered Shōyō, even his three friends could tell that he was intrigued, from their distance.

Kuroo Tetsurō

He, unlike Kenma, loves the thrill of racing.

Even if he doesn't do it as often now, he still manages to love when he does race.

Now, Nekoma doesn't have much real competition.

They've been among the top racing groups for year now and not even up-and-comers like Karasuno were going to change that.

Despite Kuroo's reassurance in the stability of his position as best racer and 'leader' of Nekoma's group, there were certain other groups that managed to get under his skin.

Groups like Daishō Suguru's group, Nohebi.

The group who'd been giving him more trouble than anyone else, since they'd gotten started.

He hated Daishō.

He hated Nohebi.

Nohebi played dirty and had injured multiple of his racers.

Most recently injured had been Yaku.

He wasn't sure who had been driving, but he remembered the person who had stepped up to reprimand the driver for the blatant foul play.

Acting like you were going to veer into another car and doing it were two different things.

He wasn't sure if it was because you were the one who had to fix your own vehicle or because you were worried about the opposing driver.

But he was intrigued.

Especially when you slapped Daishō for trying to "calm you down" by grabbing your wrist.

You had such an attitude and were so independent.

You caught his attention awfully quick.

After that, he kept an eye out for you.

He was whipped from day one.

Now normally, it takes forever for him to develop feelings for someone, but you were such a strong individual, he was whipped.

Though what sealed the deal for him was when you would tease him back and flirt with him.

At first he thought it was just because you wanted to piss off Daishō, but when he noticed that you seemed to enjoy it just as much as he did, he really was whipped.

You spotted him before he spotted you. As per usual when it came to you. You were good and sneaking up on him. It should have been more concerning to him than it was when a hand came to cover his eyes, your voice crooning in his ear playfully, "Guess who."

He knew you, quite easily, by your voice. You'd become well acquainted with sneaking up on him.

After all, it had been what? Two years since this mutual bantering and rivalry had started. By this point, both of your respective groups were getting a little tired of constantly having to be a witness to all of the flirting that was done.

"L/N, I think I'd recognize the strong smell of motor oil anywhere." Kuroo turns around to face you, hands tucked in the pockets of the red and black jacket he wore. The same one that matched the jackets of the rest of his group.

"Well, unlike someone, I've been working pretty hard, y'know?" Your own hands drift to your pockets, "Not all of us have minions doing all of our work, for us."

One of Kuroo's eyebrows shoot up, "Oh? Last I heard was that someone in particular had a whole shop of people working for them."

A light laugh escapes you, the air fogging up a bit in front of your face as your warm breath met the crisp air surrounding you both. "Yeah? Who told you that? The same asshole that's trying to drag other unfortunate souls into working with him?"

Heaving out a deep, faux sigh, Kuroo tilts his head. "The position with me is still open." His cooing voice almost makes you forget how he'd opted to phrase it. Almost.

"As much as I hate the snaky bastard, the money is too good to pass up." You lean yourself back, making contact with the hood of Kuroo's car. His favorite and ace vehicle, in fact.

"You know I could easily pay you twice what he does," he leans in and places a hand on either side of the hood, next to you. "So what's it going to take to convince you I'm a better choice than him?"

You cross your arms, a smug look crossing your face. "Why do I think this has less and less to do with your need for a mechanic?.. I think you might be a little obsessed with me, there, Kuroo."

A smirk matching your own crosses his lips. "Maybe I am, L/N. What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, there are a few things-" You find yourself cut off as you note Daishō's shouts from across the way. A sigh escapes you and you bring a hand to Kuroo's chest, pushing a finger into his shoulder and making him lean back. "Looks like I've got to go. Until next time, Kuroo."

"Keep my offer in mind," The tall man lets out a sigh as he watches you walk away from him. He glances over his shoulder as he feels a hand there, seeing his faux-blonde friend. "They'll be working for me one day. Just you wait."

Bokuto lets out a hearty laugh, causing people to look in the direction of the two tall men. "You've been saying that for how long, now?"

A scoff comes from behind them, causing them to turn around, "About two years, now. He's a little desperate, don't you think?"

Kuroo rolls his eyes at his friends' teasing, head turning in your direction just in time to catch you quickly farting your own gaze away.

You'd be a lot more to him than just another person in his racing group, one day.

General Taglist:

@thathoneybee3 @bratkugo

#🤍.suna #🤍.works #haikyū!!#haikyū!! x reader #kenma x reader #kenma kozume #kuroo x reader #kenma kozume x reader #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kenma fluff #kuroo fluff #haikyū!! fluff

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duggardata · 4 years ago

Text

Esther Keyes Said “Yes.”

Get The Data Here.

On Saturday, May 22, 2021, Kenneth Nathaniel (“Nathan”) Bates, 27, proposed to Esther Joy Keyes, 23, in Orlando, Florida. She said ‘yes,’ surprising no one. Bizarrely, Fox News got the exclusive—a first for the Bateses or Duggars. They reported the news on May 24, 2021 (Today / Monday).

Read on for the data!

Relationship Timeline

First Meeting. According to Nathan on Bringing Up Bates (4–29–21), “Tis The Season For Surprises,” he and Esther met at “a mutual friend’s wedding.” This seems to have occurred around December 2019, since he was telling the story in December 2020 (Christmastime), and said it happened about a year prior. It didn’t take Nathan long to fall for Esther; apparently, he professed his feelings for her after only a week of talking.

Relatedly... Does anyone know of any wedding that Nathan / the Bateses went to in December 2019? I can’t think of one, and a cursory glance at Fundie Wiki and Free Jinger didn’t immediately narrow it down.

Pre–Courtship. Okay, so this one’s tricky. From Nathan’s POV, they probably began pre–courting, like, immediately, since he announced his feeling after just one week. However, from the way Nathan tells the story, it seemed that Esther didn’t immediately reciprocate those feelings. It took a little longer for her—he didn’t say exactly how long—but, eventually, she came around. Given this, I’m thinking the logical way to approach this would be to set the Pre–C.S. Date on the day, whatever it is, that Esther told Nathan she wanted to be with him, too.

So... When is that date? Well, we don’t know. Previously, I was using April 12, 2020 as a Pre–Courtship Date for them, based on them listing that as the start of their relationship on Facebook. To me, it seems quite significant that they’d list a date like that... So, I’m tempted to still use it. I’m also nearly certain that that date coincides with a visit by Nathan to see Esther in Pennsylvania, which would make sense. I’m thinking she admitted her feelings in person, maybe.

Anyway, TL;DR... We don’t really know. Duggar Data is using April 12, 2020.

Courtship. Facebook evidence points to October 14, 2020 as their Courtposal Date. This was then confirmed by Nathan on Bringing Up Bates (4–29–21), “Tis The Season For Surprises,” when he stated: “I asked Esther to be my girlfriend on her birthday.” (Her birthday is October 14.) So... Apparently, they began an official courtship on October 14, 2020. Duggar Data considers it ‘confirmed.’

Engagement. Per Fox News’s exclusive, Nathan proposed on May 22, 2021. That date is ‘confirmed.’

Length of Each Relationship Stage

Based on the dates above, their Pre–Courtship lasted ~185 Days (~6 Months), while their Courtship lasted 220 Days (~7 Months).

Excluding Nathan + Esther, a ‘typical’ Bates Couple pre–courted for 303 Days. (The range is 31 Days [Michaela + Brandon] to 586 Days [Erin + Chad]. A Pre–C.S. in the 300–Day range is most typical, with 3 Bates Couples [Tori + Bobby, Carlin + Evan, and Josie + Kelton] all pre–courting for between 300–399 Days.) The Standard Deviation (SD) was 174 Days.

Factoring in Nathan + Esther, it is now Bates–typical to pre–court for 289 Days (–2 Weeks) and the SD decreased to 167 Days, indicating more consistency.

Prior to Nathan + Esther, a ‘typical’ Bates Couple courted for 269 Days, before getting engaged. That is ~9 Months. (The range is 71 Days [Alyssa + John] to 469 Days [Erin + Chad].) The SD was 156 Days.

Adding in Nathan + Esther’s data, it’s now Bates–typical to court for 263 Days (–6 Days) and the SD decreased to 147 Days, indicating more consistency.

Age at Courtship / Age Gap

Nathan’s DOB is August 29, 1993. Esther’s DOB is October 14, 1997. Nathan is 4.13 Years (1,507 Days) Older than Esther, and that’s their Age Gap. Nathan + Esther started courting on October 14, 2020, at the following ages—

Her Age at C.S. 23.00 Years

His Age at C.S. 27.13 Years

Before Nathan + Esther, a typical Bates Couple had an Age Gap of 2.18 Years, favoring the man. (It ranges from 0.42 Years / Woman Older [Katie + Travis] to 4.97 Years / Man Older [Alyssa + John].) The SD was 1.90 Years.

Factoring in Nathan + Esther, the typical Age Gap shifts is now 2.33 Years, with the man being older. The SD barely shifted, moving from 1.90 to 1.89 Years.

As for Age at C.S. for Males and Females... Prior to Nathan + Esther, a ‘typical’ Bates (or Bates In–Law) began courting at Age 22.83 (for Males) and Age 20.56 (for Females). (For Males, the range went from Age 19.00 [Travis] to Age 25.63 [Chad]. For Females, it was from Age 18.44 [Josie] to Age 23.93 [Michaela].) It varied by SDs of 1.86 Years (Males) and 1.74 Years (Females).

Factoring in Nathan + Esther... Nathan set a new record for Oldest Male at CS, at Age 27.13. Esther was also on the older side—but, at Age 23.00, she didn’t quite beat Michaela’s record (Age 23.93). Their data shifts the average Ages at C.S. as follows—

Typical Age at C.S. (Bates Males) Age 23.22 (+142 Days)

Typical Age at C.S. (Bates Females) Age 20.78 (+80 Days)

When Will They Get Married?

Based on the weddings so far (Chad + Erin to Carlin + Evan), it’s Bates–typical to wed 125 Days after the proposal. (It ranges from 89 Days [Zach + Whit and Tori + Bobby] to 245 Days [Carlin + Evan].) It varied by a SD of 55 Days. With this in mind, and assuming they’ll marry on a Friday or a Saturday, here’s when Nathan + Esther might tie the knot—

Exactly Average September 24, 2021

Early (–1 SD) July 31, 2021

Late (+1 SD) November 19, 2021

But, hold on. Not so fast. Recently, we learned that, after getting engaged on April 7, 2021, Katie Bates is planning to marry Travis Clark in December. Their engagement is, thus, going to be significantly longer than is currently typical in the Bates Family. This is worth factoring in, I think! So, let’s just assume that Katie + Travis plan to marry in mid–December (December 16th). Since that’s a Thursday, let’s go with December 17, 2021, instead. With the Proposal Date of April 7, 2021, they’d have been engaged for 254 Days. Factoring that estimate in, it would then be Bates–typical to be engaged for 141 Days. And the SD will increase to 68 Days. Based on this data, and again assuming the wedding will be on a Friday or Saturday, here’s when Nathan + Esther might wed—

Exactly Average October 9, 2021

Early (–1 SD) July 31, 2021 or August 6, 2021

Late (+1 SD) December 17, 2021

That’s the official Predictor guess, as it’s already factoring in Katie + Travis. We will see, though! I’ve heard the rumor about Nathan + Esther possibly planning a Spring 2022 Wedding... Now that would be a long engagement!

#engagement #nathan and esther

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astranva · 4 years ago

Text

Heather.

Word Count: 2k

Category: Angst

Warning: Language? idk

Request: pls write an angst based on Heather by Conan gray i love ur writings sm

Summary: In which Harry is the Heather of his own story.

this won’t have a second part, let’s keep it sad 💀

thanks for requesting, anon! hope you like it and thank you sm🤍

// masterlist //

You were there for as long as Harry could remember, and that was so many years.

He was convinced that many scriptwriters and directors heard of your friendship’s story and that was how most rom-coms were made.

But the rom-coms had something that Harry was yet to have – the happy ending he kept wishing for.

It wasn’t your fault, really. Sure, you were a little oblivious but it was also a little unfair saying that was the only reason why Harry hadn’t gotten his happy ending because he knew that at the end of the day, it was him not making a move and admitting his feelings for you throughout all these years.

Harry remembered how for his 16th birthday, you had saved up to get him and yourself tickets to see Coldplay live.

He remembered how you cried as you hugged him after his X Factor audition as you all stood backstage.

He remembered how excited he was when he first introduced you to the rest of the boys when they were put in a band. Hell, you slept over with them at Robin’s for a couple of days.

He remembered how you flew out for the weekend when Zayn had left the band, knowing that Harry needed your presence.

He remembered how you were the first person he went to when he decided to make a debut solo record.

He remembered waking up to your singing in Jamaica, munching on honey toast as your face would light up the moment he came to view – “Good morning, H! I squeezed some fresh oranges for you.”

He also remembered how his face would heat up when he was just a kid whenever his family would mention that you and him were bound to end up together.

He remembered how his first heartbreak wasn’t from a relationship of his own, but it was when you got into one at 16. He hated it.

He remembered helping you with your dates, reacting to how you thought a new crush was, holding you as you cried.

Harry remembered how despite being in love with you since he was a teenager, he didn’t take a step towards having you more than a best friend.

And God, his journals were proof of that love; the love songs, all those ones about unrequited love, the short poems he wrote in the dead of the night.

He had cringed when he told you that he was seeing someone, only to have you become excited and genuinely happy for him.

If you could do it, why couldn’t he?

He was staying over at yours, a normal occurrence for when he was home. He could’ve as well just sold his house at that point.

“Have anything I can wear? This isn’t too comfortable.” He had asked you as the both of you lounged, watching a stand-up comedy.

“Yeah, just choose whatever you want.” You nonchalantly said, not caring if he went through your clothes – not like this was anything but normal for the both of you.

“Too lazy to move.” He mumbled, looking up at you from where he was; his head resting on your lap as you played with his hair.

The smile that came to your face was one Harry mirrored without knowing, staring at you as you continued to watch the show. “I’m not moving.” You stated.

He groaned, standing up, “Will you still play with my hair when I come back?”

At that, your eyes moved to him, “Yes, you baby.”

That was all the assurance he needed before he walked to your room and opened your wardrobe, going through your clothes without messing anything up; you liked your clothes neatly folded at all times.

Reaching one lilac sweater, Harry took it out before holding it over his upper body, finding that it would probably perfectly fit.

Taking off his own top and putting on yours, Harry’s breath instantly hitched in his throat, stomach tied up in knots.

It smelled like you.

It smelled like fresh vanilla detergent and the coconut scent he adored so much.

Running his hand slowly across his body, Harry turned to look at the mirror, eyes falling on the item that screamed your name louder than the beaded necklace you had made him months ago that decorated his neck – “Golden, because that’s what I think you are” you had said.

He gulped, fingertips grazing the material.

“Harry! You’re missing all the good bits!”

“Coming!” He shouted back, hoping you didn’t catch the crack in his voice.

After one final look, Harry had walked back to you, placing his head on your lap.

“Good choice.” You had commented softly.

“Yeah?” Harry almost whispered, “Feels comfortable. What material is that?”

“Just polyester,” you shrugged, “Hate how it looks better on you though.” You had joked, giving him a gentle tug to his hair.

Harry had giggled, closing his eyes as you scratched his scalp softly, “Thanks.”

After that day, it was like Harry claimed the sweater. He’d beeline to it the moment he stepped a foot in your house, frowning at you on some days when you told him that it was getting washed.

Days turned to weeks, and before Harry could do as much as blink, you were back from your work with a smile brighter than usual.

He was sitting on your couch that day, in the lilac sweater, a smile drawn to his face as soon as his saw yours, pausing the music that was playing from his laptop. “You look happy.”

And you were, because you had given his cheek a soundly smooch of greeting, unaware of Harry’s cheeks reddening.

You hummed with a nod, “I have a date tonight with, quite possibly, the cutest person I have ever met.”

He wasn’t expecting that.

Harry was not expecting that.

His smile faltered, only staring at you.

“They’re just,” you sighed, staring at the ceiling with a hand to your heart, “A dream, you know? Hey, wait! You know them!”

“I do?”

“Yeah,” you nodded eagerly, “Chelsea introduced them when we went to that pub 2 weeks ago, remember? Charlie?”

“Oh.”

And he did. He remembered how pretty Charlie was, how they seemed to keep conversations going and made sure everyone was listened to, how Charlie’s style stood out in the pub, how their jokes made everyone laugh – including him. He remembered how Charlie’s eyes lingered on you when you talked, how the both of you seemed dived into a conversation of common interests. He hated it.

Charlie really was a dream. Yeah, he hated that, too.

Harry had helped you decide on an outfit, his chest feeling as if it clenched around his heart to a point where his cage would combust.

He helped you with your hair, spraying the back of it for you because you had always complained about not reaching that part well.

Fuck, he even painted your nails that night – they were in lilac.

And he was there when Charlie picked you up, a genuine smile on their face that looked nothing like the petty one he wore.

“Do you need us to bring you anything, mate? We’re having Italian.” Charlie had offered.

Why did Charlie have to be kind and polite? What happened to the assholes they portrayed in rom-coms?

“No, thanks, Y/N made me lasagna earlier.” Harry had chuckled, watching you smile at the interaction.

“Go to sleep by 9, Mr.” You had joked as you left, Charlie’s hand on your back.

“You know it.” Harry had mumbled with a weak smile, giving you a nod.

By 7, Harry was almost sure he yanked all his hair out, despite the mirrors assuring him that he didn’t.

By 8, he tried to eat, but the nauseous feeling that ran through his body at the thought of you with someone else made him put the casserole back in the fridge.

By 9, Harry had called Mitch to break the news of your newest date, only to hang up so soon when Mitch was beginning to tell him how he still might have a chance.

By 10, he wrote a song. One full song.

By 11, he had the tune for it.

By 12, Harry watched you kiss someone who wasn’t him and he had no one to blame.

“How was it?” He managed to utter, watching you stand against the door with the widest smile.

“Perfect.”

That was the beginning of everything but what Harry wished upon a constellation for, because by the second month of you seeing Charlie, you had made it official.

Charlie was perfect in all aspects; hell, even Gemma liked them when she met them as the 4 of you had brunch one day.

But then Charlie was around your house more that Harry just wasn’t that comfortable to sleep over anymore.

He remembered how the three of you were watching a movie one night, Charlie having been wanting to get to know Harry more since he was “someone Y/N talks about and loves so much” – Charlie said that with no drop of pettiness, Harry wondered how they did it – when Harry just couldn’t take any more of you cuddling someone who wasn’t him and before you and Charlie could process it, Harry was out with an empty excuse – “I forgot my guitar at Mitch’s.”

His guitar was resting against the very couch he was sitting on.

But nothing prepared him for that one moment.

Charlie had invited him for the barbecue party they were hosting and if it weren’t for your puppy eyes, Harry would’ve been sulking in the comfort of his house and not in his car while he was on the way to oh-so-perfect Charlie’s.

He heard Lizzo playing the moment he got out of his car, and it was how he knew that it was your playlist playing.

He had brought cake with him, walking cautiously with the boxed dessert in his hands.

The door was opened, a few smiling people passing by him before he was met with yours, only as always, your face lit up once you saw him.

“You’re here!” You didn’t care that he was holding anything in his hands that restrained him from hugging you back because you threw your arms around him, leaving a kiss to his cheek, “Everyone’s been asking for you. Something about how it was weird seeing me without you.” You giggled.

“Partners in crime, eh?” He smiled at you, referring to the phrase you have been using with one another since school.

“You bet,” you wiggled your eyebrows, “Oh, shoot, sorry, didn’t notice you had this. Um, come, let’s put it in the kitchen.”

You were comfortable in Charlie’s house, Harry noticed. It was no surprise; he would’ve been more worried if you weren’t seen as you had been together for 6 months.

Placing the cake in the fridge, you and Harry then walked to where everyone was.

And that was when he saw it.

Charlie lied on a lounge chair, laughing and looking all attractive, in the very lilac, polyester sweater Harry had found comfort in.

He watched as you walked over, Charlie instantly putting a hand to your waist as they smiled up at you before you leaned down, pressing your lips against one another.

“Act natural, would you?” He heard Chelsea’s, a mutual friend, voice beside him.

“What?”

“If you can’t be happy for Y/N, try to act natural around them,” Chelsea sighed, her heart breaking for her friend as she looked at Harry who was yet to move his eyes from the couple, “Charlie’s great, you know?”

“Yeah,” he gave her a dry chuckle, “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why aren’t you happy that at least they’re not an asshole?”

“Just,” Harry looked at his friend, a defeated look on his face before the sound of you squealing gleefully grabbed his attention, watching as Charlie had their arms wrapped around you from behind, the both of you laughing as your friends all smiled in awe, “Just wish I were Charlie.”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles angst imagine #heather #harry styles angst one shot #harry styles one shot #bestfriend!harry

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xomarauders · 4 years ago

Text

posted this on ao3 awhile back and had a hard time getting tumblr to upload it, but it finally worked so here you go

content warning for referenced child abuse

The warmth of summer filtered through the window, casting rays of sunshine across the floor of James Potter’s bedroom carpet where Remus was splayed out, tracing patterns into the ridiculously soft material. He was sure that James charmed it to keep it so fluffy, otherwise it would not have survived the footfalls of four, rowdy boys that found refuge here during the summer. It used to be only the three of them—James, Remus, and Peter, that is—until Sirius was able to join permanently halfway through the summer season. His parents had never allowed for him to visit the Potter’s while he was still living under their roof, but now that the raven-haired boy had run away and was officially disowned, well, Remus was sure the carpet would have wilted under Padfoot’s grubby paws by now.

Either way, Remus was sure that there was nothing better than laying on James’ charmed carpet with his three best friends, listening to music from the record player—that had also been charmed to work without electricity—and chatting about whatever came to their minds. They were all sat on the floor aside from Sirius, who was perched in the window, smoking, and watching as the birds flew around outside. Remus smirked—the boy really was such a dog.

“It’s our last years at Hogwarts, boys,” James announced as he pushed his glasses further up his nose, “what are we going to do once it’s all over?”

It was a question that held a lot of weight, depending on how you looked at it. What were they going to do as far as it came to pranks and leaving their legacy at Hogwarts or what were they going to do as soon as they graduated. Maybe get jobs, possibly go to university, more likely join the Order to fight a war they didn’t start. Remus didn’t care to think about any of these things. His future had been something he considered to be doomed since he was four years old and suddenly had to share his mind with a beast that tore apart his body every month. He had never even planned on having the life he had gotten—the chance to go to Hogwarts, to make friends…to fall in love.

He cast glance toward Sirius, whose own gray eyes were already looking to Remus, a thoughtful expression on his face. Remus grinned at him, tilting his head so that his curls fell into his eyes. Sirius smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He’d been smiling like that a lot, lately. Remus made a mental note to ask him about it later that night.

“I don’t know about you lot, but I have no idea what I’m going to do without all of you around,” Peter said.

“Don’t worry, mate,” James said, patting Peter on the shoulder, “you can’t get rid of us that easy! Marauders till the end, right?”

There was a certain admiration that Remus held for James Potter, the savior of the cursed and the damned. He had banded them all together; the timid boy, the broken werewolf, and the wayward heir to make a family. Remus would never be able to repay James for the unconditional love he’d shown him, but he was willing to try everyday for the rest of his life.

“Marauders till the end,’ Sirius repeated, extracting himself from the window as he put out his cigarette. He joined them on the floor, laying down next to Remus and pressing himself tightly against the other boy. Remus wrapped his arm around Sirius, partially out of habit and partially because it was what Sirius needed, something he was starved of. Touch had been something of a guessing game between the two of them ever since they started their relationship. Neither of them were quite used to being touched in such casual ways until they became friends with James—who was constantly giving out hugs like they were candy—and starting a relationship had made the concept even more confusing. Not only did they have to think about what sort of casual touching was okay for each of them, but now they had to factor in intimate contact. Kissing was okay, just as long as they were alone in the safety of Remus’ four poster bed or hidden in one of the various alcoves they had discovered while creating the Marauders Map. Remus thought it might even be okay here, in James’ bedroom, to sweetly kiss his boyfriend without fear of judgment or ridicule. Still, he let Sirius make those decisions, allowed him to initiate any sort of contact between them because while Remus’ aversion to touch stemmed from not being able to trust himself, Sirius’ came from not being able to trust others. He was easily spooked by any sort of sudden movement that came his way, a side effect of Walburga Black’s outstanding parenting skills, and no amount of James’ casual hugs or Remus’ gentle caresses have seemed to break him of this habit.

“What are you thinking about, Moons?” Sirius whispered. James and Peter were too busy arguing over which record to play next to notice their other two friends.

“You,” Remus said easily. Sirius blushed—an image Remus would never tire of seeing—and reached up with his slender fingers to brush away the curls that had fallen in Remus’ eyes.

“Me,” Sirius said, a hint of astonishment in his voice.

Remus wished Sirius wouldn’t sound so surprised at the idea of someone thinking of him. It hurt to know that Sirius did not quite value himself the same way Remus, James and Peter did and it was times like these where Remus wanted to meet Walburga and Orion Black in person just so he could give them a piece of his mind.

“Lads,” James said, throwing himself on top of them unceremoniously, “let’s head on downstairs. I think mum’s made dinner.”

The four of them trailed down the stairs, Sirius holding Remus’ hand while James raced ahead to slide down the railing. Fleamont was in the parlor, reading the newspaper and looking up as the boys made their presence known. He greeted them all, and asked James in a calm tone to perhaps not ride the staircase like a broomstick. James at least had the decency to turn red before assuring his dad it would never happen again (everyone knew it would). Euphemia was in the kitchen, apron tied around her waist and her gray hair up in a knot on her head. Sirius leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, and she gently reached out to him, not quite taking his face in her hands until she saw the smallest nod of permission.

“My darling,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears, “you look well.”

Remus knew what Euphemia was thinking about as she took in Sirius’ appearance. It was the same thing he had thought of over and over again as he laid in bed at night, his arms wrapped tightly around his boyfriend in attempt to keep him safe from the nightmares that occupied his mind. The frail and beaten Sirius that had collapsed on the Potter’s doorstep those few weeks ago had been nursed back to health by the healing powers and carefulness of Euphemia Potter. Still, it was hard to get that image of Sirius lying half dead out of Remus’ mind. He could hardly imagine what it was like for Euphemia who had seen the worst of his injuries after shoving everyone else out of the room in order to heal him. James, Remus, and Peter had stayed up all night, waiting outside the spare bedroom door where they could hear Euphemia sobbing over Sirius’ sleeping form. Remus would rather have faced the full moon a hundred times instead of waiting those long three days for Sirius to wake up.

“Thanks, mum,” Sirius said. The four boys crowded around the kitchen table, eagerly reaching toward the various dishes Euphemia had spread about. Fleamont had joined them, sitting between his wife and Sirius. James immediately went for his mother’s main dish, filling his plate full before passing it to Peter, who was already nibbling on some naan. Remus loved Euphemia’s cooking. It was different than that of his mother’s—not that he would ever pass up his mam’s wonderful Sunday dinners—and he was happy to able to enjoy the different flavors offered whenever he visited. Euphemia always made far too much, making sure that everyone got their fill as well as some leftovers. She was an angel, truly.

Sirius did not fill his plate as full as the others. He was still very thin, with his jaw looking more pronounced and Remus knew his hipbones were a bit more jutted out. Punishments at Grimmauld Place were harsh and Sirius had been starved well into the first few months of summer. It was still a process, trying to get him to eat without getting sick, but they were managing best they could. Remus watched as Sirius poked at his food, looking a bit scared of it before setting his fork down and letting out a frustrated sigh. James looked up from his own plate, regarding Sirius with a look of concern from across the table.

“You okay there, Padfoot?” He asked, keeping his tone light but Remus could see the worry in his dark eyes. Sirius nodded, picking up his utensils once more.

“Yeah. I’m fine, just…” He trailed off, looking down at the table and not daring to meet anyone’s eye. Remus felt a sudden need to shield Sirius away from everyone else’s intense gaze, the wolf within him becoming quite territorial. He pushed those feeling away, not permitting the wolf access to its most basic instincts in the fear that the wolf might be visible on the surface. Still, even his human mind seemed to want to take Sirius away from the scrutiny.

“Darling,” Euphemia said, “you don’t have to eat it all. Just a few bites of naan if you can bear it. Just to keep up your strength.”

Sirius smiled tightly at her but did not move to eat. The rest of them reluctantly picked at their own food, trying to keep things as normal as possible. Fleamont engaged his son in conversation about Quidditch, asking after the Gryffindor team and what he thought their chances were this upcoming school year. Peter politely asked after the herbs Euphemia was growing in her kitchen—he had a thing for herbology—and she answered each question with detail. Remus turned his attention to Sirius, his hand coming to rest on the older boy’s knee. Sirius flinched slightly and then blinked as he realized it was only Remus.

“Do you want to go on a walk?” Remus asked quietly, rubbing circles with his thumb into Sirius’ thigh. The other boy nodded, standing quickly, and exiting the kitchen. The conversations happening came to an abrupt halt and Remus could feel James’ gaze turn towards him. He looked to his friend, a silent conversation passing between them.

Is he okay?

No, but he will be.

Remus walked out, trailing through the living room and out the back door which lead to the Potter’s spacious garden. When Remus had first visited the Potter’s home when he was thirteen, he had the startling realization that James Potter was very well off. It was a bit daunting, especially since Remus’ whole house could probably fit within one room of the mansion and he had been a bit nervous to even touch anything in fear of breaking it. Of course, Fleamont and Euphemia were no stranger to rough-housing, having known exactly what they were getting into with their own son, and Remus’ worries were quickly put to ease when Euphemia simply waved her wand at a vase that had tragically fallen to the floor amidst their game of dog-pile on Peter. Young Remus had almost forgotten that magic existed outside of Hogwarts, and he was in awe at seeing performed in such a domestic setting.

His favorite part of James’ home though was the garden. It was so big! There were wonderful trees that provided much needed shade on hot summer days, and pools of water run by magic to keep the vegetation alive. There were many times the boys pretended to be magizoologists searching for creatures in a jungle, or highly trained aurors on the hunt for evil wizards and—Remus’ personal favorite—pirates looking for treasure. It was a place filled with joy and adventure and even as the boys got older, it remained their sanctuary. Sirius had spent a lot of time in the garden since he arrived, sitting by himself beneath the starlit sky, crying out for his brother and the family that had hurt him. Remus had watched in privately, not daring to intrude on such moments, but wanting to be within reach just in case.

Sirius sat there now, next to a bed of deep red roses, softly running his fingers across the petals. Remus walked up, careful not spook him, and sat down beside him. He flickered his eyes in Sirius’ direction and noticed the other boy had started crying, but he did not pry. Now was not the time for that. Instead, he let his fingers trail through the grass beneath him and let his words fall lazily off his tongue.

“I read a new book at the beginning of summer,” Remus began, his tone light. “Mrs. Dalloway. It was a quick read. The entire novel takes place over the course of one day, how interesting is that? It’s become one of my favorites I think. Woolf is a great author—Virginia Woolf, she’s the one who wrote it.”

Sirius seemed to perk up at this. “Woolf? Could you be anymore ironic, Moony?”

A light laugh escaped Remus. “Believe me, I know. Mum was worried about that when she got it for me.”

The tension snapped back into Sirius as quickly as Remus realized his mistake. Hope Lupin was a generous woman, young and vibrant with a taste for progressive ideologies and love for everyone she met. She adored her son and kept him safe, never shying away from him despite his affliction with lycanthropy and Remus sometimes forgot how lucky he was to have her in his life until he was sat next to Sirius and realized that the Hope Lupin’s and Euphemia Potter’s of the world were unfortunately not the norm for everyone.

“They hate me,” Sirius says abruptly. “They hate that I don’t agree with them. That I don’t want to fucking pledge my allegiance to some dark lord who wants to kill all my friends and I—” he chokes off, a sob escaping him, “I don’t want to care, Remus. I don’t want to be bothered by the fact that my mother would rather curse me instead of hug me and that my father would rather have me dead instead of tarnishing his precious family name. But I do. I do care because they should care. I’m their son, I am their fucking flesh and blood and if blood is all that matters to them then why don’t they care about me?”

There were tears in his eyes as he looked at Remus, tears that Sirius had been holding back ever since he was eleven years old and discovered that parents were not supposed to punish their children for wanting to be loved, the pain and anguish of that realization that had built up over time finally reaching a breaking point. Remus’ own heart was breaking as he stared helplessly, not knowing what to do. These were not problems children were supposed to have. They were supposed to be young, careless, and dreaming up pranks to pull once they got back to school. Instead, they had to contend with a looming war and parents who were cruel and a curse that transformed you into a monster. This was their life, and it would never be easy, Remus thought, not for them.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, “there are no words I can say to express to you how sorry I am that you’ve had to deal with any of this. Your parents…they’re wrong. They are so fucking wrong and they are so fucking blind for not being able to love you. You are the most loveable human being. You’re generous and caring and you…you take notes for me. When I miss class. And you always make sure my pillows are nice and fluffy after the moon and you rub those soothing salves on my skin at night. And you make me that special tea whenever I’m sick and you read to me when I can’t sleep. You kiss me like it’s the first time every time and you love me like it’s the only thing you’re meant to do. You clean James’ glasses for him and you make sure his Quidditch gear is ready to go on game day. You help Peter study and you let him go on and on about divination with you despite it being your least favorite subject. You’re the first one up to dance with Marlene at the parties and you braid Lily’s hair whenever she’s feeling upset over her sister. You are one of a kind, Sirius Black. You are a good friend and a good brother and you are the love of my life. Believe me when I tell you that you are loved.”

Sirius stared at him, the tears falling from his eyes leaving trails across his cheeks. He reached out for Remus, pulling the taller boy closer to close the distance between them. Sirius’ lips met Remus’, a tender kiss filled with gratitude and love and the promise of forever. When Sirius pulled away, his eyes were still shining, but there was new fervor there, a look of life that Remus had not seen reflected in those silver orbs for a long time.

“I love you so much,” Sirius said. And he smiled genuinely for the first time in months.

Remus smiled back. “I love you, too.”

“Come on,” Sirius said, standing up and offering his hand. “Let’s head back in.”

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prfctparis · 3 years ago

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In a Sweet Sunshower

AO3 Link

summary: He Who Brings Rain and The One Who Shines Bright are siblings. It’s fitting that there’s a sunshower during one of the campaigns when their legions team up.

a/n: a few things about Tatooine Slave Culture in this is borrowed from fialleril here on tumblr, so all rights go to them for that. except for the sunshower thing, i came up with it while driving and wrote this as fast as i could and actually kind of proud of the concept ngl. fun fact! zariza’s name mean ‘gold, brilliantly bright’ in hebrew so obviously it means something similar here in this star wars universe.

There’s an old phenomenon, here on Tatooine – from thousands and thousands of years ago back when this place wasn’t all dirt and sand – where the suns shone high in the sky, and voluminous clouds did little to darken the earth below, and rain fell from them, soaking the life on the ground.

It never lasted long, a few or so minutes at most, but it always happened during the hottest season of the year. It was said to be a beautiful sight to behold. The down pouring rain and the bright shining suns, together. Apparently it looked like liquid gold.

Everyone called it a sunshower. All of the Depur took it as a sign for there to be tricksters coming their way. Some of the Amavikka said that it was a sign of hope from one of the ancient prophets – Ekkreth, or Maru, or Tena, or Ebra – or even Ar-Amu to the slaves.

But most said that during it was when slaves became Free for good.

…We haven’t had rain in ages.

Zariza huffs and grimaces. Every single part of her is sweaty and sticky, and the humidity of this planet’s region might actually end up being the death of her. No, not the droids they fought earlier, or the damn Separatists, or even a stray blaster bolt. But the humidity. She knows that hate isn’t a good thing for a Jedi to feel, but she hates it, through and through. The air feels suffocating – the exact opposite of what it should be – and makes the heat of the sun feel hotter than it actually is.

It’s horrible. She says as much to her Jedi Master.

“Yes, humidity does make what we’re doing harder. Unnecessarily so,” Mace agrees, sounding less annoyed and tired than his padawan but Zariza can hear the edge of the emotions in his voice. He isn’t fairing so well in this weather, either.

At least the battle is over. Now they just have to clean up everything.

The leaders of the planet had asked for clean up help once the fighting had ended and they had verbally agreed to officially join the Republic. Of course the 187th and 501st easily promised they would do so. Neither of the legions have somewhere important to be, except for maybe Coruscant or a High Council meeting, and so here they are. Sweating their asses off in the humid heat that somehow feels like a murder attempt.

“Take a break if you need it, Zariza – I don’t want you overworking yourself in this heat. It could be dangerous,” Mace says after a few more moments. Then to Commander Ponds, “Same goes for all of the one-eighty-seventh, Commander. Take as many breaks as you need.”

Zariza sees Ponds nod out of the corner of her eyes, followed by, “Yes sir, General. Lieutenant Spite and a medic squad are collecting bottles of water and setting up tents for shade. I’ve heard that the five-oh-first are doing the same as they work as well.”

“Good.”

Wiping her brow with the bare skin of her bicep, Zariza is glad that she had the foresight to leave her black cloak and outer tunic on the venator-ship. She now only wears the black boots, leggings, and the sleeveless white under tunic, which is now stained with dirt and a few specks of blood but she could hardly care. The troopers did earlier, though, especially at the beginning of the fight – lack of armor meant danger but Zariza wasn’t about to give herself a heatstroke. She at least still wore the braces for her forearms, and the chest plate that she has since taken off.

One of the troopers – Mayhem, she recognizes the armor – hands her a container of water hardly ten minutes later. She smiles gratefully at him and takes it, taking a few sips, and then hands it back. He caps the container, clips it on his belt, and they both get back to work cleaning broken droid parts and other various debris from the fight. Mayhem never strays too far from her. Zariza might have been annoyed by it if she didn’t know that he’s looking out for her.

On the other side of the large area that had been used a battle field against Seppie droids, are the 501st – her brother included. Like her, he has darker robes than the usual Jedi, and had also foregone the outer tunics because of the planet’s heat before battle started. Zariza won’t be surprised if he’s currently completely shirtless by now – a risk for a sunburn, no doubt, with skin much paler than her own, but that’s his problem. She also knows for a fact that Ahsoka is wearing the tube top outfit she wore constantly before Anakin corralled her into wearing something more covering, a few pieces of armor included, just a month ago.

Hell, even Master Mace Windu is shirtless right now, the weirdness of it be damned. Some troopers have started to disappear regularly, leaving in full gear, only to pop up again with the top half of their blacks and armor gone.

Yeah. Humidity karking sucks.

Needing a break, Zariza leans against a lone tree nearby. She can feel the Living Force flowing through it and focuses on that as she catches her breath. Mayhem spots her and brings her more water without question.

“Thanks,” she sighs, and takes another sip.

Mayhem nods, undoing a second bottle from his belt, right next to where his helmet it clipped. He’s shirtless just like many of his brothers, curly hair frizzy as hell. “You’re welcome, sir,” he says. Once he’s had a few sips of his own, he asks, “How much is left in there?”

She shakes it, and shrugs. “Half, maybe?”

He nods again. “I’ll go back to one of the tents and refill it for you soon.”

She smiles thankfully. “Don’t forget to get yourself some.”

Mayhem chuckles. “Of course not, sir.”

After taking another drink, she hands it back just like before. But she doesn’t move to get back to work just yet. Master Mace nudges her in their bond, asking if she’s okay, and she tiredly pokes back to confirm that she is, all the while eying what’s left of the field to clean up. They’re getting there, but it looks like it will take forever. At least Anakin, Ahsoka, and the 501st are tackling the other half; and they’re getting closer, slowly but surely.

Her eyes flit up to the sky, and she spots grey clouds nearby. But, ugh – they aren’t close enough for them to get rained on.

It causes a frown to tug on her lips. A pout, if she wants to be honest about it.

Mayhem chuckles for a second time, more amused than before. “Finally saw the clouds, huh, verd’ika?”

Another trooper nearby stops and looks as well. A wounded noise escape them. “It’s so close but so damn far,” they say, forlorn. What a Force-damned mood.

“This humidity will be the death of me,” Zariza mumbles.

“That’s not happening on our watch,” they say, firm yet exhausted, the sadness about the clouds suddenly gone.

“Damn straight,” Mayhem agrees.

She can only groan.

Once Zariza has rested for a good few minutes, she stands up straight again, but instead of getting to work, she unties the knot of the yellow bandana at the nape of her neck. The wild, dark waves of her hair are no doubt frizzy and wilder than ever; earlier she was positive that she felt the waves grow in size because of the friz and the humidity, and she honestly doesn’t want to know what she looks like because of it. Quickly, she works on putting her long hair into a nerftail and ties it with the bandana.

What feels like ages later, the planet’s sun is beginning to finally lower in the sky and the 187th has done most of their half of the battle field. Through the bond, Zariza can tell Anakin is close by yet she stays lying on the ground, taking yet another much needed break. The clouds are closer, too. Yet still no rain.

The sound of boots crunching the dry, summer grass as someone walks gets closer and louder, up until the person stops right at Zariza’s head, casting a shadow over her. She blinks and tilts her chin to get a better look at who it is despite already having a pretty good guess. Anakin stands over her, sweaty and shirtless, with red tinting his shoulders, chest, and nose. His dirty blond hair is matted with sweat and it sticks to his forehead and the nape of his neck, a few of the short curls frizzed up, and his face is contorted into a scowl.

“I cannot believe I’m saying this,” he says, “but I miss Tatooine’s dry heat.”

“Agreed,” she grunts.

Anakin huffs and steps to her side. He then sticks out his flesh hand, and Zariza forces herself to sit up so she can grab it. He pulls her to her feet and almost immediately lets go once he’s sure she’s balanced well. The humid heat has made the brother-sister who hug every time they see each other, want to not be touching another body in any way for the foreseeable future.

Anakin runs a hand through his hair, grimaces at the sweat, and wipes it on his pants. Disgusting. “Been drinking enough water?” he asks.

She sighs. “Yep. You?”

“Yep.”

“Ahsoka?”

“Yep.” A beat. “Master Windu?”

She almost says ‘yep’ again, but decides not to. “Yeah, him too. Don’t worry.” She smirks. It’s no secret that before Master Mace took her as his padawan, that Anakin couldn’t stand the man. The feeling might have been mutual, but honestly Zariza doesn’t know and doesn’t care to. For now.

Anakin just rolls his eyes and flips her off, walking off to help Captain Rex and a few more guys of Torrent Company.

Ahsoka comes up to her a second later. The younger teen doesn’t say anything, and neither does Zariza. Usually energetic and happy to get her to know her Master’s little sister better, the heat has zapped the togruta of most of her energy. So in silence, they work together on a particularly large piece of debris, and then immediately head to the nearest tent for some much needed shade. Breaks are becoming more frequent, and Zariza thinks that maybe she will have to stop helping if they don’t finish up cleaning soon.

Anakin is already in the tent, along with Master Mace, Captain Rex, and Commander Ponds by the time the girls get there, and the two padawans wave a short greeting to the men before beelining where other troopers are giving out fresh water.

It’s when one of the Boys In Blue (as the GAR has started calling the 501st) hands them both a fresh container when it happens.

The sound of rain pelting the top of the tent makes everyone freeze. It’s obviously still sunny, but that doesn’t stop Zariza or any of the others to turn to check for themselves. And it is – no clouds directly above them at all – yet the rain is falling down, gradually increasing to a steady downpour. She blinks a few times and inches closer to the edge of the tent, and hardly a second later Anakin is at her side, looking out as well, mouth parted in shock.

“A sunshower,” Anakin whispers.

Zariza numbly nods.

Her mind conjures up a faint memory of being told of a phenomenon from hundreds of thousands of years ago on Tatooine. Of sunshine and rain, together. Of liquid gold. Of tricksters visiting Depur. Of a sign of hope to slaves, or a celebration for the Freed.

It doesn’t look completely like liquid gold like Amu’s tales said, but it was close to it. It’s still beautiful. A stunning phenomenon that neither Anakin nor Zariza believed they would ever get to see.

“They don’t last long,” she finds herself saying.

The Skywalkers turn their heads in unison to look at one another. Matching grins of excitement and mischief form, and without any prompting Zariza is taking off into the rain almost as fast as a blaster bolt, Anakin hot on her heels.

Zariza jumps into an already formed puddle. It’s right next to one of the 501st troopers, Jesse, and it splashes him. Zariza may or may not have used to Froce to make the splash bigger, but that doesn’t exactly matter. Just that there’s a sunshower, that her and her brother are both Free, and there’s a fucking sunshower and it’s amazing!

Jesse lunges at her, wanting to retaliate for getting splashed at, but she slips away easily with loud laughter.

From him, anyway – Anakin catches her a second later with water from a puddle cupped in his hands. He promptly dumps it over her head with laughter of his own, then misses up her hair just for the heck of it.

“Wha– ugh, Anakin!”

“Tag, you’re it!” he shouts, as if they’re eight and twelve again in the Room of a Thousand Fountains instead of sixteen and twenty in the middle of a field post-battle.

Zariza gapes at him, but it quickly turns into grins and she chases after him without a second thought.

It doesn’t take long for Ahsoka to join, or even for the troopers. Within seconds, there’s a large game of tag, troopers splashing in puddles, and almost everyone running in the rain with the sun shining down on them, laughter ringing out into the open and so much Light seeping into the Force that Mace can’t help but shove his Commander into the rain as well.

…Yes, we haven’t had rain in thousands upon thousands of years.

But it is said that one day, when the twin suns shine hotly over Tatooine, that clouds will form once again yet they will not obscure the twins from sight, and a downpour of rain will wash over everyone.

All the slaves will be Free, and Depur will no longer have power over us.

We will have a sunshower once more.

#anakin skywalker #tatooine slave culture #star wars #star wars oc #star wars fanfiction #clone wars oc #mace windu #my writing #oc: zariza #take the fear that i don’t need

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

You Said You’d Never Smile Again

Summary: “At one point, we had a conversation about how hard Spencer was finding life after prison and he told me that he didn’t think he’d ever smile again. And so, I made it my mission to prove Dr Spencer Reid wrong for the first time in his life.”

Tags: weddings, speeches, tooth-rotting fluff, insecure luke, post-prison spencer, implied/referenced depression, crying, found family

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Spencer’s never looked more beautiful, Luke thinks, as they sit in the botanical hall of this ancient museum on their wedding day surrounded by everybody they love so dearly. They’d decided to have Emily officiate, neither of them desiring their relationship to have anything to do with a Church, and had read their vows to one another stood under an arch threaded with ivy and Spencer’s favourite flowers. An elegant gold band settles around his fourth finger like it was always supposed to be there, the outward expression of his utter devotion to the love of his life. Dr and Mr Alvez-Reid.

Glancing at his husband to check he’s ready, he taps his spoon against his glass as the meal draws to a close, gaining the attention of their guests as he stands up, microphone in hand, ready to deliver his wedding speech. They’d decided to exchange simple vows and then deliver longer speeches at the reception, so he pulls out the creased piece of paper he’s folded and unfolded countless times over the past few days. His hands only shake a little bit.

“Spencer,” Luke says, because it feels like a good place to start, “when I first met you, I wasn’t sure how I was going to survive at the BAU working alongside someone as breathtaking and irresistible as you, not being able to do anything about it. Well, thankfully, we both grew some balls and eventually did do something about it — obviously, since we’re stood here on our wedding day…” He’s interrupted briefly by a collective chuckle from their friends and family, and both he and Spencer can’t resist a giggle either, when they catch each other’s eye.

“But what perhaps isn’t so obvious, is just how that came about.

“As everyone here knows all too well, Spencer was falsely accused of a crime five years ago, and spent six months in prison. I won't go into it because that's not something he needs to relive on his wedding day, but thanks to the wonderful work of everyone in the BAU — who we both love so much — he was freed. When he got out, though, he, understandably, had a really hard time. At one point, we had a conversation about it and he told me that he wasn't sure he'd ever smile again.

“And so... I made it my mission to prove Dr Spencer Reid wrong for the first time in his life.”

He looks up to see the enraptured faces of his loved ones, and smiles a little at the sight of Penelope already in tears, sitting next to a fond looking Derek. Hotch and Rossi are sat next to them, looking rather appropriately like the proud father figures they are to Spencer. He’d hardly worked with Hotch before he’d had to leave for the Witness Protection Program, but when he’d met him again, this time as the boyfriend of the man he sees as another son, he’d been absolutely terrified. Thankfully, Hotch couldn’t be happier for the two of them, and Rossi had been the first to actually figure out his crush on Spencer, urging him right from the beginning to just say something.

Spencer is already teary, looking fondly up at Luke as he tells everyone just how madly in love with him he is.

He soldiers on, keeping his voice as light and steady as possible for this part of the speech. “The thing is, I'd never been very good at anything until I met Spencer. I was rubbish in school, always lagging behind, and that didn't really change when I left. I found my place in life eventually, hunting criminals — first in the Fugitive Task Force, and later in the BAU — but before then I was utterly directionless, and didn't even feel completely secure until I did join the current team.

“Spencer will confirm I can't even make toast without burning it, and I’m a completely horrible liar. As you will see when we have our first dance later, I have never in my life met a dance floor that ever did me any good. I actually can't change a flat tyre — contrary to how it might look, it's always Spencer who gets burdened with that job — and I'm useless with any sort of DIY.”

Everyone laughs again, and Luke takes it as a sign it’s going over okay so far, especially when his husband giggles wetly at the reminder of just how useless he can be at some things. It’s always amused him how incapable Luke is at making any sort of food — not that Spencer is exactly Gordon Ramsey, as he likes to point out — and the first time they’d gone out together, Spencer had enjoyed laughing fondly at his dad dance moves far more than actually dancing himself.

“Before I came to the BAU I was… insecure. I thought that I was unworthy, good for nothing, because I was absolutely terrible at so many of these general adult life skills,” he continues, a laugh in his voice as he recounts his awful thought patterns, and everyone else follows suit. “But as I said, I was determined to make Spencer smile. More than anything, I wanted the man I was slowly falling in love with to be happy again. I had no ulterior motive. I had no expectations. I had no hope for anything beyond an eventual grin.”

Penelope is officially in bits by this point, crying quietly into Derek’s shoulder, and JJ is smiling fondly as tears stream down her face too, gripping Emily’s hand tightly as both their wedding rings glint in the light flooding through the skylights in the high, beautifully decorated ceiling. They’d tied the knot the year before, a simple ceremony in a local hotel with only the team and close family in attendance. JJ had been a lifesaver during the wedding planning, knowing all the best vendors and ways to cut costs in every place possible.

He turns his attention back to his speech. “I thought long and hard about my mission. I had one last hail Mary. One boring winter morning, I woke up early enough to come in at the same time as Spencer, and I bought him a black coffee, a stack of pancakes and a croissant, and that was it. The most blindingly beautiful smile I think I've ever seen.” He can’t help but grin himself at the recollection of seeing that smile the first time, and when he looks to his left, Spencer’s expression is matching his. He directs the next line to his husband.

“And I remember exactly what I thought in that moment, the first time I made you smile: finally. Finally, something I'm good at.” Spencer’s face crumples at that, unable to contain his emotion any longer, and Luke can’t resist bending down and hooking a finger under his chin before kissing him, lips salty with tears. “I love you,” he whispers, and Spencer takes a deep breath, calming himself down enough for Luke to continue.

“Naturally, I didn't stop there and that's how we're standing here today, but if there's one thing I love about Spencer it's that since that moment, I have never felt inadequate. I have never felt not good enough, and that's because of how he makes me feel. He wakes up every day and makes me feel worth it. I don't know how I ended up with him, what brilliantly kind act I must have performed to earn this kind of karma, but he's shown me every single day that I deserve it, and if you'd asked me before that day when we ate sticky pancakes together in a virtually empty FBI building, talking about nothing and everything, I would have said I didn’t.”

He turns back to his husband, feeling his own emotion start to bubble over, as though his heart can’t hold just how much love he has for him anymore, and a tear streams down his face.

“So, Spencer, I am so grateful and still completely bewildered by how we ended up here, officially husband and husband, but I want you to know how thankful I am to you for your endless faith in me. I love you.”

And with that, Spencer’s on his feet, kissing him. “I love you so much,” Luke whispers as they pull away, bringing a thumb to Spencer’s cheek and brushing away a stray tear. “I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Well, you do,” he laughs wetly, “and I couldn’t be happier about it.”

Luke presses his forehead to Spencer’s for just a moment, looking deep into those hazel eyes he’s loved for so many years, trying as hard as he can to telepathically communicate all the love his bursting heart holds.

Spencer’s wide smile as they pull away to turn back to their guests tells him he already knows.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez @pretty-b0yy

(@ssa-lukealvez)

#my writing #ralvez #luke alvez #spencer reid #ralvez fic #ralvez writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #luke alvez/spencer reid #luke alvez x spencer reid

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liquor-and-intellect · 4 years ago

Text

Tis the Damn Season/Dorothea HS AU

I realized I haven’t posted on here in awhile but I couldn’t get this story out of my head. I don’t know if I have anyone who sees my posts anymore, but I hope you like it. Let me know if there should be a part 2.

Inspired by Tis the Damn Season and Dorothea by Taylor Swift.

Dorothea Riley—or Thea, which she insisted on being called— watched as her breath created a thin film of fog across the window of her Uber. It’s almost like she didn’t want to see the familiar road signs that reminded her she was arriving in her hometown. Sometimes the nostalgia felt too much—too thick in the back of her throat, too heavy on her chest. It reminded her that it had been a full year since she had returned home. One official dizzying trip around the sun since the last time she’d stepped off the plane in that small terminal outside of Tupelo. A year since she’d seen him.

After the driver took the exit off the highway, it was not long before Thea was emerging from the car, boots crunching on the fresh snow as she ascended the stairs that led to her childhood home. The cold wrapped itself around her and bit at her exposed neck but never penetrating the warmth of her luxurious coat.

It stood frozen in time, just like the whole town. The familiarity now creating comfort in her where it had once felt like the bony fingers of suffocation. From the minute she became aware that she wanted to pursue a career in acting, the walls of this town seemed to slowly close in on her. Thea knew she would never land her dream role if she stayed here. Everyone who was successful had to make their own sacrifices—and leaving her hometown and the ones she loved behind, was hers.

Her high school self had felt too big for these streets. She dreamed of bustling cars, the rush of a new city and a fast-paced life. She partly blamed her mother for this. She had used Thea as her little dress up doll for most of her childhood. Even when Thea didn’t want to be a pageant queen, her mother said to stick her chin up and smile. And before she knew it the flash of camera lights from a stage became intoxicatingly addicting. So, she had walked across the creaky stage in the worn-down gymnasium, got her high school diploma, and promptly packed her bags to drive her small Toyota Corolla to L.A. In between acting classes, she’d be offered a role in a fast-paced, high-budget, sci-fi movie and the next four years would become all business with little time to return home or answer phone calls from the people she had left behind.

“Mama,” Thea breathed, letting the stifled southern accent of Mississippi slip into that single word. Her mother’s grin was a breath of fresh air, all white teeth and thinned lips, smile lines at the edges of her eyes. Her hair had more silver in it than the last time she’d seen her, although she thought that it suited her warm complexion.

Her mother pulled her into a warm embrace, nose buried in her dark hair. “It’s so good to have you home, Dorothea.”

The smell of Christmas pine and cookies filled her nose as she joined her parents for dinner. Her dad grunted and nodded while her mother filled her in on all the small-town gossip. It wasn’t unusual in a town like this for a quick trip to the grocery store to become equivalent to logging into Facebook. Her mother knew the status of everyone’s relationship, divorce and child-raising failures.

“Oh,” her mother said as if she had almost forgot. “The Styles boy went on a date with Augustine—the Johnson’s daughter— a few months back. I think they even went on a second as well.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, watching for a reaction from Thea.

Thea’s heart swelled at his name, although she wouldn’t let it show on her face. Flashes of shifty hands and stolen kisses passed behind her eyes as if she had them filed for moments like this. Augustine? She definitely didn’t seem like his type and it might have been the pang of jealousy rearing its insidious green head but Thea really never cared for Augustine much.

Harry and her had… well, history. A compilation of what-ifs and almosts filled the lines of their pages. They had ran in the same circle of teenagers and every secret party that was worth attending always ended in alcohol-laden kisses in dark corners between the two—sometimes even under bleachers at the football field where they swore that the miserable town would be behind them one day. They never dated officially— as someone else to inevitably leave behind absolutely terrified Thea—but if there was anyone she wanted to kiss on a lonely Friday night… it had always been him.

It wasn’t until last year when she returned home for Christmas—after movie premiers and filming for a new role—that they discovered the old flame was still alive and burning. They had slept together and Thea had felt herself developing feelings for the curly-haired boy faster than she could comprehend. His laughter, his green eyes…

She swallowed and looked out the dark window.

Thea had promised to stay with him for New Year’s Eve before she got word of a large party back in LA. There would be a producer there that was working on a new project that she was keeping her eye on. She used that as the excuse to leave prematurely, although deep down she knew that she was only running away from someone who would just make it harder to leave again. She couldn’t afford the emotional cost she’d have to pay to let herself develop feelings for him. So, as it had been one full year since she had stepped within this town, it had also been one full year since she had talked to Harry. After she declined a few of his calls, he got the hint and left her alone. Radio silence should have made the ache go away but nevertheless the wrench of her heart when his name crossed her mind persisted.

It might have been thoughts of Harry and his warm hands that drove her to accept an invite to the local dive bar that night. Her childhood friends heard she was in town and wanted to grab drinks for old time’s sake. The memories that came with this place were enough to remind her that she deserved a drink or two.

“Is that the movie star, Dorothea Riley?”

“She goes by Thea now, Laura!”

Thea exhaled a breathy laugh at the familiar voices as she entered the bar, warm air hitting her from the biting cold. Laura, her old friend, stood around five foot tall but enveloped her in a hug tighter than her mother had.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Thea hummed into the embrace before following Laura to the table of faces that she frequently sees in reminiscent high school photos. Pictures littered her childhood bedroom of football games, beach trips and secret parties with all these people being a part of those memories.

“How’s L.A. these days, Thea?” piped John, his arm thrown around his newly wed wife, Anna. They had been together since they hit puberty, so it wasn’t a surprise to hear that they had recently tied the knot. Thea had even received an invitation to the wedding during the summertime. She sent a gift in her place, offering her congratulations in her absence due to a busy filming schedule. “We’d been thinking of taking a trip next year.”

Thea took a seat on the wooden chair facing them, casually crossing her arms across her chest to warm up her body. “Warm,” she breathed. “I forgot how winter felt.”

She didn’t realize the weight of her words at that moment though. It wasn’t until the door to the bar opened and a crisp chill caused an eruption of goosebumps across her arms that she felt a cold that went down to her bones and across the planes of her heart.

Harry brought with him another type of winter that caused even December to falter in its snowy tracks when his gaze met Thea’s from across the room. While they were previously glassy from the wind outside, they had now sharpened, stopping her from even taking a breath. A muscle in his jaw twitched and Thea shivered. Her expensive coat offered no warmth to this type of cold.

She looked down but was very aware of the familiar sound of steps approaching the table that had now gone silent. Thea’s heart contracted with ache as she realized with surprise that she recognized the way his boots sounded on floorboards.

She felt the heavy gazes of her friends shifting back and forth between the two.

“Harry!” Laura greeted within the heavy silence that sat like weights on Thea’s chest. “I’m glad you could make it. I know how busy the music store is this time of the year.”

Instead of deciding whether to be an active participant within the conversation or remain mute, Thea was rescued by the ringing of her phone. She would have taken an out if it had been a telemarketer at this point, but it was actually her agent and she stood gesturing to the buzzing iPhone in her hands in apology.

As she walked out, she passed Harry and for a moment time stilled as they were the closest they had been in a full year. Through the coldness that seeped from him, she couldn’t help but think back on the nights that his warmth had lit a furnace heating her body with touches and soft gasps. It made such a contrast to the way she pulled her coat tighter around her body now within his presence.

Her voice echoed off the brick walls of the alley she slipped into beside the bar as she spoke to her agent about how long she would be visiting her family. Main street was lively tonight as cars slowed and passed one another, the drivers waving through the windows as no one was a stranger in Tupelo. The phone call was brief, and she found herself taking a few deep breaths to encourage her to reenter the bar.

When she turned on her heeled boot to leave the alleyway, she stopped in her tracks at the familiar stature waiting for her at the corner. She couldn’t help the way her heart sped up.

“Didn’t think you could make time to visit with your busy schedule,” he drawled, his voice dipping lower into the syllables like it was wanting to rest there. His accent was a sharp contrast to the southern dialect that plagued this town. Like a hint of world further away that had always attracted Thea. “Guess I was right.” It was biting… but not too harsh.

Thea swallowed. “I…” she began, trying to find the words to express how much she missed him but failing. “I deserve that.”

He nodded, leaning his shoulder against the bricks. “You never answered my calls, Dorothea.”

She had shortened her name to go along with her step into fame. She had never loved it. She didn’t like the way it sounded cushioned with a southern accent, announced through a pageant speaker, followed with expectations. But hearing it out of Harry’s mouth… it made her almost regret asking to be called Thea if there was a chance someone could say her name with conviction like Harry did and light the flicker of a flame in her gut like he did now. Maybe she wouldn’t be so stuck on him.

“I didn’t know how to.” With all the thoughts running through her mind, these were the only words her mouth could form.

He stared at her, holding her in her place, then said, “I’ve been seeing Augustine.” His green eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing the way she shifted her weight to her other foot.

The ache was briefly subdued as a flash of anger hit her in the gut. Was he trying to torture her?

She had never been known for holding her tongue and the mix of his statement with the biting cold caused an irritation to leak into her voice. “If I wanted to know who you’ve been seeing, I would have asked.”

His eyes danced with some hidden amusement at her rebuttal as the corner of his mouth raised slightly, causing a dimple to form in his cheek. Dorothea didn’t know but Harry had been wanting—craving—a reaction from her. Some hint to confirm the suspicion that she was hurting just the same as he was. The artificial indifference she tried to portray put a bad taste in his mouth. She might have been an award-winning actress… but he knew her.

“What’s so funny?”

“I knew you cared.”

She sucked in a breath, eyes looking to her shoes. “I never said I didn’t.”

The small hint of confession caused Harry to stumble. He had been ready to tear into her, yell at her, make her feel like he had felt for a whole 365 days she had been gone. It was easier to be mad at someone you saw only through a tiny screen, to tell yourself you hated them when you were separated by miles. Now that she was standing in front of him… he just hurt. A dull ache throbbing in his chest as he looked at her. She wasn’t the same person… he knew that. But she had the same hesitant tortured eyes that he remembered begged him to not go to the prom as she wore the prettiest dress he had ever seen.

And he always folded when it came to her. She wanted to piss off her mother, skip the prom that she was supposed to be queen of in the middle of her teenage rebellion. So he did. He turned left at the intersection where he should have turned right and they ran through the park, dirt staining their fancy clothes, seventeen years old and nothing figured out.

It was in the present that he stepped forward and the gap that had separated them warmed slightly. There was a small moment before he grabbed her face and kissed her that Thea wondered if she should stop him. She had been guarding her heart, building a brick wall around the organ for when she returned to Tupelo. She couldn’t make this hurt like it had last time—it had almost destroyed her.

But like everything else when it came to him… she folded. So she let him grab her face and press his wind-chapped lips to hers, warming up her mouth and letting the cold exterior of her chip somewhat. It felt just as passionate as it had the time before a year ago. He kissed her like a man would.

Strikingly enough, she realized that no one in L.A. kissed like Harry did. No other man grabbed her so hungrily, yet so gentle. They didn’t breathe mint into her and caress her cheeks with their long thumbs. Their presence didn’t fill the void spaces of her soul where things didn’t make sense.

It was for those reasons that she eased back slightly, breathing into the space between them, “This doesn’t change anything. I’m still going to leave.”

He knew deep down that she would say that, although it didn’t stop his gut from feeling the punch any less. At the end of the day, she could tear him apart with her bare hands and he’d still support everything she does, watch every movie, every interview, buy every endorsed product. Live his whole life waiting for the brief moments he’d have her like this—with him.

“If it’s all the same to you,” he whispered, pushing a hair back behind her ear. “It’s the same to me.”

He didn’t believe it one bit but he pushed his mouth back to hers anyways.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles ff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles au #tis the damn season #dorothea #writing #harry styles writing

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years ago

Text

pattonella part 13: kingdom alert: the princes are fiiiiiiiightiiiiiiiing!

cw: mentions of injury/infection/illness, mentions of death, arguing, overworking, parental figures who are not the best

wordcount: ~3.3k

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // part 12 // read it on ao3!!

virgil stays in the infirmary for almost a week after he first wakes up.

he spends a lot of his time sleeping, since he’s too weak to do anything else. for the first few days of wakefulness, he barely has the strength to squeeze logan’s and patton’s hands when they hold them. despite his barely-open eyes, he smiles every time he sees them.

“i’m sorry,” he says once, voice raspy and hoarse. patton tilts his head in confusion.

“why are you apologizing?”

“for scaring you. i came home unconscious . . . on logan’s horse . . . and you didn’t know . . . what was happening . . . i’m sorry . . .” his chest heaves slightly with effort, and patton leans in to brush his hair out of his eyes.

“it’s not your fault. you saved roman’s life, vee, you saved everyone. you all came home alive, and that’s all i can ask for.” virgil smiles at him, eyes half-open, and yawns. “are you tired, vee?”

“‘m always tired lately.”

“that’s normal,” emile says, carrying over a large teapot. “you expended an enormous amount of magic when you were fighting. your body is trying to recover that energy; that’s why you’re sleeping so much. this tea helps you recover your energy as well, so keep drinking.”

virgil makes a face at the cup of tea emile has in his hands, but he still lets patton help him sit up. he takes the tea and sips at it gently, blowing off the cloud of steam. emile dips a washcloth into a pail of cool water, wrings it out, and drapes it across virgil’s forehead, removing the old cloth that has grown warm.

“is logan going to visit today?” virgil asks.

“prince logan said he would stop by after attending to his duties at court,” emile says. “remy will be back in a little while, he’s attending to the king.” a somber tone falls over the infirmary at the mention of the king.

“what . . . exactly is wrong with the king?” patton asks. “we know that he’s sick, of course, but - but we have no idea what’s actually wrong with him. do you know? are - are you allowed to tell us?”

emile exhales, nodding slowly. “the king was injured in battle. he hid it because -”

“he’s a self-righteous idiot and a coward,” remy mutters, shoving the infirmary door shut behind him. emile’s face brightens when he sees his husband, dimming when he sees how pale and drawn remy looks. “he didn’t want to worry people, so instead of letting me treat his injury and having a recovery time of maybe two weeks, he hid it until it got infected and then he hid the infection until he collapsed and now it’s so far gone that there’s nothing i can do to heal him. it’s killing him from the inside out.”

“the king will die?” patton asks.

“we all die eventually,” remy says, “but it’s true that the king is ailing more swiftly than most. i’d say he has . . . three years left to live, at most.” emile reaches up and gently kisses remy’s cheek, pressing his face into his shoulder.

“there’s a reason the rush is on to get thomas officially named crown prince,” emile says. “if he does not bear the official title when the king passes on, there will be a power struggle.”

“why? thomas is the eldest prince. roman and logan would never stand in his way of becoming king, would they?”

“no, but without an official heir appointed, it is possible that anyone with a connection to the royal bloodline, however small, could present themself as heir apparent. it would take months, perhaps even years to sort through the muck and mire of all that inherently political bullshit, which would derail the peace and prosperity of this kingdom. it is imperative that thomas is officially named the crown prince before the king dies.”

“do we have to be married for thomas to be named crown prince?” patton asks. “is an engagement enough to satisfy the law?”

“unfortunately, no. engagements can be made and broken at the drop of a hat, but a marriage is not so easily annulled. the wedding ceremony must be completed before thomas can be named crown prince.”

“i think that’s a stupid rule,” patton mutters. virgil laughs softly, and patton squeezes his hand.

“the most likely scenario at this point is a triple function.”

“a what?”

“logan and roman will have a double wedding to the two of you, and then once the wedding ceremony is completed, thomas will immediately be officially named crown prince. that way, no matter what happens, the kingdom will be secured.”

“and then we party?” patton asks. remy laughs.

“yeah, babes. and then we party.”

*~*~*~*~*

“everything alright?”

logan jumps three feet into the air at the sudden noise, whirling around to see roman behind him, hand raised as though he was about to lower it onto his shoulder. “take a deep breath, lo, it’s just me.” logan presses a hand to his chest, exhaling sharply.

“you startled me, roman. please do not do that.” roman rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder against logan’s as he steps towards the window logan’s been pensively staring out of. “can i be of assistance?”

“do you know any good smiths?”

logan hums, clasping his hands behind his back. “you spend far more time consorting with the villagers than i, roman. if anyone were to possess such information, it would be you.”

“yeah, but you spend all your time with the tax records and shit, i figured you’d know.”

logan frowns. “what is all this about, roman?”

roman looks at him, and logan realizes he’s been crying. “roman -”

“i went to see father.”

logan wants to swear. “roman, i thought we agreed to go together if we went -”

“we did! but i saw remy going to treat him, so i followed him, and when the door opened he saw me and he beckoned me inside and what was i gonna do, say no to the king?”

“what did he say to you?”

“he asked me if i was married yet.”

“and you told him?”

“no, but i have a partner.”

“what did he say?”

“‘that’s not good enough, roman,’” roman grouses, dropping his voice into a gruff imitation of their father’s. “'you of all people should understand how imperative it is that there is no issue with succession. thomas must be named my heir and become crown prince before i shuffle off this mortal coil -’”

“don’t talk about father’s death like that,” logan snaps.

“and how else should i talk about it, logan? father has been dying for years. and he’s making me rush my relationship with patton just so that thomas can get the official version of a title we all know he has!”

“father does not want to die without officially naming an heir. i understand that.”

“you really think someone’s going to be stupid enough to challenge thomas’s birthright?”

“it will not hurt to be prepared. you are responding irrationally.”

“right, because you’ve never done anything irrational in your life, logan, like riding into battle with no backup and no plan because your stupid magic boyfriend thinks i can’t take care of myself! what does he know, anyway? he doesn’t know anything about me or us or -”

“virgil saved your life,” logan says, voice low and thunderous. he takes a step forward, then another, and roman takes a step backward, then another. “if it wasn’t for his vision, you would have died . many more people would have been injured or killed if he had not come when he did. or did you forget the fact that he fell into a coma because he expended so much magic saving you? healing you? keeping you alive?” roman flinches away from his anger, and logan can’t bring himself to care.

“logan, i -”

“this conversation is over,” logan says, voice icy and cold. “i will see you at dinner, prince roman. send a servant if you have need of me.” he turns around and stalks down the hallway, footsteps sharp and precise against the stone floor. he hears roman throw a punch at something behind him, but he doesn’t call out, and logan doesn’t turn around.

*~*~*~*~*

“lord san - patton?”

patton looks up from the basket of yarn he’s picking through to see nate standing in the doorway, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “nate! come in!”

“you have a visitor,” nate says. he sounds oddly formal, and patton tilts his head in confusion. “sir claire, knight of the kingdom, second in command to his royal highness prince roman, requests an audience.”

“oh! um . . . send her in, sure!” patton remembers her riding just behind logan and roman when they’d returned from battle, but he’s never actually spoken to her.

nate steps into the hallway and murmurs something, and then claire steps in. she’s not wearing full armor, but there’s leather wrapped around her forearms and legs, and her hair is tied up in a knot atop her head. she’s panting slightly, face shining with sweat, as though she’s just come from the training grounds.

“lord sanders,” she says, bowing to him. patton stands up, not sure if he’s supposed to curtsy back at her or not, but as he’s gathering the material of his dress claire continues speaking. “i would request something of you, lord sanders.”

“um . . . okay! is it something you need from roman?”

“it actually concerns his highness prince roman.”

“is he hurt? is he alright?”

claire shakes her head. “i believe he had an . . . altercation with his highness prince logan earlier. prince roman came to the training grounds two hours ago, and he has been putting any guard he can through rigorous dueling. he’s finally exhausted his supply of human opponents, and he has been hacking away at training dummies for the past thirty minutes. his hands shake with exhaustion, but nothing i do or say convinces him to stop and rest. i worry he may pass out from heat or over exertion or -”

patton wrings his hands nervously, and claire takes a deep breath. “i do not mean to alarm you, lord sanders. i merely thought perhaps, as you are beloved of prince roman, you might accompany me to the training grounds and convince him to rest, if only briefly?”

“of course,” patton says. “nate, go to the kitchens, get some cold water, as much as you can carry, and some sort of snack. cheese, maybe? and nuts? something to get roman’s strength up. meet me on the training grounds.”

“at once, lord sanders,” nate says, bowing his head respectfully to patton and claire before sprinting out into the hall. patton slips his shoes on and follows claire out to the training ground.

“how long have you and roman known each other?”

“the prince and i entered knighthood training at the same time. were he not the prince, i suspect i may have been picked for captain of the guard, but i am not stupid. i know the ways of the kingdom. the third prince, should there be one, becomes captain of the guard, leader of the knights. prince roman has the skills to back the position up, at least. he is the only person who has ever bested me in combat.”

“it sounds like you really like him.”

“i admire and respect him greatly. it pains me to see him like this.”

“i’ll get him to calm down,” patton says. “what was he fighting with logan about?”

“it is unclear to me, lord sanders, but it distressed him.”

“you can just call me patton, if you want!”

“that is very kind of you, lord - patton.”

the stone walls of the castle keep it cool, even in the warmth of summer, so patton had chosen a dress with a long skirt made of lighter fabric. the minute he steps foot outside, he can feel himself starting to sweat. claire, wearing training clothes and leather guards, doesn’t seem bothered at all, so patton pretends that he isn’t, either.

he can hear sounds of exertion before they even reach the arena. patton gathers the fabric of his skirt up into his hands so that it doesn’t drag along the dusty ground as claire opens the gates to the training arena for him. roman is surrounded by a series of training dummies, stuffed with straw and carrying crude replica weapons. roman is shouting and grunting as he throws himself at the training dummies.

“his strokes are sloppy,” claire says. patton doesn’t know anything about fighting, but he sort of sees what she means. he’s watched roman train before; he usually keeps all his limbs close to his body, watching with narrowed eyes and striking with quick, precise movements in rapid succession. this looks like a hurricane given human form. roman’s limbs flail wildly, his chest is heaving, and his hair is matted with sweat.

patton hurries across the arena floor. “roman!”

roman whirls around, holding his sword out, but his arms are shaking and the tip of the blade drops down into the dust. “patton?” he pants.

“ro, sweetheart, how long have you been out here?”

“not - not long, i don’t . . .” roman drives the tip of his sword into the arena floor and leans on it heavily. patton lets his skirts fall down around his ankles again as he reaches out to take roman’s arm and help support him.

“come sit with me, ro, okay? come on. come sit down.” roman doesn’t protest, quietly staggering over to the wooden benches lining the arena. patton moves slowly to allow roman to shuffle along at his side, carefully helping roman sit down. “claire said you’ve been here for hours, ro.”

roman sighs. “so she sent you to come reign me in?”

“she sent me out here to ask you to take a break. she’s worried about you. so am i.”

“i’m just training. that’s my job, patton.”

“you’re destroying yourself,” patton says firmly. “what happened?”

roman stares off at the horizon. patton doesn’t pressure him to talk, gently leaning his head against his shoulder. after about ten minutes of sitting in silence, roman finally says, “lo and i got in a fight.”

“a fight?”

“i went to see father today. we had an agreement with the two of us and thomas that we wouldn’t go see him on our own. he can be a bit . . . intense. and lo and i got into an argument, and . . . he used my full title. he never uses that unless he’s super pissed off. and like, i’m pissed at him too! he was being an asshole! but . . . so was i, i guess . . .”

nate approaches, setting down a pitcher of water, two cups, and a basket of bread and cheese and nuts. roman shoves a hunk of cheese in his mouth as patton pours them both water and nods his thanks to nate. roman downs a glass and a half of water before staring off again, eyes unfocused.

patton hums, reaching out to set his hand on roman’s knee. “do you wanna talk about it?”

roman hesitates for a moment, swirling the water in his cup around, and then he does.

*~*~*~*~*

“are you going to tell me what you’re brooding about?”

“i do not brood,” logan grouses.

“are you going to tell me why you’re pouting, then?”

“i do not pout either.” logan pouts at virgil, who bites his lower lip to keep from laughing. logan continues to pout as he gently picks up a clay teapot and pours virgil another cup of the magic-replenishing tea. virgil wraps his hands around logan’s as he takes the cup, and logan’s face smoothes into a small smile.

“i . . . had a disagreement with roman, earlier.”

“i don’t like the way you’re saying disagreement.”

“he saw our father.” virgil, sitting up to sip at his tea, pauses as logan’s hands ball into fists.

“how is he?”

“our father? the same as always. asking about if we’re married yet so he can name thomas crown prince and die already.” virgil winces, and logan sighs. “forgive me, my love. our father . . . he is constantly rushing our lives. he would have had us wed to anyone, regardless of feelings, so that thomas could have his position as crown prince secured. thomas fought for us to have a chance at happiness, hence the ball for roman’s birthday. our father gave in, but he is . . . irritated that we have not yet wed.”

“would it make things easier if we got married?” virgil says. logan reaches out and takes one of his hands.

“i am not going to rush you or have roman rush patton because of our father’s succession issues. you are more than a political bargaining chip to me, virgil. you are . . .” logan’s cheeks and ears flush pink, and virgil can’t hide the besotted smile on his face as he watches logan’s gaze fix on a specific point over his shoulder. “you are invaluable to me. you are incredibly precious. i will not have you feeling like a pawn to be manipulated when you are - you are so much more than that to me.” virgil’s gaze slides to the black chess queen, propped neatly on the nightstand where he can see it.

“you’re important to me, too, l.”

“roman was insinuating that we were irrational for running into battle to save him. he was implying that you are - are stupid or something, that you don’t know things, when without you he would be dead and we would have suffered innumerable casualties! that fool, what was he thinking , he -”

“you were worried about him,” virgil says.

“roman is capable. he does not require worrying about, so he likes to say.” logan scoffs.

“you’re his big brother, lo. you were going to worry no matter what happened. i worry about patton no matter what, and i bet thomas worries about you and roman no matter what. that’s just what brothers do.”

logan pulls his hands into his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. “i . . . suppose i should apologize to him.”

“hey, if he was being a jackass, he should apologize to you, too.” logan leans in and gently presses a kiss to virgil’s cheek. virgil makes a very undignified squeaking noise that he will deny vehemently to anyone else.

*~*~*~*~*

“logan?”

“roman.”

“i . . . uh . . . ‘m sorry. i didn’t, uh . . . mean to insult virgil, or . . . or imply that he’s stupid. i know his magic takes a lot out of him, and i know he . . . he really used a lot when you guys came to save us. i just . . . i don’t like feeling like the stupid kid brother you all have to chase after, you know?”

“i find that i owe you an apology as well, roman. i was, perhaps, unnecessarily harsh on you when last we spoke. i felt that someone had to defend virgil’s . . . honor is not quite the right word, but it is the closest i have.”

“i can take care of myself, you know.”

“i know, roman. but when virgil burst into the throne room and told us that he had seen you being slain . . . after the truth of his prediction with my horse incident, thomas and i were understandably distraught. we always fear the worst when you ride out into battle, and virgil seemed to be implying that those worst fears would be realized.”

“i get that. and i . . . i am grateful, for what he did. for what you did.”

“i know.”

“father just . . . rattled me.”

“i confess that i am irked as well. he has been ill for years, and remy is confident that he is not on death’s doorstep despite his illness. there is no reason for him to be so insistent on this marriage. patton and virgil are more than just marriage partners.”

“i love him, lo. i - even if i didn’t have to, i would want to marry him.”

“i share the sentiment.”

“. . . i do love you, lo. even if you’re an annoying big brother sometimes.”

“and i love you as well, despite your constant annoying younger brother status.”

“hey!”

(patton, hiding in the hallway, giggles and scurries off to the hospital wing.)

#starshinewrites #sanders sides cinderella!au #pattonella!au #romantic analogical #romantic royality #platonic TLAMP

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felidlycanthrope · 4 years ago

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Tired

words: ~1.3k

zuko x reader (first person POV, gender neutral)

warnings: teeth rotting fluff- as usual!

After his coronation, Zuko’s life seemed like a whirlwind of declarations on pretentious scrollstock, important foreign business meetings that were actually thinly veiled, one way preening ceremonies, and not-so genuinely respectful bowing.

He trudged through the courtyard, only barely stopping to admire the turtleducks that had taken up residence in the new pond he’d assigned to be dug up by a few new earthbenders on staff. The heels of his boots clacked as he walked, echoing down the hallway and alerting me to his presence before the door even opened.

He brushed through the door with the last remnants of forced elegance he had left before leaning back against the door with a thud.

“Long one, I see,” I said from my position in my favorite chair by the window.

His eyes widened in surprise as he jumped in the air, a small plume of smoke trailing from his fingertips as his battle reflexes kicked in. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Easy there, hothead. It’s just me.” I dragged myself out of the sun-soaked bay window, striding across the room to meet him. I pressed a small kiss to his temple. He gently pushed past me before settling down onto the bed. He fumbled with the crown, tugging at his topknot in the process- visibly painfully, as well.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight for a moment before following him and settling down next to him, trying to help. I gently tugged the Fire Crown from its place in a bun on top of his head. Then, I pulled a few strands from the clutches of his topknot before noticing a smaller knot tied to the chord holding it in place.

“This might take a second, hang on,” I mumbled, focusing on maneuvering the strands with as little damage as I could manage. He winced as I tugged at his scalp, trying to unknot the string. It took a moment of quiet fiddling to release it; this was no thanks to Zuko’s restless leg in combination with the creaking of the floorboards underneath us.

“Carefully, you barbarian,” he hissed. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but it caught on the knot I was trying to undo. He paused, and glanced back at me with a sigh. “Just..be more gentle.”

“I’ve seen you take on 7 stealth soldiers singlehandedly, Zuzu. You’re quite literally the least careful person I’ve ever met,” I stated, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ll try to be more gentle, though. Since you asked so nicely.” I picked at the knot a bit more before I felt a calloused hand wrap itself around my wrist.

“Don’t call me that! Just…Please. It’s really sore.” He looked at me with pleading golden eyes. His expression seemed so out of place when I looked down at the silken royal robes that adorned his body.

A smile crept onto my face as I replied: “I’ll try.” It seemed like hours before I pulled the final strand from the chord.

As if pulling a beam out from under a makeshift shelter, Zuko collapsed face first onto the pillows. “This is my home now. I’m never leaving again.” His voice was muffled by pillows, but its raspy tenor could not be masked.

“Okay official robes need to be hung up before you do this,” I scolded him. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight- such a regal appearance from the neck down between the finely woven material of the material and the ornate embroidery toward the bottom- of the Firelord with his hair wildly spread over a silken pillowcase and his nose squished against the material as he shook his head in his ever present indignant tone.

“If only Hakoda could see you now,” I sighed, “probably give you a lecture about the value of upholding tradition in all its forms, even if-“

“Alright!” He sat up abruptly, throwing his hands in the air. “I give up.”

I held out both of my hands, offering him the support he clearly needed to stand on sore, maybe even still numb knees.

He shrugged off the robe, carefully placing it on its form that permanently rested in the corner of our room. After aggressively dressing himself in his favorite casual travel/sleeping set and raised his arms in a sarcastic “I told you so” told only through a single raised eyebrow, pursed lips and a limply dropping pair of more than chiseled arms.

It took three larger than usual strides, but Zuko fell onto the bed with a soft thud as he reached it. I followed suit, facing the intricately painted ceiling. I laced my fingers through his, squeezing his hand gently.

“Get some rest,” I mumbled. “I’m sure that asshat from the Earth Kingdom’s guardship was more than enough trouble to tire anyone out.”

A small laugh rumbled past the barrier of fabric. He turned to face me, pulling his knees to his chest. “Why am I so bad at this?”

“It’s been a week, you idiot. Give it time.” I shook him back and forth for a moment for good measure.

Zuko let a small smile creep across his face. Anyone could tell he was trying to hide a sort of smile if they knew him well enough- his right eye twitched before he did so.

“Why don’t you go ahead and take a little nap before dinner? I’ll tell Mai Lee to cover the door and make sure no one comes in.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and started to get up before a hand stopped me.

“Come back when you find her.”

I smirked down at him. “Can’t get enough of me today, can you?” Before he could make some stupid response, I rushed out of the room to find Mai Lee.

Conveniently enough, I bumped into her as I rounded the corner of the hallway corridor. Literally. The basin of water she was carrying splashed down at our feet, luckily barely getting either of our robes wet with the exception of her hem.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Your Highness! I didn’t see-“ She fumbled with the bucket as it rattled across the corridor when she moved to grab it.

“No, it’s completely my fault, don’t worry! I was just looking for you, actually,” I laughed. “Zu-I mean Firelord Zuko will be indisposed for the afternoon. If you could station a guard at his door and postpone some of the earlier meetings around dinnertime, that would be greatly appreciated.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but decided to simply smile and nod politely. “I’ll make sure the other advisors are aware.”

“Thank you, you’re a dear,” I replied, smiling as brightly as I could. I turned back around and all but ran back to Zuko’s bedroom. I was about to slam the door shut behind me before I noticed the soft snores coming from the now bundled up form of the Firelord, curled up in an impossibly tiny ball. A laugh crept out of my chest as he shifted into a pentapus-like position.

It seemed like he’d finally calmed down enough to take his tiredness seriously, so I decided it was best to simply carry on about my day and leave him to rest.

“Have a good rest, Zuzu,” I whispered as I shut the door behind me as quietly as I could.

“Don’t call me that,” he retorted, his voice muffled by the door. I winced as I realized I might have woken him, but the faint snores that followed told me that this was not so.

#zuko x reader #zuko imagine #atla #zuko #atla imagine #atla x reader #zuko fic #zuko fanfiction #prince zuko #firelord zuko #prince zuko x reader #firelord zuko x reader

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blufox234isadumbname · 4 years ago

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day 100 of waiting since 1st jan, about the 185 since the first appearance on ocotber 7th, and possibly 178 days since the last

my essay on why the dreamon hunters would be nice to bring back on the SMP (mostly because I’m stubborn)

(foreword for this, i tried to get it proof read but no one has responded so i guess take the first draft, I’ll probably work on one more in depth if i have time but you get this instead, I’m also a bit rusty with my essay writing, this isn’t really a argumentative, because there’s not a valid counter argument but its no discursive either. It’s just being obsessed with Dreamon Hunters and very fixated on it coming back. This was written from two days ago, finished yesterday)

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7th of October 2020, a fateful day. With golden hoes digging etching a protective barrier, a fox draped in a vest and tie crouched along towards the quartz mansion. A kid much young is carefully behind him, luring an unknowing masked man to the dirt altar site. Fundy and Tubbo streamed their perspective of their Dreamon Hunting experience for a short subplot on the ever-popular Dream SMP. Amidst the political satire and the war-frenzied state the SMP was at the time, Dreamons lurk about within everyone. Dark, malicious sides of every soul, a part filled with nothing but twisted desires. It’s interesting ever since then, more unexplainable and supernatural things have popped up. Yet when these things are brought up, the Dreamon Hunters have only been mentioned barely by the members. Despite the teasing, not much activity from the Dreamon Hunters has actually been observed. It is a shame to see the Dreamon Hunters Campsite collect dust, merely another monument to pass by. However, hope seems to shine upon the seemingly abandoned concept of Dreamons on the Dream SMP, as DreamXD makes a more plot-relevant appearance. And so, Dreamon Hunters might be needed once more.

The Dreamon Hunters have much potential, there's already a good opportunity to use them. They are a group dedicated to eradicating all the Dreamons in the SMP. Many tend to associate them as a ghost-hunting type group. A group to observe, investigate and, of course, eliminate Dreamons. Adding onto the fact that the word “Dreamon” is merely a variation of “demons”, there’s an occult aspect to the Dreamon Hunters. Although, the supernatural and paranormal phenomena are not out of place for a Minecraft server, with an infectious Red Egg spreading influence and canonical voices living rent-free in one’s head. The Dreamon Hunters seem to be the type of group seeking out these enigmatic singularities, the type wanting to research these occurrences. After all, something must explain these things – it's only a matter of who will do it first? With most preoccupied in other affairs of abolishing governments and monitoring a prisoner, the Dreamon Hunters seem to a good candidate to get to the bottom of these bizarre circumstances. After all, they have a containment pit where they contain shit.

One of those supernatural occurrences, the very first of it actually, would be DreamXD. Canonically, DreamXD is a godly deity. An immortal creature beyond the mortal realm, only crossing over to please a simple dethroned mushroom king. DreamXD’s first-ever appearance on the SMP was caused by the Dreamon Hunters themselves; he was the result of an exorcism that split him and his counterpart, Dream, apart (albeit by a probably not canon method, as we send our condolences to the Fundywastaken shippers). If DreamXD continues to be more plot-relevant, it will become even more essential for the Dreamon Hunters to come back to light. After all, they were responsible for his current association of godhood mostly. Additionally, his slight side comments on pesky “hunters” hint towards their future involvement. Maybe they will find out more about the Dreamon, perhaps with George’s assistance. A further look into DreamXD’s history will be a further look into Dream himself, how they are connected and what exactly the smiley masked tyrant is doing with such a malevolent being. With the Dreamon Hunters actively looking into the Dreamon’s happenings, maybe more questions about the allusive Dream will be answered

With their adventures to reign in the supernatural, it will allow the Dreamon Hunters themselves to reveal more of themselves. The first of the Dreamon Hunters, Tubbo, has been notably focused on making sure Dream commits no other atrocities. Sooner or later, Tubbo will catch wind of DreamXD making rounds again. As a grand Dreamon Hunter, he would be inevitable. Dreamons upon his property, his home will obviously not be welcomed. When the situation doesn’t call for full-on nuclear warfare, he may as well don an old uniform and pick up that golden hoe again. All to ensure at least the most important people to him are safe. Micheal, Ranboo, Tommy, anyone he just about he cares for.

Adding onto that, his protégé will get the spotlight too. It was only recently that Fundy had gotten a plotline with attention; most of his arcs seem to not have a potential payoff until the recent “Fundy’s Mind” on 31st of March, 2021. It seems as though Fundy’s dreams can become a whole new subplot itself, alongside involvement with the Las Nevadas arc which it seems it will heavily relate. If Tubbo starts up the Dreamon Hunters again, he will most likely drag Fundy back in too. Dreamon Hunters was one of the few subplots he almost had an ample amount of screentime, his involvement much more prominent. Upon finding out a Dreamon is back again, he’ll most likely spring back into the hunting business too. Possibly a way to explain his premonition illness, to explain how these dreams seep into reality.

And let's not forget the most recent addition to the Dreamon Hunters – Sapnap. The closest to both the Dreamon’s possessed victim and to the one the Dreamon seems to swoon over. Sapnap, in the SMP, has not many associations, only the Kinoko Kingdom and his position as a prison guard. Sapnap has always been in the lore, though not as prominently as others. If the Dreamon Hunters start back up, Sapnap will have to face DreamXD, a malicious reflection of his friend. He and his relationship with Dream has always seemed important, so a chance to possibly help his friend would be appealing.

I’ve always liked their brief interactions, their motivations in the lore can be intertwined too. There’s even more common ground between other stories too, since each of the Dreamon hunters seemingly part of many other storylines. Tubbo with Snowcheseter possibly against the Syndicate, Sapnap a part of the Kinoko Kingdom and now Fundy with Las Nevadas in the future. The Dreamon Hunters can ties some knots together if only they came back officially. Whether it will come soon or even later, the Dreamon Hunters are too good of a potential plotline to leave out. Someday, they’ll return clad in dark cyan trenchcoats over crimson red sweaters, stitched with gold from radio frequencies. Someday, they’ll return with gilded axes and golden hoes already sharpened for a fight. Someday, the Dreamon Hunters will return, to get rid of one last pesky Dreamon.

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tldr: pls i just want my dear fundy tubbo and sapnap to come back please god i just want them back and hunt dreamons please please please i only partially care that george has something to do with it just please god-

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