#none would fit but in general even if they did fit right no<3 you wear my clothes<3 belong to me<3

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

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Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

[starsstuddedsky]

Slice of Love

Haechan x reader

summary: birthday cake and boyfriend material

genre: fluff, non idol au, not really angst but haechan is so dramatic

warnings: swearing, food/dessert, i dont know anything about art, pls lmk if i missed any

wc: 1.8k (who is she???)

a/n: finally wrote something short and sweet :) it's been so long since i've done that lol. this is heavily inspired by 7dream cafe cake-making and my full belief that none of these boys should be unsupervised in the kitchen. thank you to @chocolatemilk139 for being my beta as always <3 (even though you didnt edit anything smh)

It’s not horrendous.

Donghyuck stares at the cake in front of him. The process started well: he made the tester cake last week week that the council (also known as his friends) approved with generous support (“wait, what’s actually kind of good,” from Jeno, “it’s edible,” from Renjun, “the hint of orange really sells it,” from Jaemin, “it’s not burnt so it’s already better than anything I could make,” from Mark, “you didn’t buy this?” from Chenle, and Jisung, who just stared at him with wide eyes). 

No, the problem isn’t the batter. He slaved over it all last night and chose the two cakes that rose most evenly in the oven. Everything but his tears went into making them. 

“Wow,” Renjun says, leaning over the counter. “You fucked up.” 

Donghyuck smacks him, leaving a trail of lavender buttercream on the wool sweater. 

“Hey, that’s going to be a bitch to get out!” Renjun cries. 

“Cry me a river,” Donghyuck says, “which is a good song, but also, you deserve it. It’s not that bad.” 

Renjun raises his eyebrows but Donghyuck raises a spoonful of extra frosting. Renjun backs off. 

Despite his strong defense, Donghyuck fears Renjun may be right. Though the cake stands tall, crumbs mix in with the frosting on the sides. What was supposed to be an artistically plump edging around the base of the cake and around the top corner looks like it exploded out of the piping bag (because it did, popping the cap off several times). In his head, the center would be filled with flowers and hearts and all sorts of pretty shapes in all sorts of pastel colors—but by the time he got to the center, he’d fully given up on piping bags, meaning he had to get creative for the flowers. Instead of flowers, he made blobs of frosting pushed off a spoon. In some spots he accidentally mixed the colors together, a green one shade away from brown, not at all like the field in the pictures on his Pinterest board. 

Jeno appears next, wandering out of his room. He misses Renjun’s warning glare, though Donghyuck doesn’t. He steps right next to Donghyuck, tilting his head. “What is this supposed to be again?” 

“What do you think?” Donghyuck asks evenly. 

Oblivious or uncaring, Jeno pauses to ponder. “A really ugly version of Shrek’s swamp?” 

“Get out.” 

“Get out of ma’ swamp!” Jeno attempts a Scottish accent, authenticity as questionable as the flower field in Donghyuck’s cake. Jeno retreats with Renjun on the couch, dodging Donghyuck’s frosting spoon. It would be a waste of the delicacy on his stupid dri-fit t-shirt, which he wears even when he doesn’t work out. 

“It’ll be fine,” Jaemin says. “It’ll taste good, which is the important part.” He sits at the counter, the only one to offer moral support while Donghyuck decorated. But his attempts at comfort are in vain; Donghyuck doesn’t just want the cake to taste good, he wants it to taste perfect, to look perfect, for all of it to be perfect. It’s the least you deserve. 

Donghyuck ignores the banging on his door, letting one of the guys let Chenle and Jisung in (no one else would threaten to break down a metal door instead of waiting the five seconds it takes to unlock the door). 

“We come bearing food!” Chenle shouts, plastic bag singing in his hand as Jisung follows precariously carrying a stack of pizza boxes. Far more food than needed, but Donghyuck won’t skimp out on you. Chenle tosses his bag full of snacks on the table, crossing the room to see the ‘masterpiece’ Donghyuck spent the past week hyping up. 

“Dude, are you seriously going to give that to YN?” 

“Are you trying to get dumped?” Jisung asks. “Ow!” he cries when Chenle smacks him. 

“Your welcome,” he says, “though he sort of has a point, that looks like literal shit.” 

“Does it really?” Donghyuck pouts. 

Chenle points at one of the browner spots. “You’re telling me that’s not a piece of shit?” 

“They were supposed to be flowers.” 

Jaemin, Renjun, and Jisung manage to cover their laughs as coughs but Chenle and Jeno let out a bark of laughter. 

“Yeah, you’re screwed,” Chenle says, clapping him on his shoulder that sags even lower than his normal bad posture. “You could call Mark and get him to pick up a cake on his way.” 

“He’s bringing YN,” Donghyuck says glumly. “Besides, I already told YN that I would make it myself. I’m not going to be a failure and a liar.” 

“It’s really not that bad,” Jaemin says, ignoring the chorus of dissent from the rest of the guys. “It’ll taste good!” 

Donghyuck shrugs. He can’t explain it, at least not so that they can understand him. He knows perfection is a subjective definition that he’ll never be able to fulfill but he strives for it anyway. If it isn’t perfect then why would he do it at all? Even if it’s his first time attempting this level of artwork, he should at least be able to make something that looks okay, or recognizable. 

And you—you deserve more than a dry store-bought mess and more than a half-assed attempt at love. You’ve only been together for a couple months but he’s determined to prove himself. A birthday was the perfect opportunity, even when you’ve known him for years and spent plenty of birthdays with him. This was his chance to show you the boyfriend material he’s made of, except instead of black velvet or creamy silk, Donghyuck thinks this cake is the work of a neon yellow polyester shirt worth less than $2 at the thrift store. 

“Mark just texted that he just parked,” Jaemin announces. He glances at Donghyuck. “You ready?” 

Donghyuck glances at himself. His hands are covered in frosting that’s dried and crusted, spread up his arms. His Kiss the Chef apron protected his shirt and most of his pants from the damage, but the mess is the least of his concerns. There’s nothing he can do about the disaster (he’s given up calling it anything else) in front of him. Shrek’s Swamp or a toilet bowl, it’s definitely not a flower field and it’s definitely not what you deserve. But it’s all he’s got. 

The final punch hits with a gentle knock at the door. Donghyuck crosses the room to his doom, stepping past his silent friends who bow their heads in respect for the walking dead. He pulls open the door slowly. He sees your shoes first, white sneakers you spent three hours with a Sharpie decorating, full of hearts and stars and unmistakable flowers—daisies and chrysanthemums and lavender, more than he can name. 

You wear your favorite jeans, loose bootcut that tighten at the thighs, hugging you in all the right places. A loose shirt hangs from your shoulders, one of the bands you always play for him with lots of bass and visceral lyrics that romanticize suffering. A family of silver earrings dangle from your ears, and he recognizes each of your favorites, the miniature swords, sparkling star shaped studs, a curly twist of metal that wraps around the higher part of ear. You look perfect. 

Donghyuck has always loved the way you smile, a gentle turn of your lips, like the happiness belongs to only you. You lean forward, pressing a short kiss to his lips, a peck more than anything. Donghyuck stares at you, eyes wide. You gesture to his apron. “Just following the rules.” 

He smiles though it fades as soon as he sees the frosting–no, the evidence of his failures, spread down the black fabric. “Happy birthday,” he says, wishing he could put more heart into it. A tiny frown furrows in your brow but you don’t question him. 

He steps back to let you walk in, trailing behind you as the rest of the guys wish you happy birthday. Mark catches up easily, clapping a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Jeno sent me a picture.” 

Renjun hugs you, which Donghyuck belatedly realizes he never did. 

“I brought the food,” Chenle announces. “Don’t go thanking anyone else for my efforts.” 

“Our,” Jisung corrects. “You barely even carried anything.” 

“That’s because I had to drive,” Chenle says, waving his hand. “And don’t even get me started on the pizzeria, you better appreciate every molecule because—”

“Thank you, Chenle,” you say. 

“Thank me,” Donghyuck says. “It was my detailed instructions that perfected absolutely everything about today, which reminds me, did Mark behave?” 

You turn back to face him, linking your fingers with his. “Yes, babe, he followed your script. He almost cried because the barista messed up the order and he didn’t want to be annoying but he said you said ‘if anything goes wrong, I’ll kill you,’ and meant it.” 

“And I did,” Donghyuck says. He nods at his best friend for his service. 

“Now.” You squeeze his fingertips. “Where’s this cake you’ve been so excited about.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t try to hide his face. There’s no use delaying the inevitable. He lets go of your hands, leading you to the crime scene to lay the final verdict (the judicial system of his brain is in need of some reformation). 

You reach the counter and freeze. A list of concert dates greets Donghyuck, your back facing him while you study the cake. There’s no name for the opposite of a masterpiece, no artist that wants their worst creation recorded in history. 

He inches closer to you, peeking at your face. He recognizes the expression, the narrowing of your eyes, the way you flatten your lips. He’s been to enough art shows and spent enough time with you studying for art history to know what you analyze art. 

“It’s not Van Gogh or Monet,” he says, “it’s not even that asshole guy who made the Bean.” 

“Mm,” you hum, “no, you’re not any of them.” 

“It’s an ugly cake,” he says, “I know. I tried, I really did, but apparently you actually do need a decade or two of experience to make a decent cake, which is totally unfair, like, I spent more time on it than my research project, and this only looks marginally better than that.” 

“It’s amazing,” you say, “reminiscent of the expressionist era.” 

“Really?” 

“No,” you say, turning to grin at him. “But you made it, so none of that matters. Maybe it doesn’t look like what you thought, but seriously.”  You rest a hand on his arm. “It’s perfect.” 

He meets your eyes, sees sincerity and not an ounce of teasing. No, it wasn’t what he wanted for you, but that doesn’t really matter. Perfection is subjective and to you it’s perfect—why did he ever think it wouldn’t be? 

He grins. “Perfect?” 

You step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug, ignoring the frosting that must be smearing across the band member’s faces. 

“Perfect.” 

a/n2: thank you for reading! as always, i appreciate any feedback :)

[kaciidubs]

Hoodie Season | Maknae Line

❣ Summary: What it would be like stealing and wearing their hoodie ❣ ❣ Warnings: None - just fluff and implied relationships. ❣ ❣ Gender Neutral! Reader [No use of Y/N]❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as babe, angel, love, and pretty, Han is referred to as Jisung, I.N is referred to as Jeongin, mention of food for Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin ❣ Hyung Line ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ AO3

Jisung

To be fair, this sweet quokka wouldn’t even know he’s missing a hoodie unless you told him out right. That’s not to say he doesn’t care for the sentimental act - it’s quite the opposite actually! What’s his is yours, and you can raid his hoodies whenever you’d like, he’s just so all over the place that he can’t even be bothered with keeping track of where his clothes go. 

“Babe, let’s go! We’re gonna miss out on all the good snacks!” 

You laughed at his adamant bounces as he stood near the front door, cheeks puffed out into a pout while he patiently waited for you to get a move on.

“You act like the convenience store is going out of business, Sung, relax!” Unfolding the hoodie currently slung around your arm, you quickly slipped it over your arms and head, pulling it down your torso for its final fit. “I thought you said we had enough snacks for tonight anyways?”

“Yeah, but then I remembered this hack I wanted to try, and what better time than to do it with my baby?” His antsy shifting paused for a moment as he took you in, round eyes studying you with intrigue. “Did you always have that hoodie from our tour?”

Raising an eyebrow, you looked down at the black hoodie - ‘Stray Kids Maniac Tour 2023’ plastered across the right side while a flame design and smiley face decorated the left half - before glancing up at him with an incredulous grin. “This?”

He nodded, walking closer to tug at the fabric, “Yeah! Did you manage to get one from the staff or something? I’ve never seen you wear this before, it looks good on you!” Adjusting the strings of the hood, he gazed at you with bright eyes, “You could definitely model our merch, you know.”

Your heart swelled at his genuine compliment, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling past your lips as you squeezed his cheek, “My sweet, this is your hoodie! I told you I was borrowing it last week, remember?”

It was almost as if you could see the gears turning in his head before his entire face lit up, “Oh! I knew I was missing something - you still look amazing though! But, seriously, let’s go now so I can show you the best snack to ever exist!”

You complied as he dragged you toward your shoes, graciously giving you the opportunity to slide them on before ushering you out the door with excited chants of ‘Snack date’ and ‘Let’s go’.

In Jisung’s eyes, you looked good in anything, and seeing you in one of his hoodies just further proved to him how perfect you were.

Felix

Stealing hoodies is a two way street for dear Yongbok - in fact, he’d be the first to take from you before you could even decide which of his hoodies would be your first victim; waking up one morning with a hastily written note on your on your nightstand: “Running late for practice, borrowed your hoodie! <;3”

And of course, in true Felix fashion, he somehow made it seem like the hoodie was his to begin with from the way it seemed to naturally fit against his body - almost to the point of you considering giving him the article. Though, he’d never accept it fully since he only liked wearing it because it smelled of you, and if he took it from you permanently it would “ruin the purpose” - it was a part of you, after all.

Sure, you’d have your fill of taking a hoodie or two of his whenever you could, but in this instance he was the bigger offender when it came to hoodie thievery - not that you were complaining, of course, there was something utterly endearing seeing his slim frame dressed in your clothes.

“I’m gonna miss you so much.”

You cooed at his adorable pout over the phone, balancing the device against a paper towel rack, “You’ll only be gone for four days, Lix, we’ve been separated way longer than that before!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it easier!” His whines echoed through the speaker, only making you smile harder at his antics. “Are you trying to say you won’t miss me, angel? Is that it, huh?!”

“Sheesh, someone’s been hanging around Hyunjin a bit too long, haven’t they?” Looking at his image on the small screen, your grin softened, “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll miss you too, sunshine - you know I will.”

Felix groaned, freckles on full display as he held the phone closer to his face, “It doesn’t because I’m gonna miss you more now!” He couldn’t help the smile that grew from your giggles, pulling his phone away so his face could fill the screen properly, “It’s even worse that your hoodie doesn’t smell like you anymore - I had to wash it after accidentally getting sauce on it.”

You hummed, leaning against the counter and resting your chin on your hands, “If you want, I can bring you another one before you guys leave? Like a little send off gift?”

“Would you really?”

It was hard to miss the sparkle in his eyes as he stared at you through the lens, lips pulled into an open mouthed smile.

“I’m starting to think you’re only dating me for my clothes, Felix.” Playfully rolling your eyes, you pushed yourself away from the counter, “But yes, I’ll do it - but I expect one back in return!”

“Which one do you want?”

“You know the one.”

He laughed and there was a second of delay before the camera switched to the back lens, the screen now showing his closet door and a familiar pink hoodie hanging on the outside - the same one he wore from their Kingdom appearance. “You could come over now to get it early.”

“Does that mean I could also get Lix cuddles and possibly takeout?”

“If I throw in a round of Mario Kart would that make you come faster?”

You stifled a laugh, snatching your phone up and heading toward your bedroom, “You’ve got a deal, sunshine - make sure my controller’s charged!”

Wearing each other’s clothing was more than a relationship trope with Felix, it was about having a part of each other even when you were apart - no matter how long, or how worn they’ve been.

Seungmin

If there had to be a tier list for who had the most hoodies in Stray Kids, then Seungmin took the silver by a very close call with their leader - yet, despite this, he was the hardest to steal from amongst the members.

It’s almost like he had a sixth sense whenever you came even close to walking out the door with one of his hoodies on, and an even worse sense when you managed to sneak your way into his closet to simply look at your options.

“Min, come on, you have like, a thousand of them! Let me just borrow one!”

In all honesty, his collection was a sight to behold - a hoodie of almost every color, each one oversized with varying logos and designs that would be more than enough for a different outfit every day of the month.

“And never see it again? Yeah, no thanks, I’ll just buy you your own.”

You huffed, looking over your shoulder at his lax form reclined on his bed, expression unreadable while his thumb scrolled across his phone’s screen. “It’s not like you’d even notice it’s missing with how often you guys wear styles the staff picked out.”

“I would, because I can see you trying to take it right now,” side eyeing you, a smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, “I don’t have the memory of a goldfish like Changbin - I know where all my stuff is.”

A lightbulb went off in your head and you crossed your arms, cocking your head to the side with your tongue in your cheek. “Oh, yeah? Then where’s your face cream, Mr. Know-It-All?”

His eyebrows furrowed, brown eyes narrowing in your direction, “In the bathroom behind the mirror, right next to my moisturizer?”

“What about the Pompompurin headband I got you for your birthday?”

This time he sat up, dropping his phone on his lap and crossing his arms to mirror you, “In the drawer of my nightstand because Felix always begs to see me in it whenever he sees it laying out!”

Scoffing, you nodded your head with an air of condescension, “Alright, then what about your gray hoodie?”

He echoed your scoff, “Which gray hoodie? You can’t try to trick me in a game where I actually need to know what you’re specifically talking about.”

“The one with the wifi heart, puppy.”

“Right side of my closet, behind my red Mahagrid hoodie, love.” Realization washed over his face as he finally recognized your game, eyes going wide when you spun on your heel and b-lined it toward his unopened closet. “Hey! You little-”

Throwing the door open, you quickly pushed hangers and unidentified clothing aside - the sound of his sheets rustling only making your pulse skyrocket as you searched for your prize.

Your name fell from his lips in a shout as he somehow managed to get off of his bed without slipping on the hardwood floor in his rush, though his efforts were futile when you laughed in foul-played victory.

“You obviously don’t know where everything is because it was actually behind your Dodgers hoodie!” Your hands tugged the clothing from its hanger, but not before a pair of arms wrapped around you and pulled you back - hoodie still in hand.

“You are not taking it from me! This game proves nothing!”

“That sounds like something a sore loser would say!”

Laughter filled his room, broken up with demands and empty threats that only meant for more taunting. Sure, you couldn’t steal a hoodie without him knowing, but who says taking one right in front of his eyes wasn’t part of the memo?

Jeongin

You never had to steal anything when it came to Jeongin - even if you had the chance to swipe one without him realizing, why would you when he’d turn bashful and blush whenever you simply asked to wear one of his hoodies?

From the first, to the fifth, to even the tenth time you asked, his reaction would always warm your heart; fox-like eyes turning to crescents, bread cheeks rising with dimples, and that oh-so-lovable laugh rising with the red that turned his ears.

“Pretty, you ready to go to the gaming cafe?”

You jumped up from your spot on the couch, abandoning the random drama you both decided to watch without a second thought, “Ready? I thought you’d never ask - this episode was getting way too predictable.”

“Hey! I thought it was gonna get better - it’s not my fault you wanted to stick around ever since the last episode ended!” Jeongin turned off the tv, tossing the remote to the side before pushing himself off of the cushions.

“Yeah, well…” You drifted off, easily losing any idea for a comeback at his - sadly - true statement. “Whatever! Maybe the next episode is better, but for now it’s time to kick some ass and take some names - oh, and try that new mango drink!”

He hummed in agreement, heading toward the front door to slide his shoes on, “Their fries were really good last time, maybe we should get two orders of them this time, then get something light before dinner.”

“Hey, lover boy, do you mind if I wear one of your hoodies? My jacket is a little thin and it’s supposed to be cold later.”

Pausing mid-foot-in-shoe, he looked up to see you holding your hoodie of choice - a green one he’d worn in a live while teaching thousands of people how to tie a bow in three easy steps It was simple, soft and warm without any pompous branding or design, and the thought of seeing you in it made his heart race.

“I- um, yeah! You can wear it if you want, I don’t mind!” 

He hated how easily he was flustered with this, and the worst part was that he knew you knew the effect you had on him, but it never stopped you from asking the same thing and smiling at him when he gave the same response every time.

In the same breath, it never stopped him from not answering the question, either - as much as you loved his reactions, he loved the sight of you wearing his clothes, even if it was just for a night out.

You could ask him that same question for the rest of his life and he would feel like it was the first time; looking at you with dimpled cheeks and red ears while you tugged on whatever hoodie you decided to model for the world that day.

❣ This one was definitely a long time coming - Seungmin's was the hardest for me to put into words and yet he's the longest because of it! As always, feedback is appreciated! Whether it be a simple like, reblog, or keyboard smash and the most essay-like comment, feel free to share your thoughts. ❣

[drhu0806]

8 – “Give me that, before anything happens.”

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 (fanfiction) Characters: Astarion, Tav/custom player character Rating: G Warnings: none

“What have you done?”

Astarion is disgusted, scandalized, truly horrified. The mantle that hangs from Kainé’s shoulders is in tatters, shredded and mangled, a far cry from the elegant article it once was. He thumbs the end of it in his hand in disbelief.

“Did you end up in a fight with a murderous onion chopper? You look as though a wyvern tried to chew you up and just spit you back out.”

Kainé grimaces, sheepish. “There was… some trouble…”

“Clearly.”

Taking a step back, he takes the rest of her in, eyeing her critically. “And while we’re on the subject of clothes, my dear, can we talk for a moment about everything else you have going on?”

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, you’re gorgeous. But sometimes it helps to look the part a bit more, hm? It seems like every time I look at you, your shirt is some level of ill-fitting or torn, and for some reason you always have holes in your trousers. I know we’re in almost constant peril, but it really wouldn’t hurt to keep up appearances.”

She laughs, but it’s weak and forced, and Astarion senses that he’s misstepped somehow. “I suppose you’re right, I do look like a mess, don’t I?”

“Wait, Kainé, I’m not saying you’re a slob by any means—”

“Oh, I know, and you know I really would love to have clothes that I don’t ruin constantly, it’s just… I don’t really have that option.”

“What do you mean?”

She picks at a small tear in her shirt, one of many across a number of her casual clothes. Kainé doesn’t have many; while there’s been no shortage of abandoned, unused clothing in their travels, for some reason she gives away most of what they find to the rest of the party. Astarion himself is in possession of more clothes than he’s had in quite some time.

Kainé gives him a smile, forlorn and small. “I’m a tiefling, Astarion. It’s not exactly easy to find clothing that works for us.” She points to her horns. “You would not believe how hard it is to find a shirt that slips over my head easily.”

He suddenly remembers when Wyll was first turned into his devilish form, the hours of consulting with the tieflings in the party, the numerous times they’ve had to untangle his horns from his shirt. At the time he’d found it hilarious but...

“There’s also the matter of this lovely little thing…”

Turning to her side, her tail whips into prominence. “Tough to find pants that are comfortable enough to fit around these bad boys. Not a lot of tiefling tailors out there so… Growing up I never had a lot of clothes that fit me in general, and I never learned how to sew, so it would usually be really baggy shirts or trousers with holes just punched into them. Dresses were actually pretty nice, just not practical to wear often.” Kainé shrugs. “It was fine for a while; no point in having nice clothes I’ll just end up ruining from all the work I was doing.”

It isn’t the first time Astarion’s said something he shouldn’t, but it is the first time in a long while that he’s genuinely regretted it. No matter how hard she tries to shrug it off, he can hear the years of childhood shame behind her words. Little, seemingly inconsequential things he’s noticed during their time together come to mind: the slow, meticulous manner in which she puts her shirt on in the mornings, the times where she shifts uncomfortably in place, pulling at her trousers when she thinks no one can see.

He’s never denied that he’s been one to preen and pick at his own appearance; even his plainest clothes were carefully tailored to his tastes. But he’s always at least had good options to start with; what must have it been like, to not have that choice at all?

“Give me that, before anything happens,” he mutters, gesturing at her torn cloak. “And the rest of your free clothes as well. Gods forbid something rips in an unfortunate place at the worst time.”

“Wait, all of them? Why? It’s just my cloak—”

“Less questions, more clothes please! I don’t have all day!”

----------------------

Later, when Kainé returns to her tent, she finds her clothes returned, laid out individually. She’s about to curse Astarion out for leaving her a mess until she picks up the first shirt. She runs her fingers over it, feeling out curves that weren’t there before, outlining the trails of crisp, cleanly stitched embroidery. Without a second thought, she switches out her attire, and she’s immediately struck at how much easier it is to slip her head through the collar, the way the shirt actually conforms to her rather than sagging loosely at her sides.

She kicks off her pants and shimmies into a returned set, practically giddy that for once her tail doesn’t catch as she pulls up the waist. Not caring whether anyone sees, she hums to herself as she dances a little in place.

One last item remains: the mended cloak. The repaired article looks almost as good as new; Kainé marvels at how neat the needlework is, how the threads seamlessly blend into the existing pattern. Yet when she reaches the collar, she pauses as a new addition catches her eye.

A small white flower is sewn underneath the collar. She recognizes the shape all too well: a white moonflower, her favorite. Kainé wraps herself in the cloak as if it were a blanket, burying her face into the embroidered design.

“Oh, good, you’ve already tried them on.”

Astarion appears at the mouth of her tent. “I was hoping I could catch you to make sure everything fit, though I’m sure my skill is perfectly good enough to—Why are you looking at me like that?”

Without saying a word, she rises and embraces him. He’s caught off guard, his arms held out as he scrambles to figure out what’s going on. Eventually he comes back to himself, returning her embrace and holding her close.

“Well, I guess that means everything fits just fine.”

[dalmascan-requiem]

Dalmascan Requiem: Found (Chapter 3)

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Laurent might be honest with himself, but it'd do him better to be more honest to the people around him.

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Read on AO3 or keep reading after the jump

content warnings: none

< Previous Chapter

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Here we are, the end of 'Found'! I'm very proud of this chapter. We're back to Laurent's POV for this one. I don't have too much else to say about this one other than my poor boys are so dense sometimes.

Soon, we'll start jumping around the timeline a bit more, and learn more about the events and people these two are referring to throughout the fic. :) But for now, enjoy!

Laurent stares down at his hands as silence falls over the two Viera, slowly flexing his fingers. It's really them… When he was banished from the village, the elders took his rings--his link to his life in the jungle. Never had he thought to get them back.

Gale might have brushed it off, but getting the rings back was no small feat. For him to even take that risk… Laurent couldn't understand why he'd do that. Still, he was thankful for the gesture--thankful for this day in general.

Laurent shifts his gaze to the light-haired Rava and watches him as he chops something up in the kitchen. I'm so glad you're alright… Laurent always told himself Gale would have no reason to leave the forest--but he also knew he was deluding himself. He knew that the jungle was dangerous for Gale, and not for the reasons it was dangerous for the other Warders.

But that lie was his way of dealing with the thought that he'd never see Gale again. Laurent had a lot of time over the years to think about everything that happened, about why he took the blame for what Gale did.

Of course, the answer was excruciatingly simple, when Laurent started being honest with himself. Gemna would always tell him to think with this his heart more, but he'd argue he already thinks with it too much.

Gale's ears twitch back a bit, and he meets Laurent's gaze with a confused look for a moment before turning back to the food he was preparing. I was staring too long… Gods, I need to say something, anything. "Do you really wear clothing like this?" Laurent looks down at the shirt that Gale gave him to wear, figuring it was as good of a subject as any.

The shirt was form-fitting around his midriff, but the sleeves flared out before being cinched back in with cuffs on the wrist. It felt like half of his chest was exposed from the cut of the v-neck, and it certainly wasn't like the non-descript outfit Gale was currently wearing. "It looks like something a nobleman would wear. I feel ridiculous in this."

The comment got a chuckle out of Gale. "You look fine." The Viera heads to the sofa, a small plate in his hands and a look of mischief in his emerald eyes. "I dare say it suits you, even." 

Laurent quickly turns away from Gale as he feels his cheeks flush. I wish he'd stop doing that… He quickly chastises himself for the thought, however. Gale isn't doing anything--Laurent simply doesn't know how to handle all of the feelings he buried five years ago. Feelings that were very much unburied now.

Gale waits a moment to see if Laurent responds, then continues with a small huff when it's clear the dark-haired Viera will stay silent. "But yes, sometimes. Depends on the job, of course."

"The job…" Laurent quietly repeats what Gale said, suddenly realizing what the conversation is supposed to be about. "Right, you wanted to talk about a job for me?"

"Mhm," Gale simply responds as sits down on the sofa, while placing the plate into Laurent's hands. "Here. It's nothing special, but I haven't had much of an opportunity to restock these past few weeks." The Rava gives Laurent a small smirk before turning away, suddenly more interested in staring at his hands than talking.

The food was simple enough, just some fruit cut up on a plate, but Laurent was thankful for it regardless. "I appreciate it," he says quietly, and he begins to eat as the silence stretches on. There was no use asking again at this point--Laurent figured Gale was just taking some time to gather his thoughts.

Eventually, Gale looks up and over to the dark-haired Viera. "I sell information," he says simply, then hesitates for another moment before continuing. "There's a lot of people in Rabanastre that need to know something about someone, for… whatever reason they want to know it." Both Viera know the reason was never for anything good, but it doesn't need to be said.

"I find it easy to talk to people, and people are always willing to spill their secrets to someone they don't see as a threat." Gale shakes his head, an almost amused look on his face. "I can't understand why anyone would be so trusting, but it makes me a living, so I suppose I shouldn't complain."

Gale falls silent again, and Laurent decides it's a good time to speak up. "You want me to help gather information then?" He couldn't say he was thrilled at the idea; while Gale made it sound like talking to people and wringing information from them was effortless, he knew that it was not nearly so easy for him. 

Laurent had trouble holding a conversation with most people, and always seemed to put them on guard--he mainly spends his interactions just trying not to make anyone angry. Steering and manipulating a conversation to get people to talk (without a knife on their throat, that is)? He'll end up stabbed in a back alley before the night is out.

"What?" Gale looked over to the Viera, then chuckled. "No, nothing like that. I… don't believe that's where your skills are best used." A kind and roundabout way of saying I'd be terrible at it. Not that he's wrong. "No, I was thinking something a bit more discrete."

Gale lets out a small huff as he runs his hand through his hair, then continues. "Most of these people that need this information… they need problems taken care of. People taken care of. Quietly. What did we learn as Wood Warders? To be quiet, to strike first and ask questions later. To blend into the shadows and be unnoticed by threats." 

Laurent notices that Gale's expression changes just a bit when he was speaking about being a Wood Warder, but the bitter look fades quickly when he shifts the topic back to the present. "You were always a great Wood Warder. I'm sure you could be the one to handle these… problems. I imagine it wouldn't be too different from being a sellsword, but it'd probably be safer, with your skills and all…"

The light-haired Viera's voice trails off, seeming uneasy about the implication. Laurent understood what Gale was suggesting easily enough, though. Being an assassin… The word sounded intense. Violent.

But how was it all that different from what he currently does? Perhaps his clients didn't ask him to outright kill someone, but more often than not the jobs came down to that anyway--and it gave an aggrieved party someone to take their revenge out on.

Gale was right, being an assassin would be safer for him. Easier to deal with, too. There'd be no worrying about what he should and shouldn't do, no ambiguities to figure out.

"T-that is… You wouldn't be doing all this alone." Gale wrings his hands as he begins speaking again, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that fell between the two of them. "I'll make sure the jobs aren't too dangerous… and I'm not against doing them myself, I'm just not as good at fighting, if something goes wrong. I…" Laurent hears a frustrated sigh from Gale as he looks down at his lap, hair covering his face.

Laurent found Gale's mounting frustration endearing, but he figures it was time to speak up before his friend's thoughts got away from him. "You make a good point. It would be nice to cut the ambiguities of mercenary work out of the equation. Why any sellsword would balk at the idea is beyond my guess." 

He makes a show of seeming apathetic, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing around the room. "And you seem to do your part well enough, considering where you can afford to live. I'd be a fool to deny the opportunity." Laurent couldn't care less about the job itself, but it was a perfect excuse to remain in contact with Gale.

"Oh… really? You accept?" Gale didn't bother to mask the shock in his voice. He turned back to Laurent, a genuine smile on his freckled face. "That is wonderful to hear. I'm certain you'll find this… safer."

"Can't be any more dangerous than some of the jobs I've had." Laurent picks at the fabric of his sleeve, looking for any excuse to look away from the Viera. Gods, he's just so…

The dark-haired Rava mused this all might be easier if he just told Gale about how he actually felt, but Laurent didn't want to risk tension or some sort of conflict--not now, at least. Besides, just being near Gale was enough.

"I can find you something better to wear in the morning," Gale says with a slight chuckle, taking Laurent's means of distracting himself as disapproval with the flowy shirt. "Or we can gather your belongings--oh, I am getting ahead of myself." 

Gale taps a finger on his lips, taking a second to gather his thoughts. "From what I'd heard you don't have a place you stay at for long, is that right? You can stay here if you so choose. Would make it easier to work together, as well." Gale gestures to the door behind Laurent. "There is an extra bedroom here. Make yourself at home, just be careful when coming back. Ah--I mean, if you'd like to, of course."

"I could use a safe place to sleep, so I'll stay here." Laurent smiles at Gale, then gets up from the sofa. "Forgive me, I'm still tired from these past few weeks, so I'll have to make use of your hospitality now."

"Of course," The Rava nods at him before standing up himself. "I am--...ah, I mean--I believe we'll work well together. We always did as Warders."

For someone who's so good with his words, Gale sure has been stumbling over them a lot tonight. He must be as exhausted as I am. Laurent heads to the bedroom and opens the door before pausing for a moment. "I am simply happy to see you, Eir."  

Laurent doesn't wait for Gale's response as he quickly closes the door behind him. He stands in the silence of the bedroom for a few moments, calming his nerves before letting out a long sigh. I suppose this is happening. Provided this isn't a dream and I wake back up in that hole in the wall--Oh, hells…

He's going to have Gemna about this. Gods know how long she's going to tease and badger me… Laurent rubs his temples, a sudden headache coming on. I best get my rest if I must deal with that.

[newwwwusername]

Spider Fighter 3 - Spider & Iron - Pride Month Prompt 14 : Trans (Female to Male)

Prompt : Write either an M/M, F/M, or Other (to include nonbinary folks) fic (can be fluff, hurt/comfort, whatever you see fit) in which one (or both if it's M/M and you want it to be both) of the characters in that pairing are a trans man OR a gen fic in which an FTM character (can be a canon or headcanoned character) is coming out to/being comforted by/otherwise talking about gender with his friend(s) Headcanon : FTM!Spider

During a fight with the Gang, Spider had been beaten to within an inch of his life and Iron had to come finish off the battle for him.

This wasn't a horribly uncommon occurrence- For as many good punches as Spider would generally get in, he would receive just as many, if not more. He never knew when to dodge and was too stubborn to accept advice from Iron, even though it led to far too many close calls.

On this particular occasion, Spider was fading in and out of consciousness at the edge of the rooftop where the fight had taken place, and he was grasping at his left ribs, his face making it clear he was in pain.

Iron knew the kid probably needed medical care, but he also knew that would be risky. Since Spider didn't wear a mask, everyone in the city knew his face and panic would surely break out if people learned that he'd gotten so badly hurt.

Sure, Iron and Muscle were perfectly passable superheroes, but Spider was the one who really got shit done, and he was the one everyone looked up to, despite being the youngest.

"Alright, kid" Iron said with a hefty sigh as he kneeled next to the injured boy. "I'm gonna need to take your top off and check to make sure you didn't break something"

"No..."

"I'm sorry" Iron told him. "I'll try to keep your modesty as much as possible, but I need to make sure the damage isn't too bad" he explained. Spider let out a few more weak protests but ultimately there wasn't much he could do to stop the man. Not while he was in this state.

Iron gingerly worked off the boy's hoodie and then began to roll up the shirt beneath. Spider, despite barely being conscious, seemed to grow more and more panicked as he did so, eventually hyperventilating himself into full-blown unconsciousness.

That's when Iron saw it. The tight undergarment wrapped around the kid's chest. Concerned for how this might worsen any rib injuries, he began to remove it, and-

Oh.

Iron had a million questions about what lied beneath and decided to save them for later. Right now he just needed to make sure the kid was okay so he respectfully looked away as he finished removing the undergarment, blindly felt around for any severe rib injuries and then, once he was relieved to find none, he pulled the kids shirt back down and put his hoodie back on.

He picked up the child in his arms, placed the undergarment atop the unconscious boy, and flew back to his suite.

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Spider woke up on Iron's couch with an ice pack against his side and the familiar tightness around his chest gone. With horror, he looked down and saw that his binder was not on and his heart sank fully into his ass when he realized where he was.

Iron knew.

"Hey, kid" Iron said as he noticed the kid stir awake. He came over and placed two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table before sitting down in a lounge chair near the couch. "Is the ice helping?"

"Where's my binder?"

"I put it in the wash" Iron told him with a weak smile. "It needed it"

"Why would you-"

"I needed to make sure your ribs weren't too badly hurt" Iron explained. "I didn't look, don't worry. I just had to make sure you would be safe"

"I wanted to tell you myself" Spider said, clearly upset. Iron frowned. "I..."

"Well, I'm admittedly a little confused as to what the deal is exactly" the man replied. "So here's your chance to tell me" he continued. Then, realizing how that came out, he added, "If you want to, of course"

"I'm trans" Spider told him. Iron just nodded. "Say something?"

"I don't have much to say" Iron shrugged. "It doesn't really change anything. At the end of the day, your still the same, hard-headed boy you've always been" he continued. Spider smiled at that. "Thank you for trusting me"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever" Spider grumbled. "Can I have a blanket or something to cover up... This more?" he asked, gesturing to his chest. It was covered by his clothes, but there was still some shape to it that wasn't normally visible. Iron chuckled.

"Of course, your majesty"

Do not repost on other sites! If you want to participate in this month's challenge, there are 30 LGBT-centered prompts that you can find here

[realcube]

haikyuu!! characters with a chubby! s/o 💗

characters: tsukishima, oikawa, atsumu, osamu & suna

thank you anon for this cute request 🥺

tw// comfort, fluff, angst if you squint, insecure! reader, swearing, they/them reader but reader wears a dress (in osamu’s)

(a/n): anon requested comfort but i feel bad bc i’m writing this like ‘no, (y/n)! stop being sad! you’re beautiful! 😡’ then i remember that i can just select+delete the pain away💗💖

Kei Tsukishima

let’s not pretend like tsukki gives a fuck what you look like tbh ✋

like nobody is ‘perfect’ and everyone is insecure (to varying degrees) so why would he care about your weight?

nobody ticks every single box to meet society’s definition of ‘beauty’  

plus, tsukki thought beauty standards were stupid away so he created his own - and you meet every single one 💖

in fact, almost everyone meets his beauty standards - besides himself ‘:)

he seriously doesn’t care about your weight tbh, it’s the most trivial thing so why would he care?

although, he wasn’t naïve enough to think that everyone was like-minded

your front of ‘i don’t care about what other people think of me’ was strong enough to fool even the most observant of poeple, including tsukki

however, tsukishima failed to take into consideration that you were his girlfriend, meaning that you could be playing the same game as him; ‘pretend to not care about superficial things like beauty so nobody will think for a second that you are insecure about your body’

he wasn’t one to give compliments but neither were you tbh so the mutual agreement y’all have of ‘let’s call each other names as a form of endearment to avoid those awkward moments were you are looking for the right words for praise but can’t come up with anything’  was fair

but after you accidentally sent him a self-deprecating ‘joke’ message that was clearly meant for a friend, he never passed up the opportunity to compliment you ever again

like he kinda just stared at the message like 😮 ‘does (y/n) seriously care about their weight? why? it doesn’t even matter. how stupid! who told them that the shape of their body is important? bc it’s not..’

then he turns to look in the mirror like ‘wow you srsly need to put on muscle, lanky bitch. or else (y/n) will probably leave you for some built jackass like kuroo. pick up some weights, noodle arms!’

anyway, he’s not too good with words and comfort in situations like these but he’ll probably reply to your text with something out-of-character and surprisingly sweet

to paraphrase (bc the actual text would probably be like a whole damn persuasive essay LMAO he starts with the introduction, makes five points and finishes with a conclusion pfft) , i think it would be something like: ‘hey, (y/n). ik that text was probably meant for one of your friends (but if they’re the ones making you feel bad about your weight then you should probably drop those toxic cunts anyway 💅✨) but i just wanted to say that even though you are the biggest clown i’ve ever met (/j) you’re still v beautiful 💗 stop being insecure or i’ll pass away ⚰💀 ok thx love you bye’

Tōru Oikawa

how are you insecure if you’re dating oikawa? /j

like he is such a hypeman

whenever y’all take pics in your ✨fancy outfits ✨ for formal event, he acts as though you are second most beautiful thing on the face of this earth 😍 (second to him ofc)

but he only does that so he can keep up the reputation he has of being effortlessly confident bc he’s scared that if it slips for even a second, everyone will see how truly insecure he is

truthfully, in his eyes, you come first place by miles (❤ ω ❤)

like srsly, you’re so gorgeous in that dress!! he hopes that you know that he is joking about the whole ‘second place’ thing bc you should be able to tell by the way he looks at you that you’re genuinely the most striking person he’s ever laid his eyes on 

you never acted overly confident in front of him but he definitely didn’t think you were as insecure as you are

he thought you were just..humble :)

sometimes he’d hear you mutter something mean about yourself as you passed the mirror but he paid no mind to it as he figured that you just cared about your appearance and wanted to maintain a certain image

however, once he was made aware that you didn’t want to maintain your image but rather, change it - he never let you murmur anything nasty about yourself under your breath ever again, not without proceeding to tackle you to the ground and shower you with his love, affection & praise 💞💕❤

and he never made a ‘second place’ joke ever again, he started his honesty streak by reassuring you that you’ll always be the number one in his eyes 🤩

also, after that, he was a lot more open about his own insecurities with you and you made sure to respect them and help him in a similar way that he did

there is just so much love and admiration between the two of you and at first you were both to shy to express it but now, you both are showering each other in compliments 24/7 bc you both just want the other one to know how perfect you view them as (❁´◡`❁)

Atsumu Miya

atsumu is a hypeman like oikawa but...better :)

IT’S BC HE HAS NO SHAME

he’ll compliment you on anything you wear and he makes it a point to use the most inappropriate compliment as possible, relative to the outfit you’re wearing

so if you’re wearing your pyjamas, he’ll call you ‘glamourous’

if you are wearing a swimsuit, he’ll call you ‘elegant’

if you’re in your work clothes/school uniform, he’ll call you ‘sexy’

and if you’re in lingerie, he’ll call you ‘adorable’

but it makes you blush so hey, no complaints

so when he finds out that you’re actually insecure about your weight, he’s just like ‘no ❤’

like he hates the idea that when you look in the mirror, you don’t see the god(dess) he sees

like why? it’s the same person

💞 fuck ‘perception’ 💞

💕 ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ TF YOU ARE THE FUCKING BEAUTY💕

grrr he was so mad  

but he was also soft 

he was like ‘if (y/n) insecure? then why hot? then why pretty? then why fit perfectly into my arms?’

plus, THIGHS

he’d never diss a person bc they had small thighs or anything BUT he’d also NEVER complain about being given the chance to be with someone with some good thighs 👍

tbh the best could do to help was compliment you ten times harder to eliMINATE ALL YOUR INSECURIES 

(and ofc i don’t mean that in a way - for example - if you’re insecure about your nose, he’ll fkn chop it off......he won’t chop your nose off LMAO he’ll just show you how much he loves it, to the point where you have no choice but to love it too ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ )

anyway, plz love (or at least, tolerate) yourself or else he’ll suffocate you with all his love and affection :D

Osamu Miya

osamu is at a loss when it comes to typical beauty standards tbh

to him, weight (and most things) are similar to..hand size, for example

just like how you can’t imagine someone feeling self-conscious about the size of their hand (especially if their hand is a healthy size) 

he can’t imagine why some one would be shamed for their weight (especially if they’re a healthy size)

so had no idea you could possibly be insecure about something like that and he probably on realised after a few years in the relationship 😅

there was a formal event coming up and y’all were going as dates so you wanted to shop for outfits together 

as couples do ✌

anyway, he was on a dress site, scrolling away until you pointed out one that you thought was pretty - and it matched the color of the tie osamu bought too!

it was a fair price (for a formal dress 🙄 which is probably like $68/50) so osamu was like ‘buy it then ( •̀ ω •́ )✧’  bc he thought it would so gorgeous on you 

but you were like ‘no’

and after he pried further, you explained how you thought it wouldn’t ‘suit your body type’ 

GRRR HE dislikes IT WHEN PPL SAY THIS SO MUCH BC HOE YOU DON’T HAVE A BODY TYPE YOU’VE GOT A BODY 😡💕 WEAR THE DAMN DRESS IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BEAUTIFUL 

but like deadass it’s not your blood type-  it’s just a thing ppl made up to make ppl (mostly women) feel bad about themselves for no reason

but that might just be his inner atsumu talking 🤷‍♂️

he didn’t even know what to say at first- he was just like ????? body type ????

but once he figured out what you meant, he still had no idea what to say- at least, without sounding rude

what if someone came up to you and told you they were insecure about the shape of their knee.......what do you even say???

so he was silent for like the rest of the day

you decided to give him some space just in case something happened which had upset him

he had no idea what to say, in all honesty, so he hoped that his actions spoke louder than words 

around 3 days had passed since you last spoke to osamu and you were beginning to think something you had said made him uncomfortable

you were studying in your room until there was a ring at your door so you rushed downstairs and you opened it to reveal a package sitting on your doormat

you had recently ordered some cleaning equipment so you were sure that the content of the package was probably that

so imagine your surprise when you tear it open to reveal  — you guessed it —  the dress 💕

Rintarō Suna

when he says that he doesn’t care what ppl look like, he means it

he upkeeps his own appearance though bc..it’s his!

like why would he care about what weight you are? that’s none of his business

as you can tell, he’s generally not shallow but sometimes when y’all are just cuddling and your face is pressed to his chest, the words ‘you’re so cute’ just fall from his lips

so ofc he appreciates compliments over his skills, personality, humour etc over flattery about his appearance 

hence, the praise he gives you is usually based around those things too bc he just thinks that you’re just like him in the fact you don’t appreciate skin-deep comments

so when he found out that you’re actually insecure about your weight (or something else), he kinda blames himself

he thinks that the whole reason you’re not extremely confident in your appearance is all due to him and the fact he fact he maybe didn’t compliment you on your looks enough  — but that’s not to say that he doesn’t think you’re beautiful 

you’re the most radiant person he’s ever laid his eyes on and he thought you knew that regardless of whether he vocalised it or not

he wasn’t really sure what to do tbh

bc he loved you and wanted to comfort you ofc but he was scared of making things worse

like what if something he says accidentally makes you so upset that you break-up with him 😭

but he knew he couldn’t just stay silent about the issue, especially when he wanted to say to much

thus, he sent you a heartfelt message on discord 

(rather than snap, whatsapp etc so he could edit it after he posts it bc knowing him, he’ll probably write something, reread it ten times then as soon as he hits send, he spots a bunch of mistakes)

and he’d explain how you’re simply divine regardless of your insecurity and if anything, it just makes you cuter 😍

ok ok so i really don’t want it so seem like he has a fetish bc HE DOESN’T 

but he think your curves are so fun and pretty ❤ 

like everything about you is pretty but suna just can’t comprehend why you’re insecure about something like your weight when he literally adores it (bc he adores everything about you) 

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

You Don’t Own Me (You Don’t Even Know Me)

Chapter 3

Summary:  As the son of a Baron, Roman Sanders always knew that when he married, it would be due to a political arrangement rather than true love. Still, when he is sent away to marry an older, more powerful Earl, he is determined to make the best of his situation. Despite the Earl’s indifference towards him, Roman forges ahead and prepares to become the best husband he can possibly be, making new friends along the way. But when his fiancé’s demeanor turns from cold to cruel, Roman must shift all of his focus to survival, and find a way out of his marriage before it’s too late.

Ships: Logince (Logan x Roman)  Moxiety (Virgil x Patton)

Content Warnings: arranged marriage, abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder, poisoning, character death, hurt/comfort, angst

Chapter Warnings: none

Word Count: 2689

Read on AO3: here!

Cowritten with @ironwoman359 masterlist

False masterlist

A sharp knock pulled Roman from a fitful sleep, and he groaned, cracking open one eyelid.

“Who is it?” He called blearily. 

“Patton, sir!”

“Come in, then,” Roman said around a yawn, and Patton entered the room. 

“Good morning Lord- Roman!” He said, quickly correcting himself. “I trust you had a good night’s sleep?”

“I've certainly had worse,” Roman admitted, stretching. “Do you need something?” 

Patton nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“His lordship requests that you meet him at the stables this morning for a ride around the grounds. New riding clothes and boots should be in your wardrobe.” 

Roman raised an eyebrow. Three days of near pretending he didn’t exist, and now Lord Howard wanted to take a romantic ride around the grounds together?

 “Very well, I will be ready shortly,” Roman said, then he frowned as Patton turned to leave. “Patton, wait…”

Patton paused, looking back at him. Roman hesitated for a moment, but the housekeeper had said anything he needed...

“Could I...that is, do you know what happened to my clothes? The ones I brought with me, I mean?” 

Patton’s face twisted in sympathy. 

“Oh, um...well, I...” he looked away, and guilt flickered through his eyes. “Mrs. Wakefield, she...she told me to burn them.” Roman’s eyes widened, but Patton quickly continued, “I didn’t, though! I snuck them into the laundry when she wasn’t looking...I was planning on taking them down to a charity shop in town when I could get an afternoon free. It...it didn’t feel right, to have perfectly good clothes like that thrown out when someone could still use them.” 

Roman sucked in a breath. “There’s one thing,” he said quietly, leaning closer. “A cloak, torn at the hem, is it...do you think I could get it back?” 

Patton glanced behind him, as if Mrs. Wakefield herself might suddenly materialize in the room. 

“I...if Lord Howard sees you wearing it, I-“

“I won’t wear it,” Roman promised. “And the rest of the clothes, you can go ahead and give away. I don’t want any trouble, I just...I don’t want to lose it for good.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Patton said, and Roman smiled.

“Thank you, Patton, I’m truly grateful. Now...I must admit, I don’t quite know my way around the estate yet. Would you be able to show me to the stables?” 

Patton perked up at that, his face splitting into a wide grin. 

“I’d be absolutely delighted to!” 

Patton stepped out for a moment to let Roman get dressed, and then he led him through the halls of the manor. Roman did his best to memorize the layout as they went; the estate technically was his home now, and he wanted to know it like the back of his hand. Patton led him outside through a set of double doors set with frosted glass and onto a meticulously kept gravel path. As they walked, they passed by an immaculate flower garden and what looked like the entrance to a hedge maze before reaching what Roman assumed were the stables. 

Lord Howard was already there waiting for them, dressed in smart white riding pants and a tailored vest. Two men stood beside him, each holding the reins of a horse.

“Ah, good morning Lord Sanders,” the Earl called, and Roman bowed his head in greeting. “Come, let me introduce you to my stablemaster.” 

The shorter of the two men beside him bowed. 

“Joseph Acton,” he said. “I am at your service, my lord. And this is Angel, and her handler, Virgil.” He gestured at the taller man, who held the reins of a snow-white mare. 

Roman nodded to both stable hands, then reached out to pat Angel’s nose. 

“She’s lovely,” he said, smiling at Virgil. 

“She’s yours,” said Lord Howard, and Roman’s eyes widened. 

“I- really?” 

“Indeed,“ said the Earl. “I trust you can ride?” 

“Yes, I can,” Roman said. “I- you are too generous my lord, thank you.”

Lord Howard gave him a short bow, clearly preening at the expression of gratitude, and Roman smiled to himself as he took Angel’s reins. This may not be quite the marriage of equals he had always hoped for, but it didn’t mean he was unprepared for his situation. 

A man like Garret Howard had wealth and power to spare, and everything he did would be in service of either acquiring more or showing off what he had. If Roman wanted to improve his standing with him, he first had to stroke the man’s ego. So as they rode through the grounds, he oo’d and ah’d at the impressive landscaping and architecture, when asked how he was finding his stay at the estate so far he gushed about the size of his rooms and the quality of service from the staff, and at every opportunity, he brought the conversation back to Lord Howard, allowing the Earl to not-so-subtly boast about the size of his estate and investments. 

When they circled back around to the stables, Lord Howard swiftly dismounted his horse, and gave Roman a nod. 

“Thank you for your time this morning, Lord Sanders. You of course have free reign of the estate. I have much business to attend to today and cannot be disturbed, but I do hope you will join me for dinner this evening?” 

“Of course, my lord,” Roman said with a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

Lord Howard snapped his fingers and Acton hurried forward to take his horse’s reins. 

“Until this evening, then,” said the Earl, and then he turned and left without another word. 

Acton gave Roman a quick bow before leading Howard’s horse away, and Roman glanced around. He didn’t see the other stableboy anywhere nearby, so he steered Angel towards the stables himself. As he drew nearer, he finally spotted the tall, dark haired boy who had first handed him Angel’s reins leaning against a fence post and talking to Patton, of all people.

“Virgil! Get to work!” snapped Acton, and Patton jumped, guilt flashing across his features. The stablehand, Virgil, rolled his eyes, but stepped forward towards Roman, ducking his head and holding out his hands for the reins.

“Apologies, my lord,” he said lowly, and Roman flashed him a reassuring smile.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” he said as he dismounted. He glanced up to make sure Acton wasn’t listening, then added quietly, “and you may just call me Roman, if you wish.” 

Virgil’s eyebrows quirked up in surprise, and he glanced over at Patton, who smiled and nodded at him. 

“Alright then, Roman,” Virgil said. “How was Angel for you?”

“Oh, she was excellent. Weren’t you, girl?” Roman asked, patting Angel on the neck. “You deserve a whole barrel of apples for doing such a good job!” 

“I do have some sugar cubes saved back at the stable, if you’d like to give her some,” Virgil said slowly, almost warily. 

“I’d love to,” Roman said honestly, and Patton’s face lit up. 

Virgil nodded to himself, as if coming to a decision, then he turned around, tugging gently on Angel’s reins.

“Come on then, her stall is this way.” 

Roman and Patton followed Virgil into the stables, which housed around a half-dozen horses. Virgil led them through to Angel’s stall, then gave them all sugar cubes and baby carrots that they took turns feeding to the mare while he removed her bridle and brushed her down. 

Roman held out another handful of treats to Angel and glanced at Patton. Patton was stroking Angel’s nose, but the soft smile on his face was clearly directed more at her handler rather than the horse itself.

“So...you two know each other well?” Roman asked. Virgil looked hesitant, but Patton nodded, a sheepish smile on his face. 

“When I started working here, I didn’t know anybody...and, um. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the senior staff can be...”

“Assholes?” Virgil grumbled, and Patton laughed nervously. 

“That’s, um, a strong word for it.” 

“Not necessarily inaccurate though,” Roman said, and Virgil blinked, clearly surprised. 

‘Well, suffice it to say, I had a little trouble fitting in at first!” Patton interjected. “But Virgil was actually nice to me, helped me find my feet, and we’ve been friends ever since!” 

Roman raised an eyebrow; based on the way that they looked at each other, he’d have guessed they were more than just friends...still, he wasn’t about to pry.  

“Pat, it was great to see you, but I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Virgil said. “You should get back, before Wakefield gets wind of where you’ve been.” 

“He should be fine, as long as he’s with me, right?” Roman asked quickly. “Since he’s my attendant, if I ask him to accompany me somewhere, that would supersede any other duties he has.” 

“I mean, yeah, probably,” Virgil said. “Still, you don’t know how Wakefield can be...I don’t wanna risk you getting in trouble.” 

“And I don’t want to risk either of you getting in trouble, so we’ll make sure we keep our visits on the short side,” Roman said. 

“Our...visits?” Patton asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, as my attendant, it’s essentially your job now to accompany me around the estate, right?” Roman asked. “It just so happens that I love horses, and taking walks around the grounds, so Mrs. Wakefield can hardly blame you if you end up spending more time than you used to outside the mansion.”

“Oh!” Patton said, his eyes widening. “Oh, Roman, you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to…”

“I do, though,” Roman said honestly. “It’s no trouble. And Angel is a sweet girl who deserves all the extra sugarcubes in the world, aren’t you?” he added, patting the horse on her neck. 

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Virgil said. “But you two should still probably get inside now, I don’t need Acton on my case again.” 

“Okay,” Patton said, quickly pulling Virgil into a hug. “I’ll see you later!”

Virgil looked embarrassed, but he hugged Patton back and waved to him and Roman as they exited the stables. 

“What else would you like to do today?” Patton asked Roman as they headed back inside. “Lord Howard takes dinner at seven thirty, so you have quite a bit of free time until then.” 

“Hmm...well perhaps you could give me a tour of the mansion?” Roman asked. “I believe there are several wings I haven’t even seen yet.” 

“Absolutely!” Patton said. “Follow me!” 

Roman was happy to do just that, and the two of them spent nearly an hour wandering through the house, Patton pointing out various features as they went. Roman’s head spun at the sheer size of the place; it was nearly unbelievable that just one man could own so much. At midday, Patton left him to arrange for lunch, and Roman found himself wandering the corridors alone. He decided to try and find the library again and turned around, only to collide headfirst with someone hurrying down the hall.  

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed as the person went sprawling, papers flying everywhere. “Here, let me help.”

Roman got to his knees to help gather the papers up, pausing when he saw just who he’d bumped into. 

“Oh...it’s Logan, right? Again, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention at all to where I was going!”

“It’s quite alright,” Logan said, getting to his feet and pushing his glasses up on his nose. “For once, I was not heading anywhere in a particular hurry, I merely intended to take my lunch in the library.” 

“Oh, I was heading that way too!” Roman said. “Or at least, I was trying to find it. Is it alright if I walk with you?” 

Logan shrugged.

“You may do what you wish, Lord Sanders.” 

He resumed his walk down the corridor, and after a moment, Roman followed, glancing around to ensure none of the other servants were nearby before he leaned over and spoke quietly. 

“Roman.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You may just call me Roman, as long as we aren’t around somebody who might get upset with you for it.” 

“Is there a particular reason you prefer not to be called by your proper title?” Logan asked as they reached the library, and Roman shrugged. 

“Formality has its time and place,” he said.

He paused and opened the library door, gesturing for Logan to enter. After a moment, Logan did so, heading towards a small table beneath a window, and Roman followed. 

“However,” he continued, “I’ve found it more beneficial in the past to be on more personal terms with members of my staff. Everyone is free to be at their best when they aren’t spending half their energy worrying about decorum.” 

“Members of your staff?” Logan repeated as he sat down, and Roman nodded. 

“So unless you have your own objections, I really don’t mind if you call me Roman,” 

Logan regarded him for a moment, then tilted his head forward slightly. 

“Very well then, Roman.”

Roman grinned, and sat down opposite Logan.

“So, tell me about what you do! Lord Howard called you his business secretary, what duties does that entail?”

“You...want to hear about my work?” Logan asked, sounding puzzled. 

“Of course!” Roman said. “Lord Howard has been...busy, lately, and I haven’t had much time to learn about everything that goes on here at the estate yet. I was hoping you would be able to fill me in, if that’s alright of course?” 

“I...suppose there is no harm in that,” Logan said slowly. “Though I’m afraid you won’t find what I have to say very interesting. My job mostly entails keeping track of paperwork, creating and distributing documents, managing the taxes paid to the estate as well as balancing the earl’s personal finances-” 

“All that, and he calls you a secretary?” Roman interrupted. “That’s the work of a manager, if not a full business partner!” 

“Yes, well” Logan cleared his throat, and shuffled some of his papers around. “Lord Howard would likely benefit from having a manager or business partner...however, he prefers to handle all matters that fall under his responsibility personally.”

“Or have you handle them,” Roman finished, and Logan gave him a wry smile. 

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“Or have me handle them,” he agreed.

“So Lord Howard trusts you, then?” 

“I would not use the word trust, ” Logan mused. “Rather, he knows I am capable of my job, and expects me to perform it to his satisfaction. Much of the day to day of running the estate falls to me, leaving him free to speak directly with other nobles and officials. I give him a report at the end of each week, and we discuss what expectations are for the next week.” 

“Would I be able to get a copy of those reports?” Roman asked. 

Logan raised an eyebrow. 

“Technically those documents are for the Earl’s eyes only. What would you even do with a copy?”

“All my life, I’ve been preparing to run an estate,” Roman said. “And now I’m getting married in six months, but I’m not sure the Earl even realizes I exist half the time. I don’t want to just sit around and twiddle my thumbs and not even know what’s going on under my own roof. I want to actually do something.” 

Logan watched him for a long stretch of time, and Roman wondered if he’d made a mistake, confiding in the man. Would he refuse Roman’s request? Would he tell Lord Howard what Roman had asked for? What would the Earl do if he found out Roman had requested confidential reports without his permission? 

“In all honesty, the Earl pays very little attention to what I do,” Logan said, pulling Roman from his spiraling thoughts. “As long as the numbers match up to what he expects. I should have no problem creating a second copy of my weekly reports, if you truly wish to see them.” 

Roman grinned. 

He had a feeling he and Logan were going to get along just fine.

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[tuber-culosis]

I've been reading through a lot of radfem blogs and posts lately. and gotta say, i'm leaning a lot towards radical feminism. And im definitely gender critical.

but one topic I want to talk about in particular is the criticism of Islam.

Which I feel is totally valid considering the current state of mainstream islam and Muslims.

Mainstream Islam (is what you see on all social media, seemingly practised by a lot of Muslims) IS sexist. And homophobic. There's no use denying it, neither do I think I'm a bad Muslim for not supposedly defending my own religion. You have to recognise the flaws in your own system to improve and progress.

Then arises the question why am I still Muslim then/ why do I still practise Islam? If I recognise the way it is practised is sexist and homophobic, which are things I'm against?

The difference lies in my belief that "mainstream Islam" is much different from the root of Islam.

Many (read: a LOT, not all) modern Muslims have been influenced by ultra conservative movements that want to return Islam to the way they believe was practised during the time of the Prophet (pbuh), ie; some centuries back. This is propagated by the ideas of Salafism and Wahhabism that frankly, prevent progress, reform or any sort of growth in Muslim communities.

I personally have witnessed this in my own country, India, where women are increasingly wearing the hijab and even full body covering purdahs, not talking to the opposite gender, men not looking a woman other than their wives in the eye, etc compared to when my mother was a child, when almost all Muslim women dressed in normal comfortable clothes and there were no much gender segregations. (Gender segregation still existed to a certain degree due to conservative Indian culture ofc)

This radicalisation led to the development of ultra conservative Muslims who enforce sexist, homophobic and separatist policies in the name of God.

They claim to want to return to "true Islam" but they add so many unnecessary rules and regulations you have to follow in order to be a "true Muslim" that are almost so impossible to follow I can vouch I have unconciously broken like 50 of them in one day maybe. These "laws" are derived from:

1. The hadith

2. Arab culture

3. Poor translation of the Quran to fit these radical ideals.

Explaining each of these in a little more detail,

1. A lot of practising Muslims might come at me for this one, but I feel that considering the hadith to be a holy source of guidance and believing everything in the Hadith when there are so many contradictions and logical fallacies, is foolish.

For those who have no clue what the hadith is, Islam basically has the Qur'an, which is, as we believe, a holy book revealed by God to the Prophet (pbuh), which acts as divine guidance on how to live life as a good person. It has rules, suggestions, and guidance to take desicions on a lot of everyday matters we face. It was a godsend (hehe pun fully intended) to women, who weren't even allowed to own property back then. Muslims believe that the Quran is guaranteed againt corruption by God, as revealed in one of the verses. Therefore, to a believer, it is THE book to consult, and the verses will never change, no matter how many years pass. There's actually a really interesting way the Quran is coded, so people can know if it has been tampered with or not, if anyone is interested. But the bottom line is, for a Muslim, the verses of Quran cannot be challenged. There are various INTERPRETATIONS of said verses, but the core Arabic text is the same.

Now there is a secondary source of guidance in the form of Hadith, which is literature that claims to record things the Prophet (pbuh) has said in his lifetime. The problem I find, along with other hadith critics, is that it was compiled much later after the death of the Prophet. Muslims argue that these hadiths were passed down in a proper recorded chain of transmitters that can assure the message hasn't been altered or tampered with. The problem is, that the standard used then was just how reliable was a person's memory and how trustworthy they were, and they did not actually judge the actual content of the hadith. So even if a hadith hypothetically said "Kill all the disbelievers", (which, fyi, it does NOT) and it had a reliable chain of recorders, it would be accepted as "sahih" (trustworthy) hadith, even though it clearly goes against the guidelines of the Quran, where it says there shall be no compulsion in religion (which implies you cannot just murder anyone who refuses to believe/ believes another religion). If one actually examined the content of this imaginary hadith, it would be easy to see it's tampered with by people with or without malicious intent (for eg, it might've actually been "You can kill the disbelievers ONLY if they attack you and will not leave you and your family alone") or some may not even remotely be the words of the Prophet, as he only followed the Quran.

Also, the integrity of the Hadith isn't guaranteed by God anywhere in the Quran. To know more about this, I suggest you read this link , and this one.

So yeah, I take hadith with a (large) grain of salt. So I will not be including them in my discussion obviously.

Now a lot of these hadith have been fabricated, as established, or reflect something that was applicable specifically in that time and setting, seeing that the Prophet was an ordinary man who couldn't predict the future or know about all the different cultures of the world.

So even if the headscarf was a part of Arabian attire, that doesn't mean it has to be assimilated into our cultures now. Just because prostitutes used to pluck all their eyebrows out to signify that they are prostitutes (sex work is forbidden in Islam, because of the negative impact on women and society), doesn't mean that women are not allowed to pluck their eyebrows now.

Following these hadith blindly without considering for a moment that hey, these might be outdated, seeing it isn't meant for all time periods like the Quran, and half of these contradict themselves, maybe we shouldn't consider this as an authority on rules in Islam. Personally, I don't believe anything is forbidden that is mentioned as such solely in the Hadith, and not in the Quran.

But the staunch belief in all of these Hadith leads to micromanaging of women, and literally everyone else. Few ridiculous examples include:

women can't pluck their eyebrows

men can't wear silk or gold, and they need to grow beards

music and dance is forbidden (seriously???)

the Prophet married a literal child of nine years (no do not try to justify it as "it was acceptable back then". According to the Qur'an it wasn't. Girls had to be mature enough to reject or agree to marriages and literal children can't do that. There is plenty of research to prove that Aisha (ra), his wife, was at the very least 19 or 20. Again a case of unreliable and maybe purposefully manipulated Hadith. Scholars and people who uphold the theory that Aisha was 9, and hence, child marriage is legal are pedophiles through and through)

I feel that if anything, hadith should be considered with the authority of historical commentary, giving us more context to the times, and should never be blindly trusted just because a lot of scholars say it is a "sahih" (trusted) hadith.

Also a main feature of Islam is that you don't need an extra priest (no offence to religions who have priests) or a scholar to tell you things and intervene with God for you. You have a holy book, your own common sense and humanity, and you pray to establish a connection with God. Scholars are secondary OPINIONS who can provide insight from their knowledge and research to people who want it, but by no means any authority on things, just like hadith.

2. Arab culture and society, especially back the times that radicals want to emulate, was heavily patriarchal. Islam gave women rights and protection, but they were still limited by the cultural norms of that era.

What these people actually want is to return society to Arabic culture in that time period. (Exhibit A: the abaya/purdah for women and khandoorah for men. exhibit B: sex-segregated spaces)

Back then, women were expected to be caretakers and mothers, and men were expected to be the strong masculine protector.

Enforcing said cultural norms into modern day Islam is ridiculous. Saying that women rarely left the house back then, hence women shouldn't leave their houses now is the same as saying there weren't phones back then, so I shouldn't use one now. Would you ever give up your phones? So how about we do the same to women's autonomy and freedom? Adapt to modern times like regular humans?

If women were meant to stay at home, and meant to just rear children, and never meant to be seen in public, and never meant to be seen by the opposite sex, as extremists say "is God's will", then why is none of this found in the Quran? Do you seriously believe that God, describe multiple times as All-forgiving and generous and kind, would ever persecute women to such a fate? If you do believe that, then maybe you need to re-examine in the nature of God that you believe in. Also if you tell me the "it's for their safety" gimmick, I will flip out. It has been proved multiple times that a woman's dressing has nothing whatsoever to do with why men rape.

Sure, Islam advocates for modesty in dressing, for both sexes. Both are called to not stare rudely (many Muslim men seem to forget that part of the verse, strangely), both are advised to dress in modest, comfortable, clean and practical attire. Never once is anything remotely like "YOU'LL GO TO HELL IF YOU EXPOSE YOUR ELBOW, WOMAN". But the way modern Muslims enforce the dress code (some even going to the lengths of saying women shouldn't wear BRIGHT COLOURED CLOTHES, so as to not attract attention!!! I'm looking at you, Mufti Menk), you'd think that God says something much worse than that. Infact God pulls out Uno reverse, and encourages us to dress as beautifully as we want, especially when visiting the mosque.

3. A lot of English translations of the Quran come from Saudi Arabia. A country famous for its conservative practise of Islam. While the original Arabic text cannot be changed, a lot of these translations include information in parantheses that add "rules" based on the above mentioned factors, that a casual reader or a new Muslim who doesn't know Arabic will consider to be authentic rules of the Quran, extrapolated from the verse, and not extra additions that are often derived from hadith. A very good example of this is the headcover verse, which you can see in this link.

Even all the hostility surrounding homosexual people has been derived from cultural influences and one set of verses. From around 6000 verses, just a single set passingly mention homosexuality. Don't you think that if it truly were such a great sin, God would have explicitly forbidden it? Also why would he create such a natural variation in sexuality and then forbid it? Why isn't it forbidden for animals then? Is all-loving God that cruel to create this natural and healthy attraction in them and then explicitly forbid it when straight people get to marry and live life in bliss? (Please don't say that "God also created pedophilia, and that's natural, so by this logic shouldn't we allow that too?" because pedophilia IS NOT HEALTHY, AT ALL. IT'S IS A DISORDER. Unlike homosexuality) I'm also not picking and choosing things to fit my lifestyle, as some might say, as I am straight, and the only reason I support the LGBT community because I have basic humanity?? And they're humans who deserve rights and joy and freedom and acceptance just like the rest of us.

There have been reformed translations of Quran which examine the verse without prior bias against LGBT people, and they have presented an alternate translation, that the verse condemns sexual assault, which happened to be homosexual in the particular story. Check out this link too, which explains how closely examining the words used could change the meaning from one thing to another.

What I attempted to prove in this extremely long post is that the practise of a religion isn't necessarily the reflection of its true nature.

There are progressive open-minded people who believe in Islam because it gives them hope and solace. People who believe because core beliefs of Islam aligned with their own views and simple logic.

NOT to say there aren't religious bigots who will totally use religion to manipulate people into oppressing themselves or other people. There are, there are a LOT of people like that who call themselves "scholars". And there are a lot of people who follow these extremely harmful regressive version of Islam without critically thinking about what they are following.

I've seen a post discussing the meaning of the word Islam, which means submission to God. It said that it implies total submission, without questioning what we believe.

That is an argument used by both religious extremists to further their beliefs, and by the opposite side, who say the religion is oppressive.

I wish to present a view that Islam itself tells us to think critically, to use our brains to question everything and anything we believe. And then to arrive at our own conclusions. And if you're a decent, kind human, those beliefs maybe align with Islam (not saying that if you're not Muslim, you're horrible, that is not what I meant at all). And if the opinion between people differs, there's always logic and reasoning behind every rule that is presented in the Quran. Don't believe me? Here's the verse that tells people not to blindly follow their parents' religion. And here's a list of verses about critical thinking.

The reason we (atleast reformist Muslims) submit to God is because we questioned it, we came to the conclusion that Hey! This is right. I can submit to my Creator by, who is basically the consciousness that created everything and is the source of all goodness, love and strength, because the rules mentioned here make sense and they privde a moral framework for me to base important desicions on. They feel right. And there is logic behind everything written in this.

I don't mean to present Islam as an all-perfect amazing religion everyone should believe and that I'm right, everyone else, especially those liberal atheists who criticise my religion are wrong and WILL BURN IN HELL. I consider Islam a perfect moral framework, and that's my business only. Anyone can follow what they want and it's none of my business. In fact there is no compulsion in religion at all, and people who say Muslim or go to hell are wrong imo.

What I intended was to paint a picture of reformist Muslims who are still out there, who follow the religion because they questioned it. And not the religion as this stringent rule book we all have to follow down to a t, micromanaging every aspect of our lives and living in perpetual fear of hell, but rather this basic moral guide that teaches us tact, compassion and justice, to bring us closer to God spiritually. I wanted to show that the majority isn't always reflective of what I think is the true core of Islam.

I feel that many practises in the name of Islam are highly questionable and should be criticized, but I also want people to know that the people who seemingly represent the religion, are not representative of the entire mass of believers. That sometimes the practises you might criticize might have nothing to do with the actual religion, atleast according to some of us. It was also for fellow Muslims who might be in the same place I was a few years ago, questioning everything I had learnt was part of my religion.

This is also NOT to undermine struggles of people forced to follow Islam and its seeming requirements like hijab. This is not to claim that nope, every Muslim is fine and ok, and we're all peaceful progressive people. In fact I wish to do the exact opposite, to show that people who enforce oppressive policies in the name of Islam aren't actually backed by the religion and neither should they be backed by other Muslims. I'm also not trying to say no one should criticize Islam. Criticism helps us grow. Criticism is necessary to uncover oppression and eradicate it. So by all means, criticize.

I'm so glad I found the subreddit r/progressive_Islam when I did because it helped me a lot, and opened me to other like-minded progressive Muslims, who actively hope to counter the negative effects of Salafism and conservatism that is overtaking Islam.

So yeah, I think I covered almost everything I wanted to talk about and here's a final link that pretty much just states my position on things.

PS idk why this thingy is in different colours it just seemed cooler and less boring to read

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

Shirts, dresses, and the God of the small things

Mini testimony time!

I have many, many instances in my life where I believe God has shown up and answered small requests/teeny tiny prayers, and those instances never cease to amaze me. I wanted to share just two of them here, especially since they’re so similar and related.

1. My dad and I go hiking in one of my state’s national forests. My dad also hunts there. To go hiking here, you have to wear bright hunter’s orange, in order to not be mistaken for Something Else and be shot by mistake.  I went through a period of time where I was very strict about wearing “women’s clothing” due to a bible verse in the old testament. I still am, to be honest, but I’m not QUITE as strict as I was back then. But in this period of time, I felt like the only t-shirts I could wear were v-necks (to differentiate them from men’s shirts--yes, I know some men wear v-necks too, I just felt it was a good distinction).  The only orange shirt I had did not meet my Criteria for my convictions. So I was shopping for a new one. I’m not sure if I prayed about this or not beforehand, but either way: On the SALE rack at the store, there was a BRIGHT ORANGE, V-NECK shirt in my exact size. Fit perfectly. EDIT: I somehow neglected to mention originally that it was also THE ONLY SHIRT OF THIS KIND THERE. THERE WAS ONLY ONE!

(I am carrying a gun in this picture solely because my dad needed help carrying things and because there are very very large and scary animals, like bears and cougars, in this area, please don’t @ me)

I have always believed this was a God Wink moment and that God saw I was doing all I could to obey my convictions/conscience and not sin against Him. And that He wanted me to be able to go on this hike with my dad <3 

2. A lot of you know now that I wear head coverings when I pray because of 1 Corinthians 11. I have had a lot of trouble and spent a ton of time trying to find styles that both meet my criteria for my personal convictions of what constitutes a “covering” and look cute/not frumpy. Mostly I wear beanies and slouchy berets.

As a side note, I like to believe that even if I felt convicted to wear old-fashioned styles, I’d still do it to obey. I hope that’s the case. But my personal conviction is that modern styles are ok, as long as they meet my other criteria for convictions--cover enough, etc.

This year, I have been invited to play for the worship team for Easter for the first time. I’ve been struggling a ton to find an outfit that meets all the necessary points: it has to incorporate a head covering, be a dark color (since I was told band members should wear dark colors to blend in on stage), and be warm (since my church’s stage is FREEZING). PLUS I wanted it to be floral/spring-ish and a bit more formal than what I normally wear to church.

I had an outfit figured out that would work, I just was not excited about it and was going to be a little self-conscious. It also involved jeans, since none of my dresses/leggings would work with the jackets/head coverings I have. It would do, but I was not excited to wear it.

And then today, my mom was randomly getting rid of a floral dress...

(Don’t judge my messy room, I’m working on it lol)

The dress is a hand-me-down from my mom and the heels are a hand-me-down from a friend that I got a few weeks ago. (I might actually wear different heels, but those are from a wedding I was in last year, so I already had those as well.) 

I definitely believe God saw me struggling with this, knowing I was trying to make it work with my convictions/conscience stuff about head coverings AGAIN, and decided to bless me again. I’m very excited about this outfit and that I get to feel Cute on Easter instead of just having an outfit that barely worked.

********************

Just... tldr, I can’t believe God cares about such small things, and yet, I CAN believe He does, because being this generous with good gifts I don’t necessarily NEED but will still enjoy is right up His alley. I think both times, He’s seen me trying my best to obey Him/my convictions and decided to help me out. 

What a wonderful, generous, tender Father we serve.

[serenheist]

What Jennie is like in a relationship/ Relationship with G-Dragon Tarot reading

I know the anon asked for just a love life reading on Jennie but I’m extra and did everything lmao

What is the true nature of Jennie’s relationship with gdragon? Gloominous doom reversed 56, ace of swords, the hanged man reversed, lady of masks, triumph of lies, the glanconer 62 reversed

Oh god lmao. I don’t know why but I get the feeling this “relationship” is just for GD to be back on good terms with the korean general public. He got flack for smoking weed before, seungri shit, abandoning his dog, dating kiko etc etc. I really feel like him dating Jennie is just so the public has a better opinion of him when he decides to have a comeback lmao. Anyway the true nature of this relationship is literally someone full of extreme self pity had an idea to do this because it will make them look better and vice versa. But now there’s a feeling of being trapped. I really think this is an orchestrated relationship that was rushed and not based on actual love but for a specific purpose. But I do think it’s legit in the sense that it’s not that they’re not dating at all. But since Yg didn’t deny anything we can tell it’s “real”. Yg always denies if it’s definitely not a real relationship and always stays vague when it’s real. It’s made to look real for the public to get them talking but the core itself isn’t real. Basically pr shit. idc even if they got married none of this is real lmao.

I pulled 2 more cards from 2 different decks for extra clarification and I got the lady of masks and triumph of lies. You can’t make this up lol. “She reshapes the physical appearance of the souls who seek her out but this change is pure vanity, changing nothing of who they are at the core” it basically reflects who you want to be. This relationship is to make both parties look better lol. I feel that this is also a double meaning geared towards Jennie only because later cards in this reading continuously mention her wearing a mask. Triumph of lies is about keeping up appearances. This relationship is about living up to the expectations that society wants from you. I feel like it’s not just what people in the company want but also could be friends and family who put pressure on making this relationship happen for both. I can really see that since GD has a past of dating mostly models and the public has always been negative about everyone he’s dated except Jennie since she has a better reputation and for her this relationship can boost her status even more dating the king of kpop and being a power couple. I pulled a last card just to ask why you would need to fake a whole relationship even though we already know at this point and it’s redundant but I wanted to see how many times I can get cards saying the same shit. The glanconer 62 reversed: basically AGAIN someone is pretending to be other than they really are. I think both of them even believe in their own lie at this point and idk there’s a level of thinking you’re better than others so it’s okay to fool them anyway. Whatever makes you look good.

Who is Jennie in this/ her shadow aspect: obsession 3, gd: today for tomorrow 32

Since the beginning cards were pretty negative I wanted to dive deeper into Jennie and GD’s shadow aspects. And just use these cards to differentiate between them. GD is today for tomorrow and for Jennie I got obsession. The biggest shadow aspect to Jennie is that she feels as if she needs something whether that be a person, an idea, an object etc to give meaning to her life. She can also become really fixated on things to the point where that is the entire focal point of her life. It numbs her attention to other things.

How does Jennie feel about gd and how does he feel about her? Solus 13, the high priestess, the hierophant, gd: the guardian at the gate 3, queen of wands reversed, the fool

Jennie: Jennie feels that GD is someone who when you don’t know who to turn to or what to do, he is the person who can help you out. He encourages you stand on your own feet and utilize your own wisdom. But he also recognizes that you can’t do everything on your own so he helps you make the right connections with the right people and basically like a mentor position. I feel like they both almost see this connection as something “divine” at least in the beginning they could’ve convinced themselves this was this big divine intervention. But the reality started to set in and Jennie saw a different side of someone who has lost touch and went from being someone to look up to to becoming more “corrupted”. He no longer practices what he preaches, there’s lies mixed in with truth and the lines between right and wrong became more blurred. He does what he can to stay in power.

GD: He feels that Jennie is a new opportunity for a huge change. She’ll help provide an opportunity for him to make a big shift in his life. But at the same time he feels like she’s guarding herself and not being authentic with him. “Wearing masks that do not fit you”. I think he’s seen her change moods often from not figuring out how to release her passion and creativity in a healthy way and become more jealous and wanting to tear down others when she’s feeling down. Cause the queen of wands would be stepping in your power not hiding behind anything and appearing exactly how you are. Reversed it can bring out bring dramatic and feeling out of control of your own life and lack of enthusiasm. I think he’s seen her lose her passion for even being in the industry itself. I think that’s he’s wanting to take a leap of faith into something new I don’t know if he would want to stay in this “relationship” but I’m seeing it more of him going off on his own and stop worrying about the fear of the unknown. Honestly both seem like a hot mess for each other there’s a lot of work they gotta do on themselves separately because this whole connection is weird and toxic.

How long does it take her to get into a relationship? Does she prefer long or short term relationships? Princess of pentacles, 3 of swords, queen of swords 5 of wands reversed, 2 of wands, temperance reversed

She’s always been observant and was careful before in the beginning of relationships but no amount of carefulness can’t prevent heartbreak. It kind of hardened her and she learned how to play the game so to speak. The fact that the queen of swords is holding a severed head tells you all you need to know what happens if you break her heart. She seems burnout with relationships but at the same time can’t stop herself from not being in one because then you’ll be alone with your demons. I think she does prefer long term relationships but Jennie seems to go from one extreme to another. She plans for the long term but she also can’t control her emotions because they’re so intense. She’ll sabotage it and rush into a relationship with someone because she’s already planning this whole future and the other person is like “uhhh we just met..?” I think she builds up a fantasy in her head and gets carried away at times. And that’s where a lot of conflict and arguments arise and the cycle continues.

Past and present relationships. past: firgun 10 magick of you oracle, 2 of pentacles, Present: Euphoria 9, 5 of cups

I hate this word but I feel like in her past relationships she felt like the person she was with was her “twin flame”. This person was her mirror basically, every little thing she was and did was mirrored back to her. It was about learning how to heal the anger and hurt and learn to be happy for others success. But the relationship itself was a constant act of balancing career and love and all the ups and downs. It seems like even in her present love life she is still lingering over past relationships and now hides her actual feelings. There’s a lot of mask imagery in this whole reading. And not seeing everything you already have but being consumed with the thoughts of what went wrong or why it isn’t this way. And no longer sharing your true self fully. Instead there’s an element of not her not taking care of herself physically. Sharing herself intimately with people who treat her like garbage, poor eating, dragging yourself through workouts, excess of toxic substances; these are examples.

What is she like in a relationship? Eternal servitor, 10 of pentacles reversed, the lady of the harvest 18 reversed, the singer of intuition 7

This imagery of a person with no face and a whole in its chest really stands out to me again. It seems that when Jennie is in a relationship she still hides her true self and is constantly on a never ending search to fill something in herself that she feels is lacking. I think she uses money, clothing, love itself as a way to distract herself from this emptiness she feels inside and each time she wants more and more. Like she has to upgrade to the next biggest thing and it traps her in an infinite loop of never being satisfied. Idk but I guess it’s her wanting the world to see her importance; if she has these things then she is now worthy and it gives her a feeling of purpose. It’s not just the pressure of herself needing the best “thing” but a loooot of pressure from family and others to find a “suitable” partner. They need to come from the right background, make this amount of money, etc so her family can show off how wonderful this partner is and how amazing Jennie is doing. Even the next card “the lady of the harvest” reversed speaks of this again. It’s crazy how almost all of the cards are just saying the same thing. It’s about staying in denial and refusing to accept a loss and cling onto pain instead. Jennie is the type of person who thinks “if I can’t have it, no one will”. When she sees something she wants and can’t get it she will go into destruction mode because she feels that it’s the only solution. She’s not a forgive and forget person. A line in this guidebook really stands out to me “if you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down and kill it.” Pretty much sums up her mentality. Even if she enters a new relationship her mind is consumed by the past and the present relationship is only to save face and show off the image she tries to create to please literally everyone except herself. I think she’s very perceptive and can know someone who she’s with inside and out. She’s also very aware of the image she needs to uphold. There’s pretty much nothing you can hide from her because her intuition is so strong.

What is her "type"? the piper 24, 8 of wands reversed, Ta’Om the poet 29, Arthur

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: she likes musicians. Also the fact that this is legit the only faerie in this 66 card deck playing an instrument so what are the odds. She appreciates someone who pays attention to the subtle expressions of feelings and ideas and can see into her soul basically. It’s communication without words and that makes music that can heal your sorrows and pains. Someone that listens to not just surface level words but to the deeper meaning that can only be heard with your heart. Seductive, someone who looks serious but is actually mischievous and fun.

He encourages you to unfold your wings and fly, do the things you’re afraid to do, stop being silent and speak up, have a youthful spirit and do the thing you’ve been putting off for so long. He has a lust for life, adventure, an excellent storyteller and writing skills and a huge imagination. He has the power to inspire action with just his words. He sees things as they really are and sees beauty in all things even in the darkness and difficulty of life. He doesn’t take life so seriously though he knows how to laugh at himself and knows how silly it is to be sad over hardships in life. He doesn’t care for society’s expectations he’s a free spirit. But at the same time he slows down and knows how to enjoy the journey and not rush by the seat of his pants. He’s someone that’ll stand the test of time and be by her side through thick and thin.

What is her love language? Myk the myomancer 42, the oak men 47, 10 of wands

Idk if this really fits into any of the “official”love languages but her love language is someone seeing the small details, seeing meaning in the little things. So maybe little gifts even that don’t have to be huge but just shows that you’ve paid attention to what she likes as long as it has meaning and is well thought out. When you can’t see the finish line and it looks like it’s impossible to keep going that person is there to have your back. Also someone that sees her for who she truly is in her heart and can look past the superficial hard exterior cause I’m pretty sure it’s just a defense mechanism mixed with the environment she grew up and past relationships and she’s not actually the Antichrist contrary to how negative this reading may seem.

Probably typos but whateves

[hughiecampbelle]

Instinct (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

((TFATWS SPOILERS))

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,110

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: I haven't written in over a month and I'm scared it shows 💔 I'm really unsure with writing lately, I thought about not posting this, but I feel like I owe it big time. This was supposed to be something different, but I can't say I hate the direction it took. There aren't any major spoilers, it just follows the general plot, but I figured better to be safe than sorry. I hope you like it, and that I'm not too "out of the game" or bad at this lol. Feedback is always appreciated.Thank you for being so patient with my break my loves, it means the world 💜💖💜

Summary: He wants to move on, you don't 💕

Gif Credit: @captain-james / link :)

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

There is a static between you. One that is ruthless, hostile, sharp. It makes your gums bleed to describe it, tasting nothing but iron, bitterness, a resentment that is otherwise untouchable by any other creature. A hatred towards the mirror, towards your own skin and bone, your entire fucking existence. Catching his eyes, even for a second, is staring into the sun. Blinding. Aggressive. Burning, until every inch of you is set aflame, itching to turn and run, to tear apart, to scream. Scream until there is nothing of you left. A reminder of what was, what is, and what will never be. What neither of you can go back to, as fitting as the mold may seem, as secure as that title may be, as comforting as that role used to be, he refuses, and you follow along. Bury the body, he thinks that will make him someone new, someone worth everyone else's time. Do not flinch when they say your name, when they whisper every awful thing you did, when they tease you, leaving the door open, enough so for the light to peak through. An escape plan, you think. You hope. A way back to the life before, where your mind was someone else's, when the world was cruel and you were allowed to be cruel back. He does not see it that way, slamming that door shut, locking it from the outside, and swallowing the key.

One word, an invitation, that's all you need. The risk is great, but the urge is greater. Split yourself open. Self destruct. Skip the steps, skip what they insist is healing when all they do is rip open old wounds. Skip the apologies, the sob story, the introduction. The look in their eyes never flinches, no matter how many times you beg. Why bother? Return to what they wanted, needed, feel a certain belonging you could never get back walking into the civilian world.

Your footprints made of blood, a sticky red trail left wherever you go. That's what they see, and they don't bother hiding it. The disgust. The references you don't understand, too old to laugh, to sigh, to roll your eyes. The world moved on without you, spinning faster than you remember, and you are left to catch up. They have their lists, their paper and pencil, all the recommendations one could offer. It would be endearing, maybe, but you have nothing to offer. None of the energy to play catch up. None of the want. Time slips through your fingers, wasted, growing spoiled, mocking you. You have better things to do than watch a movie, more important things, things that filled you with purpose, no matter how sick.

You would have been disgusted. Horrified. Speechless. You would have hated yourself more than you already do. But you are older now, far more experienced, hardened by a life you never could have expected. Learned to want it, though. An animal secured by captivity does not know how to survive in the wild. You were never equipped to live like this: free. The knives, the guns, the special ways in which you read even the smallest of actions, turning people into pages, an open book for you to skim, before placing back on the shelf.

You adapted, grew to fit what they wanted, who they wanted, until you too loved what you were. Dangerous, powerful, unfeeling. The numb became a high to chase, unsatisfied by anything else. Where he mirrored a version of yourself you left in the past, you embraced this role. The damage was done. The bodies put to rest. None of which you could take back, nor make up for. He sought redemption. You wouldn't dare. It wasn't by your choice, that much you could admit, but you could feel it, from the fits bullet to the last, you were never meant to be anything else. As gruesome as you had been, uncaring, quick, but painful, you would be nothing else. Assassin. Killer. Murderer.

They say it like it's a bad thing.

The guilt eats you alive, chews you up and spits you out, shattering your very being as you wake, each night, from another nightmare. The aggression, the shame, all of it you share as fairly as you can, and yet, you wear it so differently, making you more distinct than you could ever explain. The only other person in the world who has seen you at your lowest, your highest, faced what you have, seen what you've seen, and you can't stand to look at him. Not for the wounds he sewed up, his eyes falling on your broken body, nor is the sobs, the pleas, the prayers he heard escape you in moments of desperation. Not because he knows the way you scream, your body used for their own gain, enveloped in a pain only the Devil can inflict, or because he has seen you shoot without a second of hesitation, moving forward before their body hits the ground. None of it, not even the things you care not to mention, to think about, nit even now. It's that he has become resistant, soft even.

He fights a fight he knows he cannot win. He draws the line between good and bad, hero and villain, as if there even is one, as if they are not the same in moments of desperation, of selfishness, or of great selflessness. That he thinks he can stop being what they made him, resisting the instincts they worked so hard to ingrain. You feel it, too. Turning off everything around you, picking apart the situation before it plays out. Footsteps, whispers, how many there are, where, how quickly they can get to you. A dance you know each step to, the two of you in sync. This time, no leader, no follower, but two soldiers taking orders. Without them, he thinks himself above who he used to be, who you used to be, what you were, but you know better.

You want nothing more than to slip back into old habits. That look, that stare, the wince he hides when they bring up his crimes, he wants the same. Step back, fall into old ways, let go until there is no one left to scorn you for what they put into your head.

Where they see Bucky, a man escaped, in remorse, righting his wrongs, you see The Winter Soldier, a friend, a weapon, an old accomplice. One of them, you respect, trusting with your life. The other, nothing more than a facade, a mask, a weakness, an act even he has tricked himself into believing.

[flying-nightwing]

Throne of Blood (3/3)

Hello there! Last part of Throne of Blood, I hope you appreciated this little serie! I loved t write it tbh, it was a nice change from the usual DC stuff I write. If you want a bonus chapter, let me know! I thought about doing either a prequel for when they invaded the castle, or some headcanons if y’all have some.

Ps: I realised I kinda made Bruce to be the bad guy here, oops. Sorry about that, but to my defence, family drama was something I built toward from the beginning 😅 Full disclosure, I have nothing against Bruce and Damian pls don’t come at me

Masterlist in bio / pinned!

Pairing: King!Jason x reader x Roy

Word count: 4414

Warnings: same as the last parts (cautious nsfw) + family drama lmao

"--and the might of the casc… cascade could never compare to the ce… cerul… cerulean of her eyes. She was his hope, the only thing he cherished, none of his posse...ssions could ever be worth as much as a minute with her"

You paused to breathe as you reached a paragraph break. You could feel Roy's relaxed stare on you, a small smile ever present on his lips. His hand was absentmindedly rubbing your knees that were lying over his thigh, while his other arm was snugly wrapped around your waist. The quiet crackling of the fireplace indicated the need to add a log, but neither of you wanted to move from your nestled position. Eventually one would have to, though, before the room grew cold. 

"I like it when you read to me" Roy hummed, almost like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. But if you knew one thing about him, it's that he carried very little shame when it came to love. He would never intend to hide his thoughts when they came, and you admired that about him. Still, you couldn't help but look down in embarrassment. 

Him and Jason had taught you to read some months after you joined them, when he passed you a map to find a town's name and you had to tell him you couldn't. Ever since, you worked often on your reading skills, leafing through whatever seemed interesting from Jason's library. But you weren't a natural, far from it. 

"I can't even pronounce all the words correctly" You mumbled. "It must be hard to follow sometimes"

He gently pushed your chin up so he could look into your eyes again. It didn't matter for one second for him that you didn't have the diction of an erudit or the flow of a poet. All he wanted was to hear your voice and watch your eyebrows knit in concentration when you butted on a difficult word. He liked the little things so much better than the finished product.

"I think it sounds perfect"

The corner of your lips rose slightly at his praise as your heart skipped a few beats. Even after all the time you spent together, he always managed to find the right word to make you love him even more, if it was possible. His constant and unconditional support was your crutch, the thing you could rely on no matter what happened, the safe space in which you would never feel judged for what you couldn't do. 

"You know" He began again when he noticed you had trouble believing what he said. You wanted to believe him, but deep inside he knew it was harder for you, and he understood all too well the feeling of not being enough. "I couldn't read either before I was taken in by my warden"

You tilted your head to the side, frowning slightly. You had never known. 

"Took me years to get average at it. And you should have seen my writing-- Hell, you should see it now, it's catastrophic" 

You couldn't help but giggle along as he laughed. It was contagious.

"It's the same with Jason--No wait, the brat actually taught himself how to read somehow" He blinked slowly, like he was still surprised by it. You weren't really, you knew Jason was even smarter than you were aware of. Than anyone was aware of. "But his writing was terrible until he got a proper tutor, that I know of for a fact"

"But his writing is so…" You trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Exquisite"

"Now who's pulling out the big words, uh?"

"Shut up" You laughed, lightly hitting his chest with the book. “Don’t mock me”

“I’m not!” He argued, giving you wide, innocent eyes. He looked too cute for his own sake. “I swear I’m not. You’re just adorable when you get all flustered”

“We better start gearing up now” You evaded the subject, clearing your throat. “Jason will be expecting us--”

“Just one more chapter” He interrupted softly, caressing your waist. “Please?”

You held his stare for a moment before you were convinced, and you nodded, a sheepish smile on your face. You opened the book to the page you had marked and found the paragraph you had stopped to. 

“As he was sitting by the window, he couldn’t help but think about the ar-arrival of the spring, only a few weeks away if nature de...cided to be kind--”

“My Lord, my Lady” 

You paused your reading and looked up. This time, it was Roy who looked the most annoyed of the two of you. 

“It’s time”

You sighed and nodded, putting down the book on the table. Roy was clearly disappointed, but he helped you nevertheless get back on your feet, being careful not to pull on your bandages too much. You were healing well for your condition, you could now walk around and sit down without much help. Still, Roy and Jason didn’t like the idea of leaving you on your own for too long, just in case someone tried to come for you. You definitely couldn’t wield your axes just yet, so it made you an easy target even if you weren’t bed ridden anymore. 

You walked out of the chamber beside Roy, him following your slower pace without complaint. You reached the other end of the hallways and entered another room with chests and racks, where your equipment was kept. You began putting on your suit, the one you had made when you rode beside the Red Hood, well before he was king. It was all black with a red pointed arch on the chest that imitated Jason’s sigil, which was outlined with a single silver following your collarbone. It rose up the back of your neck and was reinforced to protect your vitals. 

“Could you help me pull it up, please?”

Roy nodded as he finished to lace his arm braces, stepping right behind you. He picked the stiff fabric and gently tugged it over your shoulder, brushing his fingers against your skin along the way. He was even more careful with your injured shoulder, making sure it wasn’t bent in any way to fit through the suit. He and Jason had advised against you wearing it, but you were stubborn and refused to show weakness in front of the enemy. Besides, it looked great on you. Roy then buttoned up the suit on your back and up your neck before giving you a kiss on the temple. 

“Close your eyes, I’ve got a little something for you” He whispered in your eyes, and despite your initial confusion, you did as you were told and shut your eyes. You felt something being passed over your head and gently rest on your shoulders, then straps being adjusted on your sides. “You can open the now”

You did as he said and looked down as he gently directed you to the mirror on your left. He had placed a beautiful piece of equipment that paired well with the colors of your suit, lightweight and practical, that covered your shoulders front and back. You usually went without, but it was appropriate considering another arrow in the back would do you no good right now. And since you most probably wouldn’t be using your axes anyway, you could do without your full shoulder movements range. 

“Where did you get this?” You asked as you trailed your finger on the skillfully crafted metal. There was no doubt it had been made for you by how it fit with both your body and suit. It must have cost a fortune.

“The blacksmith in town, the one living near the gates of the castle” He began. “His son was killed by the guild of thieves that lived uptown, the ones we wiped off right after the undertaking. He wanted to thank us somehow, and when he learned about what happened to you, he made this as a present”

“It’s… Very beautiful” You breathed out. “I’ll have to thank him later on. This must have taken so much time to make”

“But you deserve it” He said as he placed a light kiss on your jaw. “You deserve the best. And the best suits you”

“Thank you” You nodded, taking his hand. The leather of his archery glove was rough against your skin, but it had also become a comfort born from the endless days you spent training and hunting on the road. It was tied to some of your best memories with him, and it still amazed you how a simple touch could bring it all back vividly like that. “Come on, Jason must be waiting for us”

You went down to the court, where Jason was talking with the commander and some generals. Upon hearing your footsteps, he perked up and turned around, taking you specifically in. He smiled and nodded, heading for the three black steeds, groomed and in full armor, in the hands of the stable hands. You followed him and grabbed the reins of your mount, carefully climbing on its back and sitting in the saddle.

“Are we ready?” Jason asked.

“Of course” Roy replied first, then both of their eyes set on you.

“Let’s do this” You nodded firmly.

With a kick of your heels, you took off the court and onto the bridge, in the direction of the Wayne Kingdom.

---

“Soooooo…” Roy trailed off. “Do you think he stood us up or..?”

You looked away from the horizon and to Roy, who was slouched over the pommel of the saddle while his horse was trying to dig for grass through the snow. “Maybe he’s trying to ambush us”

“I don’t think so” Jason mumbled, his eyes still set northwest. His back was straight with a hand resting on his hips, the other holding the reins tight. His horse was attentive, chewing on its bit in anticipation. “It wouldn’t be like him, not while we’re on this hill anyway” 

You nodded as your fingers flexed around the reins, a bit bored and definitely not impressed by the opposite party being late to their own meeting. There was barely any wind over the field, and the thick cover of the cloud didn’t let the sun rays through. Still, smoke came out of the horses’ nostrils with every breath they let out. 

“There they come”

You glanced forward again at Jason’s warning, seeing a small party of riders coming your way. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry, walking rather than trying to reach you at a trot. The closer they came, the better you could point out characteristics for each rider. The one at the front was wearing all black with a cape that fell over the pale gray horse he was riding. It was almost white, but the dark skin around its eyes and nose proved differently. The second rider was on a smaller chestnut horse, and was a child. You blinked a few times, but his youthful features were obvious. The two other riders some paces behind were an escort, soldiers with steel armors and banners from their kingdom. 

After a long waiting for them to actually be at hearing range, they finally stopped a few meters ahead and assessed your party. Jason was visibly tense, but his blue eyes gave nothing out on how he was feeling about seeing his father in front of him after all this time. They stared at each other for long minutes before the piercing glance of Bruce Wayne set on you. You clenched your jaw, not backing down, until his eyes finally left you. 

“Your… Friend seems to have healed quite well” The older king spoke first.

“Don’t act like you give a fuck” Jason sneered. “You were the one who made this coward attack on her happen in the first place”

“Watch your mouth, runt” The child on the side almost barked. “You’re speaking to a legitimate King, unlike you”

“And who the fuck might this goblin be?” Roy said before he could stop himself. While the child looked appalled, Roy was still very relaxed on his horse. He might have been the only one to be, even if you did want to laugh at the outburst.

“I am the blood son, the true heir to the throne” He replied with all his might, except it didn’t quite have the desired effect, since he was on a pony, for one. “You peasant will respect me, or--”

“Damian, please” Bruce interrupted firmly. “Now is not the time to settle this”

“But--”

“Why am I not surprised that you fathered a brat?” Jason leaned forward, feeling taunting for a moment. “Which one of your concubines had enough bad luck to get pregnant? Selina? Or was it Richard’s lover, whatever was her name? Or maybe Talia, oh memorable Talia--”

“Don’t speak of my mother that way” Damian pulled his sword out. 

“So Talia it is” He smirked. 

“We are here to negotiate peace, not fuel a war” Bruce replied sternly. “I can do much worse than an arrow in the shoulder of a loved one, you know it. So be careful what you’re advancing about my family”

“Then keep your son on a tighter leash” Jason said, his face returning to a serious expression. “I still haven’t made my mind about keeping peace, don’t give me reasons to leave this meeting before we can discuss it”

“I should be telling you this” He squinted his eyes slightly. “You have thrown over a stable ally of this kingdom and stole the crown, then taken prisoner the King of Blüdhaven without giving a follow up on his state. You are in no place to threaten a war, yet here you are”

Jason waited a few seconds, not letting his stare waver. Then, he sighed and whistled. The plains were silent, until the faint sound of hooves cantering on the crisp snow grew closer to your position. Soon enough, you were passed on your left by another rider, slowly walking around you and toward Bruce’s party. Dick had a neutral expression as he turned around, stopping at Bruce’s side.

“Here” Jason waved his hand dismissively. “Your golden son, unharmed albeit slightly vexed”

“You should still pay for a crime like this” Bruce said.

“It’s fine” Dick tried to appease the tensions. “I do not wish to further this conflict, I have done enough already as it is”

“Why didn’t you fight back, Richard?” Damian asked in a judging and accusatory tone. “This is a disgrace to our family, and a display of weakness--”

“I was trying to avoid a much worse escalation of this conflict by owning a diplomatic mistake I made in the first place” He bit back. “What would you even know of politics, spoiled child?”

Roy laughed, and the sound only seemed to anger Damian more. You were in the middle of a family conflict, and unlike him, you didn’t know this side of the family well. You didn’t really know how to act, so you observed what would go down rather than actively participate. 

“I find the ginger man’s insolence unwelcomed in this matter” Damian said, trying to wash down the humiliation his brother had just handed to him. “He’s got nothing to do with it, and he’s got no title. He shouldn’t even be speaking”

“He speaks because I say he can” Jason defended Roy in a heartbeat, his tone strong and authoritative. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ve got a crown and you don’t, which puts me above you in status and therefore my wishes outweigh yours”

Your eyebrow rose slowly as your eyes met Roy’s, who had an equally stunned expression. Jason had never used his status against anyone like that. It even seemed to take Damian by surprise, which was, with what you had learned about him in the last minutes, a hard feat to accomplish. If you were honest with yourself, while you loved Jason as a humble king, you were curious about the other side of him, even if he would show it in private.

“Your crown was stolen” Bruce reassessed. “The Kingdoms surrounding yours have decided this gesture would not stand. I wished a peaceful surrender from you, but it doesn’t seem like I will convince you to do so. You have three days to abdicate, until the next full moon, or your kingdom will be taken back by force”

“You think this is wise?” You finally spoke up on instinct, and all eyes turned to you, looking at you with surprise. You weren’t about to let those threats stand, especially not from Bruce. “Ever since King Jason came into power, he wiped out a guild that stole from families and murdered good people. Our kingdom is the safest for miles around, so much we get waves of new settlers even in winter. He lowered taxes on the population so much that most towns in the country have become flourishing trade posts in the span of a year, and instead taxed the nobility and cut on useless balls and dinners. Nobody starved last winter, and nobody is starving this one. Do you think the word didn’t get out to the other countries around? People are starting to want this for themselves too, and you think putting them through a devastating war will make things better? It will only make them resent you, those who didn’t already. We have people in every castle you know of who are ready to turn against you the second they get wind of aggression--”

“Bullshit” Damian called.

“Are you ready to take the risk?” You raised an eyebrow at him, before returning your glance to Bruce, who betrayed no emotion. “You will lose this war if you start it. You should consider your people before you send them to slaughter”

Silence fell over the hill for a moment.

“... What she said” Roy grinned, breaking the silence.

Bruce looked at Jason for a reaction, or most likely, some sort of opposition to what you had just said. Instead, he only readjusted his reins and straightened his back. “You heard right,” He said, not wavering. “You have three days, until the next moon, to annulate the warrants and back down. Think about your people, Bruce. Make the right decision”

With that mocking reprise of his father’s previous words, he turned his horse around and left him dumbfounded. With one last glance to their party, you followed Jason, trotting, then cantering away and back into your borders. Once you passed your soldiers’ road control, you slowed down to a walk.

“Huh” Roy exhaled as he leaned forward to glance at you over Jason’s horse between you two. “I didn’t know we had spies in other kingdoms”

“Now that I think about it,” Jason blinked a few times, his brows slightly furrowed. “Neither did I”

You shrugged. “Maybe we have them. That would be neat” 

You saw confusion, then astonishment flash in their eyes like their reactions were synchronized.

“Wait, did you just--”

“Did you fucking lie to Bruce in his face?” Roy cut off, almost yelling. Then, he laughed. “In his face?”

“By the time he realizes, no, if he even realizes I bluffed, we’ll have a solid plan to ward him off, no matter what he does” You explained. “We win”

“How did you manage to convince him?” Jason had an innocent incomprehension written all over his features, like a child in front of a magic trick. He was adorable. “You had me convinced”

“Oh, boys” You grinned. “You think women survive this long in the world without becoming excellent liars? How do you think I managed to infiltrate the staff for a week before we invaded the castle?”

“By… Um” Roy trailed off. “Cleaning well?”

You laughed. “People had questions, my dear. I had to build myself a credible life to feed them, so I wasn’t thrown out of the castle instantly. Lying to the enemy is a skill I learned to cultivate a long time ago”

“You’re awesome, you know that?” He sighed, a loopy smile on his face. Jason still had a starstruck expression on his face, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

“Wouldn’t hurt to hear it again, I must admit” You teased back, jutting your chin up. “But there is one thing that would be better… Last one in the bedroom owes the first one a shoulder massage”

You didn’t wait for them to register your words before kicking your horse to a gallop, no doubt closely followed by them.

---

The dancing light of the candles of the chandelier left a soft glow on your naked skin, moving around and spreading warmth as it crawled up and down your body. You were sitting upright as hands moved gently on your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive area of your still healing wound. In your laps was Jason’s head, your hands threading slowly in his black hair as his eyes were shut close. He wasn’t sleeping, his breathing made his chest rise too fast for him to be. But he was relaxed, his neck muscles were untensed on your legs and there were no harsh lines on his face. 

You looked behind you when Roy’s hand stopped massaging, pulling your hair to the side and kissing the back of your neck. 

“You really gotta get a faster horse” Your lips curved upwards. “You’re always losing these races”

“I think my horse’s speed is just fine” He whispered back. “Besides, you are both right where I want you to be”

Jason smirked. “Losing is always suddenly part of someone’s plan when they never win”

“Laugh all you want” He sighed, dramatically laying down on his side beside you, then leaning forward close to Jason’s ear. “We all know I end up winning anyway when you beg my name like a prayer, My King”

You could feel the shiver travel up his spine on your laps, as well as the sudden shift in the tension in his muscles. You played along and let your hand slightly pull his hair, which surprised a moan out of him. His eyes opened wide, the blue of his irises being quickly consummated by the black of his pupils. Then, his glance set on Roy, something hard to read beside the promising spark in it.

“Are you sure you’re ready for a, what, fourth go at it today?” He raised an eyebrow as his hand brushed his cheek. “I didn’t think you jaw recovered from earlier”

You laughed airily as Roy grinned mischievously. “Maybe you can take that voice when you put that brat child in its place” You suggested as you trailed up your hand up Jason’s bare chest. “I’m sure he would be happy to get back on his knees if you did”

Roy groaned at the suggestion, already imagining the whole scene behind his fluttering eyelids. However, Jason didn’t quite follow up on his reaction. “Don’t tempt me with…” He trailed off, then noticed the mood change. “Hey, is there something wrong?”

Jason blinked, then shook his head and gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine” He muttered, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Roy’s lips. 

“No, something’s bothering you” He insisted gently. “What is it, Jay?”

Jason sighed, shaking his head. “It’s nothing” He replied, looking up to the ceiling. “Don’t worry about it”

“It’s clearly not nothing” You said as your hands threaded softly in his hair. “What’s eating at you?”

A silence followed your words. It was like Jason was searching for the right words, like he wanted to say it so bad but something else was holding him back. You were patient, however, and you didn’t mind that he took his time to tell you. You knew he would talk when he’s ready.

“It’s what Bruce said” Roy beat him to it, speaking barely over a whisper. “Isn’t it?”

You looked in between the two men, noticing how Jason did not deny Roy’s words. It was like they were having a silent conversation for a few seconds, before Roy put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s how he didn’t see him as part of his family anymore” Roy spoke up, addressing you this time. “How Bruce didn’t seem to have any regret about replacing him in any way possible”

“Even after all this time” Jason gulped. “He won’t even stop reminding me he didn't care”

“Oh, my love” You reached for his hand and grabbed it, intertwining your fingers with his and giving it a squeeze. “He doesn’t deserve you beating yourself up about him like that. You’re worth so much more than anything he could even give you”

“She’s right,” Roy nodded. “We’re your family now, not him. Not him ever again. And I promise you we’ll never betray you that way, we’ll never set you aside. You’re our lover, you’re our King, you’re the most important person for us, and we would do anything for you”

You could see the crystal gleam of tears pooling in his eyes before he blinked them away, resisting the urge to break down. Jason had not often known true affection until he met Roy, then you. He felt like he didn’t deserve either of you, and sometimes he wondered why exactly you decided everyday to stay by his side. But you did stay, you did support him and guided him when he needed it. He wouldn’t have been anywhere near where he was right now without you. 

“You’re both so good to me” He whispered, adoration clear in his voice as he glanced at you, then Roy. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be wonderful either way” You smiled as you slipped beside him, careful not to pull on your bandages. Soon enough, Roy joined him on the other side, snuggling into him. “You’d miss on major cuddling, however”

His chest rose in a silent chuckle as he pulled you and Roy just a little bit closer. “Give yourselves more credit, I’d crash and burn without you both by my side”

“Let’s not bother with what ifs, yeah?” Roy replied, his lips curved upward as he kissed his shoulder. “It only matters that you’re here with us today, and that you are a damn good King. The rest doesn’t matter”

“The rest doesn’t matter” Jason repeated in a mutter, nodding lightly. “Only you. Only us” 

[inosukki]

stress relief, kenma kozume.

synopsis: after a rough day at work, kenma wants to try something new that might benefit the both of you.

warnings: titty sucking, handjob, cum eating <3

[a/n]: this is my first and last time writing nsfw content LOL. also did not proofread my bad bros😔

Things were eerily quiet without Kenma around.

Well, to be quite honest, things would still be quiet even if Kenma were in your shared apartment. But at least you’d here the clicking of his controller or the soft grunts of discontent that came with him playing his games. It was odd how he barely made a sound when playing, only opening his mouth to give a command or plan an attack with his team. Most guys you knew yelled at the top of their lungs, followed by insults and curses that left you wondering how someone could ever talk to another human being with such venom.

Maybe that’s what drew you to him back in highschool. His shy demeanor. Always cool, calm, and collected. Nothing like Kuroo, the brash and loud hyena-laughing third year who’d introduced the two of you to eachother.

Kuroo and you, despite being a grade level apart, had been placed into the same chemistry class. The two of you bonded over the fact that none of your friends had shared your wits, so you decided to be lab partners for the rest of the year. There was something about your persona that drew you to him, you were so welcoming and inviting and comfortable. Just the perfect person to get Kenma out of his shell, he thought.

So, one day, he invited you to his house (which at first caused you to raise a brow, you were just school friends, right?) to study for an upcoming exam. He was easily the smartest person in the class, but you took this as an opportunity to catch up to your senpai. Unknown to you, he had also invited Kenma to play COD, which lead you to come face to face with a cute boy with cat-like eyes that you would end up falling for.

That lead you here, sprawled out on your couch clad in boxer shorts and a hoodie, lazily scanning your eyes across a copy of The Awakening. Today was your off day from work which you’d hoped to spend with Kenma, but as you two were cuddling, he received an urgent phone call that left you cold and alone in bed. All you could do now was patiently wait for your boyfriend to come home.

As if on cue, you could hear the light tinkling of keys and the click of your front door. The creaking sound it emitted caused you to cringe (but you left a mental note to get that fixed soon) and place down your book.

“Hey honey, how was work?” You called, fitting your chin in between your knees. You wrapped your arms around your legs, squeezing them closer to your chest.

Kenma swiftly closed the door, shrugged off his coat, and slung it onto the floor all in one breath. He was visibly tense and irritation flooded his eyes. Sighing, you picked your book back up and payed him no mind.

Though your relationship with Kenma was amazing, it was far from perfect. He was sweet and attentive (to an extent) but he had trouble communicating himself. You could barely read him as he often showed no emotion. And when he did, he barely liked to talk about it. It was probably the only thing about him that bothered you.

You heard the creaking of the floorboards as he walked past you and into your shared bedroom, along with a deep sigh and the shuffling of feet. The only thing you could do right now was wait it out and hope he’d come to you.

The stress of being a CEO, Youtuber, pro-gamer, and stock trader was larger than you could imagine. Kenma was always up late nights, often on the phone or on his PC, discussing with other board members or filming a video. But he never once complained, which both worried you and caused your heart to swell. He was always independent like that, but it also wasn’t healthy to keep things inside all the time. You wanted to be the shoulder he could lean on, just like he was for you.

As your focus shifted from your thoughts to the book in your hands, you felt the a weight drop down beside you. You stopped yourself from jumping when you realized that it was just Kenma. Fuck, you thought. He really is like a cat. I barely even noticed him. Instead of the suit he was wearing when he walked in, he was sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and a plan white tee. Once again, you placed down your book (would you ever finish it?) and faced towards him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You whispered, taking one of his hands and rubbing soothing circled with your thumb.

He shook his head, no. “Rough day at work,” he mumbled, his raspy voice causing a smile to form on your lips. “Make it better?”

Now it was your turn to sigh as you enveloped him in your arms. Kenma places himself in your lap, almost like a child, legs squeezing around your waist and arms encircling your neck. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, adjusting his body as to not hurt you. Gently, you placed your hand on his head, raking your fingers through his bleach-blonde hair.

What Kenma lacked in words, he made up for in touch.

Whether it was a hand on your thigh, a leg on your lap, an arm around your waist, or his head on your shoulder, Kenma was always touching you as to remind you that he was present. Instead of a simple ‘hey’ he’d press his lips against your cheek or wrap you up in his arms. It was cute, and the first time he’d greeted you with a hug and a kiss you almost melted on the spot.

The innocent embrace between you two was cut short by the sound of sucking and slurping ringing through your ears. You let out a sharp gasp, your breathing halting for a second. Kenma, without warning, had begun to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses in the crook of your neck. The hand that had been gently placed in his hair was now gripping onto the strands in shock.

The sounds ceased completely as Kenma pulled away to look into your eyes, a string of spit following in tow. It was only then you noticed the pool of saliva on your neck, reaching your hands to touch the dampened skin.

“Sorry, was that ok?” He whispered, suddenly shy.

That was more than ok.

“Uh, yeah that was o-it was nice...I liked it.” You affirmed, scratching the back of your neck.

What had come over him? Usually it was you that had initiated anything sexual between the two of you. Kenma was rather low-maifnence in that aspect of your relationship, and never asked you to do anything or even hinted at it. Sometimes it felt like the only reason the two of you had sex was because you wanted it. He seemed indifferent to the whole ordeal. But now he was suddenly attacking your neck unprompted. You were kind of thankful for it, honestly.

“I-Is it ok if I tried something?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a hopeful glint in them. He had placed his hands between his thighs, gently rocking back and forth as if he were nervous. You held back a laugh as to not embarrass him. He was adorable.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Go ahead.”

The rocking subsided as he let both sides of his lips turn upwards in a shy smile. He removed his hands from his legs, letting himself reach up to the hem of your sweatshirt. Slowly yet with anticipation he lifted your sweatshirt over your head, tossing them to the side with ease. The removal had left your hair parting in several directions, which caused you to chuckle and smooth it down.

A sharp intake of breath caught your attention as Kenma’s eyes bored into your bare chest. It was as if he was shocked that you weren’t wearing a bra. You watched in anticipation as he brought his right hand to caress your left breast, thumb lightly ghosting your nipple. It was your turn to inhale as the touch caused you to jolt upwards and lean into him. He smiled, that was the reaction he was looking for.

“Your tits are so pretty, baby. Soft...” The compliment sent waves of heat through your body.

Kenma let his thumb press circles into your soft nipple which was beginning to harden due to his intimate touch. Before you could urge him to do something, anything, he opened his mouth and let his mouth go to work on your breast. His tongue licked around the hardened bud, letting out a content sigh. He seemed to be enjoying this just as much as you were.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you pressed his face even closer to your tits. He sucked harshly, as if trying to milk you. Immediately, you bit your lip to stop yourself from making any more noise, almost embarrassed at how easily Kenma affected you.

He continued to suckle on your breast, even lightly nibbling it, as if begging you to make some sort of noise. The lewdness of him sloppily sucking on your skin shot arousal straight to your core.

He let his hand trail to your other breast, groping it with a rather strong grip before lazily giving you a squeeze here and there. A substantial amount of drool dribbled down the sides of his chin as his tongue swirled around your nipple. “I...I’m getting...hard...”

You hadn’t realized that your eyes were rolling into the back of your head until they began to unblur. Kenma has detached himself from your chest with a small ‘pop’ and was wiping his lips with his forearms. Your eyes trailed to his crotch, biting your lip at the darkened spot of his sweatpants. The faint bulge caused heat to pool in your lower stomach.

“Um, could you maybe... give me a–uh–handjob while I’m... doing this?”

You giggled, nodding feverently. He smiled nervously at you, avoiding all eye contact. Growing impatient, you gestured for him to get up, to which he obeyed. You snaked his sweatpants down, letting them fall to his feet, and did the same with his boxers. You bit your lip once again when his cock sprang free from the confines of his undergarments, slapping against his stomach.

“C’mere,” you whispered, guiding him back into your lap. Before he could continue his assault on your tits, you wet your hands with a generous amount of your saliva, licking it from the beginning of your wrist to the ends of your fingers. Then, you masterfully wrapped your fingers around his cock, ensuring that its entirety was covered in the sticky substance.

“Ah–” Kenma whined at the touch, arching his body into your hand. In order to keep himself preoccupied, he gripped your left breast and paid special attention to the one he left untouched.

As he licked and sucked on your breast, you went to work. His cock had stiffened in your grip, his thick veins almost protruding. You reached for his balls, light massaging them with your fingers, earning a groan into your chest. Smiling to yourself, you lightly grazed the area between his testicles, knowing how sensitive it was. His breath hitched in his throat, and once you were satisfied with the noises Kenma was making, you moved onto his length.

The tips of your fingers lightly scratched along his hardened cock, teasing his sensitive state. You continued the teasing with soft, slow strokes along his shaft, making sure you didn’t apply to much pressure and have him finish early (which happened quite a bit, to his embarrasment).

Your hand momentarily froze when you heard Kenma’s soft moans. How is it possible for a man to have such a pretty moan? The noises that Kenma made were heavenly. Whether it be a mewl or a groan, it always left you wanting more.

“Mm, keep going p-please.”

The request brought you out of your trance like state as you returned your attention to the task at hand. The tip of his cock was a flaring red, pre-cum beginning to spout out. You fisted the middle of his cock, spreading the fluid around.

Your focus on his length had almost blinded you to the fact that he was sucking on your tits. You jolted in surprise when he bit on your supple flesh. You could feel him smiling against you, reveling in the fact that he had elicited such a reaction from you. Two could play at that game.

With your nimble fingers, you slowly pumped his sensitive length, making sure to not apply too much pressure. The movement caused him to whimper and suck even harsher on your bare breast. You grasped his cock, making up and down movements starting from the base and moved up to the shaft , simultaneously rubbing your thumb over his slit.

“Mmf,” Kenma whimpered, his voice muffled by your skin. “Feels so good. You’re too good to me, baby.”

Pride filled in your chest at his words of encouragement. You decided to pick up the pace. Your grip around him strengthened, as did your rythym. As you built up a faster pace, so did he. The puckering sound that filled your apartment only got louder as Kenma violently sucked on your soft skin.

The lewd sound of slurping, sucking, and slapping of skin surrounded the two of you as you violently jerked his cock in fluid motions.

“Keep going, I-I’m almost there.” Kenma griped, no, whined, into you.

“You’re doing so well, Kenma, aren’t you? Your words caused him to bob his head up and down. “Don’t hold back.”

The pressure on his cock didn’t cease as you continued your pace, losing yourself in the bliss of it all. You could feel the heat practically radiating off of him as ceased his sucking and fell into your body in exhaustion.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna–” His warning fell on deaf ears as you continued pumping him. His whines grew louder and urgent. You loved how vocal he was during times like this.

Suddenly, thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, staining your soft, silky hands. Kenma was a tired mess, sweat sticking to his white shirt as he heaved and groaned.

The same eery silence from before attempted to creep back, but was warded off by the exhausted groans of your boyfriend.

“Feeling better?” You teased, poking at his side with your clean hand.

He scoffed in disbelief before letting out a small chuckle. “Yeah, much.”

“Good,” you playfully retorted. “Or else I’d have cum on my hand for no fucking reason at all.”

At the mention of his cum, Kenma’s face flushed. He didn’t notice the substance on your hand and immediately got up and began putting on his pants.

“I’ll get you a towe-”

Before he could finish the sentence, you were already lapping up the milky, almost translucent substance with your tongue. You licked up your forearm, catching the stray that had dribbled down. Then, you slurped the majority of it which had gathered in your palm. And finally, you sucked on your fingers, giving a few kitten licks here and there to ensure that you’d gotten it all.

“No need! Got it all. See?” You grinned brightly at him, showing him your clean hand before wiping it on your shorts. “Aww Kenma, your face is all red! Did I embarrass you? C’mere so I can pinch your cheeks!”

“Shut up!” He groaned, attempting to run away but failing to do so due to his pants being at his feet. “Get away from me!”

[blissfullyshipping]

Braids and Misunderstandings (Thorin x Reader)

Requested by @elia-the-bibliophile​: Hi can I request a Thorin x fem human! reader where they’re married with 3 little dwarfling & they’re having a family time in their quarter in Erebor when their children ask them about how they meet each other, maybe it started with a misinterpretation between the 2 of you when you asked for Thorin’s help to braid your long hair but Thorin sees it as an invitation to court you (as per dwarvish custom) thank you!

Fandom: The Hobbit

Warnings: none just a load of toe curling fluff

A/N: I'm backkk. Felt like doing some writing and this request was too cute to not write, although it was a bit hard because I don’t like children and can’t write endings. Anyway hope you like!

Your bedroom is in chaos. Your chambers mess was a result of getting your three children ready for Kili and Tauriel's wedding. The stress of each child changing their outfit three times or kicking their shoes off every five seconds, resulted in clothes lining every surface and shoes scattered haphazardly on the ground. And yet, coming home from the wedding and getting them to bed proves to be an even bigger task for Thorin and you.

"Ouch amad that hurts!" Your youngest, Melva, squeals on your lap as you try to brush her unruly locks.

"I'm sorry ghivashel," you hush her, gently bobbing your knee, "I'm nearly done I promise."

"Tyrig stop tugging your buttons, your mother just sewed them back on!" You look up at Thorin scolding your son, while he struggles to get Elaina into her nightgown.

"There, all done." You announce proudly as you clasp the last bead.

"No! I don't want braids!" Melva cries pulling out the braids you had just finished.

Sighing in exhaustion you pull her hands away from her head. "Good girls have neat braids nathith."

"How come Elaina doesn't have to!"

"Elaina's not ready for bed yet," Your eyes go to her sister, warning her to listen to her father. "She still needs to put her nightgown on and wash her face. Then adad will do her hair."

"Adad can braid hair?" Melva looks up at you, her eyebrows raised.

"Melva!" Thorin exclaims, hands clutching his heart feigning offence making his daughter giggle in your lap. "I taught your amad how to braid!" This gets the attention of all three children and both you and Thorin make use of their distracted state and get them ready for bed as you talk.

"Is that true?" Tyrig asks getting under the sheets.

"Yep," You nod. "Your father and I met because of braiding too."

"What are you telling them now amrâlimê?" Thorin asks coming out of the bathroom with a clean Elaina in his arms.

"Just about how we met."

"Ahh you mean when you proposed to me the first time we spoke."

"What?!" All three children scream in unison, making the two of you laugh.

"That's not true!" Slapping Thorin's chest. "It was just a small misunderstanding." You say as you put the last child in bed.

"What really happened amad?" Elaina asks. You look at the three sleepy dwarflings and back at Thorin who smiles softly, perching next to you on the bed. "If I tell you will you promise to go to sleep straight after."

The three of them nod enthusiastically ready to hear a new story, satisfied with their answer you lean against your husband and begin to retell it.

--

After the destruction of Erebor and your home in Laketown, you had fled with your best friend, Dis Durin, and the rest of her kin. Feeling more at home amongst the dwarves than your own kind.

Your friendship with Dis had grown since your days in Erebor, you were there for the dwarf-woman when her brother died and father left. You were there when the dwarves barely made it to the Iron Hills alive, and you were there when Dis had found her One.

You were ecstatic when she announced her engagement, and asked you to help with wedding preparations. You fulfilled the role of maid of honour proudly, and took it upon yourself to make sure every detail was executed to perfection.

Slipping into the lavender dress you sewed yourself, after finding nothing in the dwarven markets that would fit you for the ceremony, you move onto braiding your hair into the updo Dis had drawn out for you and the bridesmaids.

Brushing your long locks you stare at the drawing in bewilderment, what is it with dwarves and braids? 

Hesitantly, you start off braiding sections of your hair, weaving them together to recreate Dis' design. Thinking you had done well you look in the mirror eyes flicking back to the drawing and sigh at the mess on your head. Untying the braids and restarting again.

But after several tries and aching arms you give up, huffing on your stool in frustration. Not having much time before the wedding begins, you grab the drawing and leave the room to seek help.

You wander frantically around trying to look for anyone who can help, when you finally spot Dis' brother leaving his own room.

You'd never really talked to Thorin before, aside from the polite greetings in corridors or grieving condolences at funerals. You made sure to keep out of the King's way, because even if Dis had profusely told you Thorin didn't mind your company, you still weren't sure if he was okay with a woman joining his kin. Right now, however, you could use all the help you could get.

"Thorin!" You hiss after him, taking in his appearance. He was dressed in his finery making you stop short as you admire him. His hair and beard neatly braided, fur coat sitting proudly on broad shoulders and you can't help but admire the muscle on the dwarf.

When he calls your name you quickly come to your senses and smile bashfully up at him. "I was hoping you would braid my hair for me?" You ask nervously, tugging on a loose lock oblivious to Thorin's crestfallen face.

"I-uh-m-me?" He stutters taken aback by your question.

Having only ever admired you from afar Thorin would never have thought his crush was requited. This was the longest conversation he's had with you, and though he's dreamt of this countless of times he never thought you would propose to him so casually.

"Yes!" You blurt out. "Please Thorin, I can't think of anyone else to do it." You grab his hand in desperation, and Thorin has never felt so conflicted.

"Your hair is always so neatly braided, and Dis told me to recreate this," You wave the drawing in his face "and you know how she is, I just want it to look right."

Thorin gingerly takes the note from your hand, his callous fingers brush against yours, inciting goosebumps to travel up your arm. His eyes flick between the drawing and you, scratching the back of his neck and chuckling in embarrassment, before nodding his head at your wide eyed expression.

"Of course, Y/N." He says softly, leading you into his room.

You try to calm your nerves when you follow the king into his personal chambers, who quickly moves the pile of clothes on his bed, shoving them into a wardrobe.

"Uh- sorry about that. I hadn't really planned on what to wear." He excuses himself sheepishly, face burning when you giggle at his antics.

He moves you to the dressing table, sitting you on the stool and begins lightly raking his fingers through your hair. Your back goes rigid when his fingers tickle the back of your neck.

Thorin can't breathe. Just looking at you through the mirror, hair flowing over your bare shoulders makes his breath hitch. He had only ever seen you with your hair up. And yet here he is, fingers brushing through your long locks, mind cloudy as your lavender smell invades his senses. There is a reason why braiding is an intimate act.

He shakes his head of any impure thoughts and grabs the brush ready to start on the detailed design. Sectioning and braiding he falls into a rhythmic pattern and begins to ease up. Stopping short when he sees you shiver, glancing over to the open window.

"Apologies for the cold y/n, the furs were making me hot." he says breaking the silence, shrugging off his coat and placing it on your shoulders.

You smile and thank him snuggling into the thick fabric that smells of him. You begin to forget it's the king who's standing behind you, and start to relax into his touch, making light conversation and playing with the bits and bobs lying on his dressing table. Or staring at Thorin as he focuses on braiding, hiding your smile when he sticks his tongue out in concentration.

You inspect a box full of beads, recognising them as the ones Thorin wears in his hair. Up close like this, you can tell each intricately carved bead is different. The newer, shinier ones are probably gifts whilst the worn down and smoother beads must be passed down from generation to generation. You wonder if Thorin would allow you to wear one to the wedding and rifle through them.

A particular bead captures your attention, the carving seems slightly rougher than the others but you can see the effort and love put into it. You pluck the bead from the box marvelling at the craftsmanship. Did Thorin make this?

"Ok Y/N I'm nearly done." Thorin says softly, your eyes snap to the mirror and you stare in awe at what he's managed to achieve, finally understanding what Dis' drawing meant.

"Thorin it's beautiful!" You gasp eyes meeting his through the mirror, the beaming smile lighting up your face making Thorin's heart beat a little faster.

"You look beautiful Y/N." He nods in agreement.

You blush heavily and quickly look down so as not to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your attention going back to the bead clasped in your hand.

"Thorin," you gaze back up at him to see him already looking at you, "Could I put this in my hair too? I've always wanted the dwarven beads and you have so many…" You trail off hoping you haven't stepped over the line. You know dwarves take their hair very seriously.

Thorin nods enthusiastically, repeating over and over in his head that you don't know the dwarvish customs, that this isn't you reciprocating his feelings. Even so, his face falls when you turn and place the chosen bead in his hand. What was wrong? Had you overstepped?

 He looks up to see your concerned eyes and clears his throat uncomfortably. "You want this specific one?" He asks tentatively. You nod not knowing if you had done something wrong.

"I didn't mean to offend you," you rush out. "I just thought it looked very pretty, the carving is beautiful did you do it yourself?"

Thorin nods silently and you can feel the awkwardness rising. Clearly it meant a lot to him.

"Actually it's fine. My hair looks beautiful as it is and it was rude of me to ask, I know beads and hair mean a lot to dwarves, I didn't mean to overstep." You apologise reaching for the bead, but Thorin moves his hand away from you, a strained laugh escapes his lips as he does so. You look up at him and see determination replacing his hesitant eyes.

"You truly have no idea on what braiding means, do you." He asks and you shake your head. "To braid someone's hair is to promise to court them."

Oh, that actually makes a lot of sen- OHH! Oh Mahal no! Had you really been this stupid?! Realisation hits you and you apologise profusely to Thorin, the horror evident on your face makes him laugh. "Don't worry Y/N I know you didn't mean it that way."

You look up at Thorin and take in his amused expression. You try to hide your embarrassment and turn on your stool. Avoiding his eyes in the mirror, you allow him to finish your hair.

However Thorin hesitates, deep in thought. His entertained expression falls as he grips the bead tightly in his fist. Do you feel embarrassed about the idea of being courted by him?

"I made this bead when I became of age to start courting." He begins. "It's carved from stone found in the mines back in Erebor. It's rather ordinary, my father was surprised and tried to persuade me to use gems instead. But I insisted because it's a piece of me that I would want to gift my One. It's home."

Thorin's eyes are still on the bead when you look at him, his face marred into a conflicted expression. You turn and thread your hand through his, drawing his attention to you and giving him a rueful smile. You felt touched he was sharing this with you and it spurred confidence within you.

"It's so precious Thorin. Any girl would be honoured to wear it." Your voice hushed as all you can hear is your heart pounding.

I want you to wear it. The sentence seems so simple, so innocent, but stuck on the tip of his tongue. Thorin doesn't know your heart or feelings, he doesn't know how you'll react to him proposing to you or how Laketown men propose to women. How he wishes he could just say it, to see the joy in your eyes when he does. Opening his mouth, struggling to find the right words the sentence tumbles from his lips.

"I want y-"

"Thorin have you seen…" The two of you jump apart when Dis bursts into the room. "Y/N! I've been looking for you! Where have you been?!"

"I-I can't braid hair and that drawing you did was complicated so I got Thorin to do it." You stutter slightly, eyes flying to Thorin who keeps his gaze fixed on his sister, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. What was he going to say?

"I'll finish it off for you later. The florists just got here and he's brought the wrong shade of flowers I mean how difficult is it to…" The soon to be bride carries on ranting, taking you by the arm and leading you out of the room before you can utter a word in reply. You throw an apologetic look to the King before the door shuts behind you.

Thorin slumps onto the stool you had just been sitting on. Raking a hand through his hair he looks down at the courting bead still clutched in his fist. Sighing he places it back into the box and picks up the coat that slipped from your shoulders, your lavender smell still lingering in the fabric. Making himself presentable again he leaves his chambers and goes to help with the last minute wedding preparations, determined to be the first person you dance with.

--

"That's it?!" Tyrig demands hands flying in the air. "You didn't even propose?" The three dwarflings lie in bed unhappy with the ending.

"Yep aunty Dis ruined it all." Thorin says casually earning a whack from you. "What it's true if she wasn't there these three would probably be about two years older." He defends earning another whack.

"Two years?!" The eldest shouts, catching onto your husbands remark. "You waited two years!"

"Timing is everything ghivashel, I regret nothing." You say getting up. "No more questions now, you'll have to save them for breakfast you promised you'd go to sleep remember." This earns a chorus of groans from your children.

Kissing them goodnight you leave their room, Thorin taking your hand as you make your way to clear the rest of the mess in your chamber.

"Did you mean what you said." Thorin whispers into the dead of night, when you're both curled up in bed. "Do you really regret nothing?"

Snuggling into him, wrapping an arm round his neck and giving him a long chaste kiss you lay your head on his chest.

"I wouldn't change a thing. Menu tessu." You whisper back, happily falling asleep after a long and tiring day. You feel Thorin press one last kiss to your hair, before he too gives into the darkness.

And just as you both close your eyes in bliss, your youngest starts crying making you both groan.

Ghivashel = treasure of all treasures

amad/adad/nathith = mother/father/daughter

Amrâlimê = my love

Menu tessu = you mean everything to me

Lotr tagslist: @j25m18c24​ @spooookyscary​ @waddles03​ @bogbody​

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Five

ao3 - masterpost

hello, my dears. here's chapter five, without too much fanfare. enjoy<3

---

The morning of her first self-defense lesson with Cassian, Nesta awakes to a cool breeze blowing in the scent of roses from her open window.

"Good morning," Nesta says, smiling slightly. "I guess you liked my gift."

She had finished it yesterday, in the jewelry-making session. It had taken her the better part of the day. A sort of cover for the cracked, broken part of the walls the Illyrians had destroyed. Golden and gleaming and prettier than the beige paint around it, but complementing all the same.

And now the House, apparently, is showing her affection for it: a new rose bush outside of her room, fat flowers dangling down over the top of her window. A very pretty frame for her already spectacular view of the city.

The House gives her different clothes today, too. A fitted shirt, and a knee-length loose skirt, with leggings underneath. As close to pants as she'll wear. By Cassian's slight approving nod when she meets him after breakfast, he approves.

"We'll be starting on the roof," he says, in lieu of a greeting.

She nods once. She remembers hearing him, back in that awful first week here-goodness, but it's not yet been a full month since then, and it feels so long ago-hearing him up there, throwing knives around or whatever it was he did. She guesses she'll soon find out.

The crispness of the morning mountain air hits her in full force, but Cassian doesn't act like it fazes him at all. In fact, judging by the way his wings spread slightly wider, he likes it.

"All right," he says. "Let's begin."

The hour ticks by, slowing and speeding up depending on moments when Cassian touches her. There's none of his usual chatter or teasing; he's serious and unsmiling. The training ring is probably sacred to him.

Serious and unsmiling, but not discouraging. He's generous with his praise when she achieves his simple tasks-too generous, she thinks, but perhaps he has some ulterior motive.

Or perhaps, a small voice inside her head says, he's relieved you'll finally know how to defend yourself, and he means it.

It's not as daunting as it had seemed at first, this self defense. He's good for their agreement; this isn't training. He takes all her weaknesses and her proposed attacker's strengths into consideration and shows her how to maneuver past it all. How to cause an assailant-even one as big and strong as he is-to let her go when they grab her arms tightly in front, how to move her legs when she's caught in a chokehold, and how to break free when someone grabs her from behind.

"I guess no one will be able to pull onto your hair, though," he muses, more to himself than to her. "Keep your arms at your sides; you don't want them to get in the way of this one," he adds, mercifully changing the subject too quickly before he can notice her expression.

No one can pull on her hair now, that's the whole point. But they had, they had, rough enough that strands came out and she had no way to escape. What if she had known these tricks then? Would she have had a prayer? Would she still be human? Elain? And what of Father, would he still be alive? Or would it not have mattered; only delayed her certain torture and death, because she had been human, and they had been Fae, and in the end, that was all-

"Arms like this, Nesta," Cassian says, switching from mock-assailant to instructor as he gently tucks her arms against her sides, and drawing her out of her head to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands on hers, his body behind her. His wings block out the wind, and she can feel the warmth radiating from him to her core. "Because you don't want them to get in the way of when you break out...and why else?"

"So I don't use them to hurt myself," she says, repeating his words from earlier.

"Right...good. Let's do this one again. One last time."

She takes a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't need to. He doesn't let her feel trapped.

"All right, I'm grabbing you now-good!"

For she is ready for him, this time. He wraps his arms around her from behind, his arms trapping hers at her elbows, and she instantly draws them in like he instructed. Without waiting for his prompting, she gathers her strength and throws her head upwards and backwards, like he had shown her, and then leaps away as his arms fly open.

"Good, Nesta!" he says, eyes shining as she turns around. He isn't hurt; he keeps moving away for this one so she doesn't do any real damage. "You would've hit his neck there...normally, I'd say go for the chin, but neck's really good...at that speed, with that force, really good..." He grins broadly at her, his first smile of the morning, and after an hour of being in instructor-Cassian's presence, she blinks at the easy switch.

"You did really well," he says, after handing her a glass of water. "Did you...how was it for you?"

She shrugs slightly. "All right." It wasn't fun. But it was hardly suffering. And the movements, following Cassian's instructions...a good way to keep herself focused.

"Would you...do you want to continue?" His voice is casual, but from the careful way he does not meet her eyes, she can tell he is tense.

"Yes," she says, trying to keep her voice casual too.

He brightens, and something inside her dims automatically. His...elation, relief, whatever this spark is, at seeing her agree to do this...it feels, somehow, as though she is doing something wrong. She is cheating or lying. She does not deserve this, is not worthy of his joy. Of him.

"It's not healthy to do workouts every day," he says, "especially...when you're in recovery."

When you're weak, he means. When one is ill and emaciated-even if she is getting better, and trying, it's not going to be enough-never enough-

"So I think...Mondays and Tuesdays...and Thursdays and Fridays? If you'd like to do this long term, I mean."

Nesta blinks. "How long-term?"

He shrugs. "Till you want to stop, I guess."

She purses her lips slightly. "Don't you have...I mean, will you be able to do this four times a week, indefinitely? Don't you have..." An occupation, she wants to say. Running the strongest military on their island, maybe one of the strongest in the world. "You don't have the time," she decides on instead.

He does it again. His deep hazel eyes latch onto hers and don't let her go. She doesn't have a prayer of looking away until he lets her. There's not enough self-defense lessons in the world for her to be strong enough to fight this off.

"I always have time for you, Nesta."

She shivers, and it doesn't have anything to do with the crisp wind under the weak October sun.

He moves his head, and lets her go.

"So tomorrow, then," he says.

"Tomorrow," she echoes. She doesn't stay to watch him fly off.

---

Nesta had done incredibly well. Spectacularly. And she had looked even better.

He had stayed up half the night before, wondering if she was going to show up in pants. She hadn't, but the skirt she had worn had gone only to her knees. The shortest he'd seen her in by far. And her black top...like a second skin. A healthier skin, almost normal. Not translucent any longer. Covering a softer body. More curves, like she used to have. Bones not protruding so much. Golden hair shining in the dim light, coiled and braided like a princess', like a queen's. She even has it up when she goes to sleep, he'd learned during her first week here. Does she ever wear it down? Only to bathe, probably. And what does she look like then, with this slight new weight, this perfect skin, this beautiful hair reaching he doesn't even know how far down...He'd only allowed himself a few moments of ogling her before violently shoving out all thoughts anywhere near the realm of lust from his mind. The training ring was not for this.

Feyre and Elain are beside themselves with happiness, as he knew they would be, when he tells them how it went.

"She agreed to more lessons," Feyre says in wonderment.

"It can only be a good thing," Elain says, tugging on a stray lock of hair.

"Yes," Feyre agrees. "But...maybe, considering...you know. Your history." She shoots him an apologetic look. "Maybe it'd be best if..."

Cassian's heart rate picks up. "You think someone else should teach her?" No, his instincts tell him. She had asked him. She wants him to do it.

But he knows he'll give in. If her sisters think it would be better...because it's her that matters. Not what he wants. What matters is her getting better.

Oh, but he knows he can be the person to help her. Or one of the people, at least. If she just lets him.

Mercifully, Feyre says, "No, no, not that. Just...maybe you could do with a chaperone? Azriel or-well, no, not Rhys. But maybe it would be good for Az to drop by occasionally...what do you think?"

"That's not a bad idea," he admits. A buffer. He could do with one.

"So, what are you teaching her, exactly?" Elain asks.

"Just some self defense. Breaking away from an assailant, today." But maybe, in time, he can convince her to do more. More general exercise, maybe even some offensive techniques. "There was something at the House," he adds. "On the wall where the Illyrians attacked."

"What?"

"This gold...thing. Covering the damage the Illyrians did to it." He clenches his jaw at the memory.

"I thought the House was magic now," Elain says. "Couldn't it have fixed itself up."

"Nesta made it," he says. "She told it she was going to fix it, so..."

The wall had been as fine as any other in the House, in any one of Rhys' homes, before the attack. Painted well, a warm beige, and decorated with any number of ornate pictures and mirrors and shelves for vases and whatnot. But now, the wall was white and bare but for the swirling metal covering the cracks and craters.

Cassian understands. If Nesta had made something for him, he'd want it to be the only thing people saw when they looked at him.

"She made something?" Feyre asks, eyes widening slightly.

"She did say she had that jewelery thing...she said she liked it."

"I never thought of Nesta as an artist before," Feyre says, quieter. "She never had any patience for painting when I showed her."

"Well, I'm sure she doesn't think of herself as an artist...I got the impression she liked it as a way to calm herself down."

"Do you think? What does she need calming down from? Is she-is she angry, do you think?"

Feyre and Elain continue to discuss Nesta and guess at her thoughts and motives while Cassian sits and desperately wishes he could only ask her.

---

Thalia asks to see her as soon as she's available, so Nesta tells Gwyn she'll see her after lunch and heads down to her office.

"Good morning," Thalia says, smiling up at her from her couch.

Nesta sits opposite her. "Hello."

"You're looking refreshed."

"I started...some self-defense. Just a little. With, um, Cassian." Does she know Cassian, Nesta wonders. Probably. He's the kind of person everyone knows.

"Really?" Thalia says, sounding impressed. "How wonderful!"

Nesta shrugs a little.

"Well, I think that comes at a perfect time, actually."

Nesta's eyes shoot up. "Why?" she asks, wary.

"I think I've settled on an idea to help you tackle your goals. I wanted to know what you think."

"All right," Nesta says, after a beat. "What is it?"

Thalia tilts her head back slightly, chin set. Oh, this should be good. "What do you think about keeping a log and schedule of trying new things?"

She sucks in her bottom lip before saying, "Trying new things? How does that help me with my goals?" It seems like Thalia is trying to push her own agenda over actually helping Nesta achieve hers.

"It'll get you in the habit of doing things you aren't used to," Thalia says, patient. "It'll keep you focused on something. It might bring new joys or interests into your life, perhaps personally, or perhaps by bonding with others. And it'll greatly increase your confidence and self-esteem."

Nesta blinks. "That's not one of my goals."

"I know, dear. It's one of mine."

Nesta looks down. "It's..." She forces herself to say the words she would normally just drown in inside her own mind. "Just hard to remember sometimes."

"What's hard to remember?" Gentle, not prodding.

She swallows hard. It sounds so stupid inside her head. How will it sound out loud? "That I'm actually supposed to...get better. Sometimes it feels like that's the wrong thing to do." She bites her tongue-she hadn't meant for that part to come out.

But Thalia never acts like what she's saying is pathetic, even if it is.

"How does it feel wrong?"

Nesta sighs. Not out of irritation over the question, just because she isn't quite sure how to answer. "It's...I don't know. Sometimes one just knows a thing is wrong."

"Hm," Thalia says. Considering, thoughtful. "Well, at any rate, your self-defense lesson today can count as your new thing for the day."

"Well-wait, for the day? You want me to do one new thing per day?"

Thalia's lip quirk. "How often did you think I was asking you?"

"I don't know. A week, maybe."

"I don't think so. Once a day, please. Don't forget to track them all. Write them down. Run along, now, Nesta, and if you could take these books with you? Thank you."

Gwyn finds her putting Thalia's books back on the fifth level. "So, how did it go with Thalia? And with your training session with Lord Cassian?"

Lord Cassian. She'll never get used to that. "News travels fast, I see," she says primly.

"You know it does. How did it go?"

"It went...all right."

"Which one?" Gwyn takes a book from Nesta's hands and puts it on a shelf over her head.

"Both of them. Actually, I think the lesson with Cassian went better," she says in surprise, after reflecting. "And it wasn't training. It was just some self-defense."

"Same difference. What happened with Thalia?"

"She's making me try one new thing a day."

"One per day? Every day?" Gwyn shudders. "I can't believe you go along with everything she says. All her meetings and exercises and now this self-defense...You must be four times as brave as I am, at least."

Nesta winces.

"What are you going to do?" Gwyn continues, either not noticing Nesta's discomfort or respectfully ignoring it. "For your new things, I mean."

"I don't know," Nesta says, weighing two books, as if debating between her options for tomorrow and all the tomorrows after. "I guess...try every fruit I haven't?" Gwyn laughs. "I don't know what she expects me to do."

"I'm sure you'll think of things. You're...you'll do better than the rest of us. You do better than the rest of us. It's so obvious, how much you want to live." She says it confidently, assuredly, her teal eyes set.

Nesta bites her lip. "I did really want to live," she says quietly. That night in Hybern. She had fought with everything she had. The whole way to the Cauldron, and even after, inside it. She hadn't stopped. "I...can't..."

"I know," Gwyn says, voice soft as Nesta's. "You can't remember why. It's all right. You will. I can tell."

Nesta blinks rapidly. She's not about to cry. She's not. She just...she doesn't know what she is.

"I can't believe it's not even noon," she mumbles.

Gwyn chuckles. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your day's hardly going to be a quiet one. Calliope wants you all afternoon."

She likes Calliope, generally, so that's not so awful. "For what?"

Gwyn shrugs. "Sorting through her papers, probably. Maybe she wants you as an assistant."

If Nesta gets assigned to a High Priestess, than she doesn't have to do these menial tasks anymore. Of course, there's no promise that the priestess she'll be assisting won't have her own miserable things for her to do...Merrill, Gwyn's priestess, is a royal pain, Nesta knows...

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," Gwyn says. "Wearing your dress backwards or eating starfruit."

"Ha," Nesta says flatly.

Gwyn laughs once more before going, unbound copper hair flowing behind her.

She's wrong, Nesta knows, about her being braver than anyone else. About her being brave at all. All she's doing now is what other people are telling her. Go see Calliope in her office, Nesta. Come sit with Thalia on the third level, Nesta. Tell Clotho if you liked Daphne's lecture, Nesta. Simple motions, simple movements. Nothing brave about it.

"Now again on the left, Nesta. Good. Good."

It's Thursday morning, and Cassian is the one ordering her about. Sometimes she thinks he sounds like any one of the priestess, with how he talks to her in these lessons, which makes her feel...she isn't sure. It's odd, certainly. Considering all the ways they used to talk to each other. Barbed insults, right in the House, to the other end of the spectrum. The words that cycle in her head some nights, the newest among them being I always have time for you, Nesta...and, of course, intermittent praises from when she does well.

"Excellent. Keep your torso just like that...now with your arms just as I-yes!"

There's really not any bravery required, Nesta decides. Not when the priestesses are all eager to do anything that encourages the girls to, well, do anything, and not when Cassian is...himself. Even now that Azriel, the member of her sister's circle Nesta is wont to consider her favorite if only because he never talks to her, has started showing up for a few minutes every session. Even he, with his face more closed off than Amren's (back when they were on speaking terms), and those dark shadows of his...even he does not discourage her.

Their hour ends, and he watches her drink two glasses of water-discreetly, drinking some himself, too-before turning to leave.

"Um," she says, voice slightly louder than it needs to be.

He pauses. Turns. Waits.

She can't look away again-his eyes-but she has to say something, doesn't she? What was it she was going to say?

"I seem to be doing well," she blurts out. Then flushes crimson.

He grins. "You're doing very well, Nesta."

She smooths her skirt, as if that'll somehow help her regain composure. "What I mean is," she says, voice hopefully not wobbly, "these...lessons...seem to be doing me good."

His grin gets smaller, but his eyes grow soft. "I...am very glad to hear that."

"I mean they help me feel...better. I feel better. Stronger. And I don't get so distracted all the time. And I...don't think about drinking so much." That's true, she realizes. In fact, she hasn't wanted a drink since...Monday? Sunday? She can't even be sure.

Cassian inhales sharply. "Good," he says, rather faint. "That's...that's so good, Nesta."

"So I was wondering if maybe you thought that...because I thought...well, I-I don't know, but maybe..." Stammering, tripping over her own words, it's just-

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

She nearly gasps, the words playing in her mind so clear in his eyes it's almost as though she can hear him saying them aloud.

"I thought maybe some other girls would like to join. If you don't mind. Having some more of us."

Cassian blinks. "I...I don't. I don't mind at all. I think that's a great idea, actually."

"Well, I also thought," Nesta starts, encouraged, "that since, you know, you've wanted that female Illyrian legion for so long-" he blinks again, evidently unaware that she knows that-"maybe you could also see if some Illyrian girls wanted to join. Just to see if they have a taste for...any of this."

Cassian's mouth falls open slightly and his hand goes to his forehead. "I...can't believe I never thought of this myself, actually," he admits. "Self-defense as a sort of gateway...that's actually really fucking brilliant, Nesta."

She huffs a sound of amusement at his swearing; it's been so long since she's heard any curse, as the priestesses are all so pious and proper. He starts at the sound.

"Well," she says, ducking her head to busy herself with her skirt so he doesn't see her color again. "I have to go bathe and..."

"Oh, yeah. All right. Well...so Monday? With some other girls?"

"If they want," Nesta says. "I don't know if anyone will want..."

"Well, you just let them know. Maybe ask Clotho..."

"I will. And...will you go to that camp? Windhaven?"

"Windhaven?" he asks.

"I met a shopkeeper..."

"Emerie?"

"Oh," she says. "You know her."

"She's the only female shopkeeper," he says. "We've met."

"I talked to her a little. I think she might be interested. I think she has some friends who might like it, too."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "I didn't know...I assumed-well, never mind. All right, Nesta. Goodbye, then. And great idea, really. And..." he trails off. She looks up to see him smiling. "You did really well. I mean it."

She nods, just once. But then she says, "Thank you."

She can't quite believe she said that. But judging by the way his grin widens enough to show all his teeth, it's something he's been waiting a while to hear.