#or at least that some are lies and some were seriously inflated for attention

[marzipanandminutiae]

it is always Dunking On The Warrens o'clock

"a witch named Bathsheba Sherman hanged herself on this property!!!!"

if by "witch" you mean "normal Victorian rando" and by "hanged herself" you mean "died of a stroke in her 80s" and by "on this property" you mean "somewhere else entirely" then yes

[lottins-only]

I love you, it's ruining my life | Part III

pairing: Kylian x black!fem!Reader

warnings: some nsfw (?) content

word count: 6.9k

part one, part two

A/N: this one is a bit long 🫠 Thank you to those who read the first two parts, and to those who sent me sweet messages🙏🏾Inbox is open, so please do let me know your thoughts !! <3

III. December 2022

“What are those for?” 

Y/N followed Ethan’s inquisitive gaze to the top of her tote bag . She quickly shoved down the bags of candy peeking out, trying to conceal their abundance. She knew she’d packed way too many, but more meant better options, she’d reasoned. Especially since the person they were meant for had the sweet tooth of a 5 year old. 

“Oh, you know me, I always have to have snacks on me” She lied.

Ethan looked at her like she was a madman, then shook his head before turning his attention to his phone. They were sitting outside at a luxurious hotel that served as the base camp of the French National Team for the duration of the World Cup. With the final only a few days away, the FFF had organized a “fun day” for the players to unwind with their loved ones. There were bouncy castles and inflatable slides littered around the lawn for children, while the irresistible aroma of barbecue wafted through the air. Kylian was somewhere entertaining his niece and nephew, and was hanging out with his parents as well. Y/N and Ethan, introverts as they were, spent most of their time chilling on the lounge chairs drinking mojitos (Virgin mojitos for Ethan; he’d tried to convince her to let him have a try from her drink but she’d refused). 

Y/N was enjoying herself. Truly savoring every moment. A one month-long, all-expenses-paid trip to watch her best friend play in the World Cup? She couldn’t have submitted her PTO request fast enough.  

 “It’s probably only going to be 2 weeks though”  Kylian had said to her half- jokingly when he’d proposed the idea over the phone. He was referring to the “winner's curse”, the jinx that often saw past winners exit the tournament in the group stages.  But against all odds, France was once again in the final of the World Cup. 

She opened her phone, dismayed to find zero new messages from her boyfriend of 8 months, Lucas. They had met when she moved to Madrid straight after graduating from university. She’d found a job at a small public health non-profit, and Lucas had been one of the few people working there that was her age. They’d quickly struck up a friendship,  and he’d immediately asked her out after he left that job a few years later. It was a no-brainer for Y/N to say yes. He was good looking, charming, and made her laugh. Besides, it was well past the time to move on from Kylian. 

For his part, Kylian had been ecstatic when she’d returned to Europe. They had grown closer after both of their moves,  despite the distance. They facetimed at least once a week, and it sort of became a tradition for Kylian to give her a quick call before games. They’d text regularly too, their conversations meandering from trivial topics to deep confessions. Once, she’d mentioned that she used “Study with me” YouTube videos for her study sessions, as it was a way to keep herself accountable. 

“I could do that with you, you don’t need stupid youtube videos” he’d said confidently over the phone. 

She’d laughed. “You can’t shut up for 2 minutes if your life depended on it, Ky”

“No, I can” he’d said seriously. “I want to, for you”

And so they’d formed another tradition. They’d sit silently on facetime for hours and hours, Y/N poring over her books and notes, and Kylian in his room alone doing god knows what. He’d check in on her every once in a while, always encouraging. She knew that he had a busy life and few precious hours to himself, so she was grateful that he’d decided to spend that time with her, doing something that had no immediate benefit to him whatsoever. 

They’d opened up more about their love lives as well, as they’d promised to each other back in Monaco. She didn’t volunteer any information herself, because it was still  a little weird, but she’d answer questions if he probed. It was a lot less easy for Kylian to hide things from her, thanks to his growing fame. She’d only have to scroll through her explore page on Instagram or go through gossip websites to find detailed information about any woman who so much as breathed next to him. He’d continued dating people after the breakup with Sophia, which had happened only a month after her visit in Monaco. But much to her relief, it was never serious with anyone. She’d once seen pictures of him in the stands at the Parc des Princes with a blonde actress, and that old feeling of jealousy had snuck up on her like it had never left.  But just two weeks later, Kylian informed her that it was over. 

She had mentioned  Lucas to him  pretty early on in the relationship. Like she expected, he’d made a bad joke out of it. Something about HR needing to be alerted. She’d reminded him, rather annoyed, that Lucas no longer worked at her workplace. He didn’t say anything after that, quickly changing the subject. One day, however, Lucas mentioned something that gave her pause.

“You know something crazy that happened to me today?” He’d laughed. They were lounging on her couch in her apartment, watching a movie. “Kylian Mbappe liked a picture of mine on Instagram, from like 6 years ago”

She’d furrowed her eyebrows. Lucas was a huge football fan, but Y/N still hadn’t mentioned her friendship with Kylian. It had only been a month of them seeing each other, and about 3 days after she’d told Kylian about him. 

“Yeah, look” Lucas brought out his phone and showed her a screenshot. Sure enough, Kylian’s username was under a picture of Lucas’ dated December 2016. Lucas was a regular poster on Instagram, so Kylian must have scrolled far back to find that picture. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. 

“I know right?” Lucas  had said. “Funny thing is, it disappeared just a few seconds after I got the notification. So random.”

She imagined THE Kylian Mbappe in his bed late at night, lurking on Instagram, accidentally liking an old picture and then hurriedly unliking. 

“Yeah” she had said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Random”

As Y/N’s thoughts drifted back to the present, she glanced at her phone again. Still empty. After a rocky couple weeks  of arguments, Y/N and Lucas decided to go on a break. Lucas had grown distant and less affectionate. He was less present when they spent time together, and was generally making less effort in the relationship. It had been a punch to the gut when he’d forgotten her birthday two weeks ago. She hadn’t said anything; he’d only realized when he saw the huge bouquet of flowers from Kylian sitting on her dining table. 

That was also another sore spot in their relationship; Lucas was not at all comfortable with her friendship with Kylian. He hadn’t mentioned it, and she had made a point to tone down the constant texting and calling as soon as they became official, but she could still see it in the way he behaved. The World Cup trip was the tipping point. She couldn’t blame him; Her male best friend, who was one of the most famous footballers in the world, was bankrolling a one month trip for her to watch him play on the world’s biggest stage. It would be a hit to the ego for any man. But frankly, she was tired. She was tired of him, and she wanted time away from him. And so the break began. 

She did not miss him, if she was being honest with herself. Yet, she couldn’t help checking her phone to see if he’d reached out.  Lucas was the only person she’d been seriously interested in, besides Kylian. Maybe it wasn’t wise to give up on something good over a bad month or so. A tiny, insecure part of her told her she’d never find someone who liked her just as much as Lucas.

“Hi there” A deep voice cut through her thoughts. She looked up to see a very handsome face.

He stood tall in the dark blue tracksuit of the French national team, smiling at her broadly. She recognized him immediately. 

“Hi” She responded shyly, having never spoken to Kylian’s national team teammates before. 

“Saw you from over there” Aurelien Tchouameni pointed to the mini basketball court, where some other players were shooting hoops. “And you’re really pretty”

Straight to the point, then. Ethan snorted from across the table. 

“Uh.. thanks” She said nervously. “I have a boyfriend though”

Aurelien glanced at Ethan, then at her. Realization dawned on his face, and he held up his hands apologetically. “Oh, you’re Y/N! I should’ve realized… So you and Kylian finally got together, huh?”

“W-What?” She blabbered. Ethan was now laughing. “No, we’re not dating. Just friends”

“Oh” Aurelien said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Sorry. It’s just that he always talks about you”

“Really?”

“Yeah, whenever we talk about shows and music and stuff, he’s always like Y/N recommended this, Y/N said that”

“Yeah, he basically stole my entire personality” She deadpanned, trying to feel less awkward.

He laughed, nodding in agreement. “Well, you guys have fun. And sorry about that, I just had to shoot my shot”

He winked and walked away as quickly as he’d appeared.

She turned to Ethan, who was no doubt opening his mouth to tease her. She held up her hand. “Don’t even”

Y/N unloaded the contents of her tote bag on the bed, spilling out every type of candy Kylian had ever enjoyed. She turned to him, smiling proudly. “There you go, Monsieur”

Kylian’s eyes lit up as he grabbed a bag of M&Ms and tore it open. “Thank you” he said with a dimpled grin.

He’d  texted her the day before asking her to grab him some candy, and she was happy to oblige. Kylian was the most disciplined person she’d ever met, but everyone deserves a cheat day—especially someone who’d made it to his second World Cup final at 23. She’d waited until they were alone in his room to give him the treats, careful to not be seen by any of the coaching staff. 

She leaned back on her chair and opened her phone, once again checking for new messages. 

“Stop that” Kylian scolded.

“Stop what?” She asked innocently.

“I know what you’re doing” he said. “I can’t believe you’re the one who’s hung up on him while he’s the asshole. It should be the other way around”

“I’m not hung up on him” She said, flustered. “I’m just…”

“You’re checking your phone every 5 minutes” He cut in. “You deserve someone who gives you their full attention and consideration, you know”

And why can’t that person be you?

The door burst open and Ethan walked in, his eyes immediately landing on all the candy.

“I knew it!” He pointed at her, accusatorial. “I knew it was for him”

She shrugged apologetically. 

Ethan happily opened a bag of Haribos, and turned to his brother, a mischievous look on his face. “Did she tell you about Tchouameni?”

“What about him?” Kylian responded absentmindedly, his attention on his phone. 

“He hit on her” Ethan said grinning “And then when he found out who she was he said he thought you two were dating”

An idea unfurled in Y/N’s head. “He’s so hot” she said. “Maybe I should ask for his number. Might as well, right? Since Lucas and I are basically done…”

“No” Kylian’s voice rose slightly. “No, don’t do that.”

“Why not?” She asked “You just said I deserve someone who gives me attention. Aurelien seems like the type”

He was fidgeting now, irritation clearly written on his face. “Athletes are assholes, haven’t you heard that before? Also, it would be weird for you to date my teammate”

“Are you saying you’re an asshole?” She asked

“No, but.. Just trust me” He turned his attention back to his phone, clearly uncomfortable. 

Y/N wasn’t much of a football fan, but she knew that the match she just witnessed was one of the best ever played. The highs and lows, the split second moments that changed the trajectory of the whole game, the sheer unpredictability of the whole thing. Every single movement made by the players felt like the tipping point. The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric, a living, breathing entity fueled by the passion and excitement of the fans watching. By the time the Argentinian player had kicked the final penalty to seal his country’s win, she was overwhelmed by a deep feeling of sadness. So much so, that she felt tears prick her eyes. She looked down at Kylian, only a small figure from her seat in the stands. His shoulder was slumped, his entire body deflated. He had given his all, and yet he had lost.  Teammates and coaching staff alike kept coming up to him to comfort him. She desperately wanted to go over to him, to hold him, but she knew she couldn’t enter the pitch until after the medal ceremony. 

She saw him and his teammates retreat into the tunnels just as Messi lifted up the World Cup to the cheer of thousands. She turned to his family and friends,  with whom she’d been cheering in elation at Kylian’s equalizing goal just a few minutes ago. 

“Go” his father urged her “The only person he’d want to see right now is you”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She weaved her way through the stadium, flashing her VIP access lanyard when met with security, and asking for directions once or twice. She passed through the final set of security before finding herself outside the French team’s locker rooms. She informed the guard outside who she was looking for. He went inside, and moments later, came back out with Kylian. 

Her heart nearly shattered at the sight of him. He kept his head down, but she could see his eyes were bloodshot. Without a word, she wrapped him in a tight hug, feeling him shake silently in her embrace. She had never seen Kylian cry before. 

“Hey” she murmured softly. “It’s okay”

He buried his face in her shoulder, his breath hitching with each silent sob. Her own tears slipped down her cheeks. He gently let go a few moments later, and they sat down on the floor, leaning against the hallway wall. 

“I thought we had it” He said, his voice cracking. 

“ I know you did” She said gently, wiping a tear falling down his cheeks. “ You gave your everything. Sometimes it just comes down to luck, Ky. There’s nothing you can do about it” She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. 

Kylian nodded, but she knew he didn’t believe her. Knowing him, this night would haunt him for a long time. 

“Thank you for being here” His voice was steadier now. He leaned his head on her shoulder. 

“Always” She whispered. 

They sat there for some minutes, watching the hallway slowly become filled with the families of the other players. Her heart warmed at the sight of Griezmann’s daughters comforting their father. Her thumb was slowly caressing the back of Kylian’s hand. Turning slowly, she kissed his forehead. She wondered if they looked like a couple just then, with their hands joined in her lap and her lips on his forehead.

                        

It was 2 days after that disappointing night in Qatar,  and two nights since Y/N had been unceremoniously dumped over the phone.

The weight of the defeat had lingered that night, sucking the energy out of everyone. By the time Y/N and the Mbappes returned to the hotel, the atmosphere was thick with sadness and disappointment. She’d gotten the call just as she’d walked into her hotel room. Lucas’ voice had been calm and detached as he’d delivered the news she had dreaded: their relationship was over. The entire conversation was a blur, but there were bits and pieces that stung so much it still echoed in her head. “ I don’t feel that connection anymore” to “I’m clearly second choice here”  and “you’ve been lying to yourself all this time”. She’d cried herself to sleep, overwhelmed by a storm of heartache and confusion.

She had planned to go straight to Madrid after the final but decided to hide out with her parents in Paris for a couple days. It was now the 20th, Kylian’s birthday. She hadn’t spoken to him since coming back to Paris, caught up in her own heartbreak, but she’d received an invitation for a birthday dinner via his assistant. It took everything in her to drag herself out of bed and to get ready. 

The restaurant was one of the most famous in Paris, and Kylian’s personal favorite. He’d reserved the entire space for his friends and family. It was cozy, with dimmed lights and ambient music  blending in with the chatter of the guests. A single long table stretched across the room, dotted with candlelight. 

As Y/N made her way through the room, she greeted everyone –  Kylian’s parents, his brothers, his closest teammates, his close friends, and other acquaintances. To her embarrassment, she’d been the last guest to arrive. His assistant guided her to the only open seat left, right next to Kylian. 

“No one wants to sit next to the birthday boy?” She quipped as she took her place.

“Was saving it for you” He replied. He looked handsome in a blue Dior sweater and black denim jeans. His tan from Qatar was already fading, and he had a small smile playing on his face. They chatted for a bit, asking each other about their respective heartbreaks, before becoming engrossed in the lively conversations surrounding them. 

At one point, they caught each other’s eyes. The candlelight was casting strange shadows on his face. She smiled at him, and without thinking, poked at one of his dimples. “I’m really glad you were born, by the way”

“ I know” His eyes sparkled with amusement. His  arm was draped casually over the back of her chair, their faces close. He  gently tugged at a single braid of her hair with his other hand and murmured, “I like your hair like this. It’s new right?”

It was indeed new. She’d decided to try boho braids for the first time. 

You deserve someone who gives you their full attention and consideration, you know. 

Someone cleared their throat, and they sprung apart. It was the waitstaff, ready to serve appetizers. They spoke sparingly as they ate. Kylian, the menace that he was, kept reaching for bites from her plate. She elbowed him whenever he did, but she didn’t hesitate to steal from his plate as well. 

After everyone had eaten and all the food was cleared, a huge cake with 24 individual candles was brought out. She made sure to take a video of Kylian smiling as everyone sang Joyeux Anniversaire, giggling at how awkward he looked. 

“Make a wish first!” Someone called just as he was about to blow out the candles.

He paused,  his gaze locking with Y/N’s over her phone screen as he playfully pointed a finger at her. He continued blowing out his candles, never breaking eye contact with her. A chorus of laughter came from the guests at his antics, and Y/N felt her face burn as she put down her phone. 

“He’s so down bad for her…” She could hear Tchaga snigger. Another ripple of laughter broke out from the guests at his comment. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her at that moment. 

The laughter and celebration gradually tapered off after some time, and Y/N and some other friends were invited by Kylian to his apartment for some drinks. He had training the next day and didn’t want to do some heavy clubbing. 

The sound of easy laughter and the clinking of glasses filled Kylian’s apartment. Y/N and Kylian were sitting on the couch in his living room, their bodies close together despite them being the only occupants. They were reminiscing about the time Kylian had tried to convince her to play in a school tournament. There was a rule that the teams had to be mixed, and not a lot of girls wanted to play. He’d begged Y/N to join, and she’d reluctantly accepted on the condition that he’d buy her a teddy bear if they won.  They were playing for a plastic trophy that cost 2 euros, yet Kylian treated it like it was life or death. They won, and Y/N got her teddy bear.

“I still have that teddy bear, you know” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. It’s probably my favorite gift I’ve ever received”

He hummed, clearly pleased. She didn’t know when and how, but her leg was slung over his. His hand was on her, his fingers softly tracing lines up and down her calf. 

“So, I’m your birthday wish huh?” She knew she wouldn’t be bold enough to say those words any other time, but here they were. The physical proximity was like a promise of something greater happening. 

“Yup” He met her eyes confidently, his eyes shining. 

“Maybe you should’ve started small though. Like a kiss?” She tried her best to sound flirtatious.

He laughed, “Ok. Let me redo the wish”

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, a small smile still playing on his lips. He put his palms together as if in prayer and said in a deep, affected voice, “ Dear Universe, for my 24th birthday, I wish to receive a kiss from Y/N”

Without skipping a beat, she leaned in and slanted her lips over his. She could feel his breath hitch, like he hadn’t expected her to do that. It hardly took a second for him to kiss back though. It was slow, sensual. Tender and exploratory. His tongue brushed her lips before slipping inside, and she welcomed him with a soft sigh. The hand that had been on her calf quickly moved to her hips, and his other hand gently cupped her face. Her stomach was a puddle, and she was glad that they were sitting down because she was sure her knees would’ve given out if they were standing. The kiss deepened and went on and on and on, until they had to break away for air. He looked dazed, his lips glistening from her shiny lipgloss.

He quickly put his lips back on her, but Y/N pulled away.

She pressed her lips over his ear and murmured, “You need to tell everyone to leave. Now”

Kylian quickly waved Tchaga over and whispered in his ear urgently. Y/N didn’t feel a trace of shame when Tchaga shot her a knowing, teasing look. She was just happy that he was making quick work of announcing  that the party was over and ushering everyone out of Kylian’s apartment.

No sooner had the apartment emptied and the door slammed behind Tchaga that she climbed his lap. She was able to get one sloppy kiss in before Kylian pulled away breathlessly. “We need to get to my room”

And so he hoisted her up and effortlessly walked them all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom. They kissed fiercely as he gently put her down on his bed. Kylian scrambled out of his sweater as she unbuttoned her shirt. He helped her out of her skirt and then her tights. 

She rolled over and climbed on top of him, finding him as ready as she was. Lustful brown eyes stared openly at her pale pink underwear. “Do you have?” She asked frantically. 

“Yeah, in the drawer”

She leaned sideways, stretching her body to reach the bedside drawer. She found the box pretty easily and grabbed one from it. He was still staring at her hungrily. With shaking hands, she unhooked her bra and took it off.

He kissed her neck, her breasts, her stomach. Her hands caressed his biceps, his chest, his torso. This was years of desire she’d harbored, finally unleashed. His mouth brushed over her lower torso before his fingers deftly removed the last remaining piece of clothing on her body. She unbuckled his belt buckle and removed his jeans and boxers at the same time. His breathing was shallow and rapid as she ripped the foil open and rolled it on him. She lowered herself onto him slowly, and they both gasped. 

They were chest to chest, their hearts drumming together. They moved together in a steady rhythm, watching each other, checking in on each other with their eyes. Is this okay? How about this? And this?

She wanted him closer, deeper. It was never enough. They breathed into each other's mouths, tongues meeting sloppily. Breaking apart, their foreheads met. Their eyes said a million little things at once. Time and space had no meaning anymore for Y/N. There was only Kylian.

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

It turned out that if you’d wanted something badly for a very long time, and then you finally got that thing, it didn’t necessarily mean that you'll have enough of that thing. Sometimes, it could leave you wanting more and more. Case in point: Y/N.

They woke up midday with bodies hot and sweaty and limbs tangled together in the sheets. They had laid there for an hour or so, kissing languidly. He somehow already knew what she liked, the moves that made her moan and gasp. 

“I could do this forever” he’d murmured as his lips softly trailed after hers.  But his alarm rang out just then, a stark reminder of real life. They both sighed reluctantly as they pulled away. He had to get up and get ready for his afternoon training. 

She laid there, silently watching him get dressed. She was mesmerized by every movement of his beautiful, lean yet muscular body. Her own personal Adonis. It was a wonder she’d been able to keep her hands off him. He caught her looking at him and smirked, winking at her. She just rolled her eyes.

Once he’d gotten ready and packed his bag, he came over to her on the bed and showered her face with affectionate kisses. “I’ll come back in the evening. Feel free to just chill here.”  He said between kisses on her forehead, lips, cheeks, chin.  “I’ll leave a spare key by the door though”

She nodded happily, giving him one last tender kiss. He stepped out, and she was left to bask in the lingering warmth of his affection. Her mind replayed the memories of the night before, and she felt like the happiest person alive. Now that she got a taste of him, she wanted more of him. As if on cue, her phone pinged with a text. 

Ky: I miss you already 🙁

She giggled, quickly typing out a I miss you tooo before getting up and hopping in the shower. It was only when she got out that she realized she didn’t have a change of clothes, and unless she wanted to walk into her parents apartment dressed the same way she’d left it yesterday, she needed to put on something else. She walked into Kylian’s closet and  grabbed the nearest T-shirt and sweatpants, as well as some slippers. She quickly snapped a mirror pic after changing and sent it to Kylian, typing heading to my parents for a bit.

The reply was almost instant.

Ky: 😍 😍

Ky: don’t forget to grab stuff you need.

She smiled, loving the implication she’d spend the night again. At her parents, she grabbed Kylian’s gift that she’d forgotten to take with her the night before, as well as a change of clothes. She came back to Kylian’s place and answered work emails and completed other miscellaneous tasks concerning her job.

He was back in the early evening, just as promised. The passion of the night before had faded and the afterglow of the morning had subsided, meaning there was nothing to embolden either of them. Thus, they treaded lightly around each other. Their looks were furtive, their touches tentative. Kylian, the least shy person she’d ever met, had somehow turned uncharacteristically quiet. Yet, they were both undeniably giddy. She could see it in the way he broke into an inexplicable smile whenever he caught her eye during dinner, and in the way she was in the best mood she’d been in for a long time. 

This illusion of coyness evaporated as they settled on the couch after dinner, Kylian turning on a tactical video the PSG staff had instructed him to view. The video was on for less than 2 minutes before their focus shifted entirely and they began to make out. 

“You’re too distracting,” he said between kisses as she giggled. 

“Yeah?”

His lips shifted to her neck. “I think kissing you is my favorite thing to do”

He was biting there, sure to leave a mark. 

“Well second favorite” he corrected himself.

She took off her T-shirt and straddled him. He continued, his hands softly gripping her waist “Second place is kissing you. First place is obviously playing football—”

He was momentarily interrupted as she took his own T-shirt off. “—tied with fucking you”

His shit eating grin was the last thing she saw before he flipped her over and sent her sprawling comfortably on the cushions. 

It was unfortunate that they had a game on new year’s eve, but Y/N liked the ambiance at the Parc des Princes. The stadium was buzzing with a special, festive energy for Kylian’s first match after the World Cup final. She was seated in the VIP section along with his parents, brother, and Tchaga and had jumped up and down when Kylian scored the last minute winner. He’d never say it, but she knew he needed that confidence boost. 

In the past week, she’d gotten to know a completely different part of him –  one her lovesick teenage self could only have dreamed of, and that her more cynical young adult self had never thought she’d experience. 

For example, she’d always known that he loved taking care of his loved ones, but she hadn’t spent a single dime during her stay with him. Any purchases she thought of making, he insisted on paying for. He’d even surprised her with a package containing everything from her wishlist after he saw her browsing her favorite store online. His generosity extended to small things like sharing food (which he was notoriously known for disliking), and thoughtful gestures like arranging a work space for her in one of his spare rooms. He endearingly loved using pet names, alternating  between “bébé” and “chérie”, and her heart did somersaults when she heard him use those in everyday conversation. 

She learned intimate details too, thanks to their newfound physical closeness. The birthmark on his lower back that she loved pressing kisses to. How scratching his head would put him to sleep almost instantly. She learned about his preferences as well; he was most definitely an ass man –  it was evident by the way he never passed up a chance to feel her up when they were by themselves.  Now, she committed everything she learned to memory, seeing Kylian in hues she never thought existed. 

The days after his birthday were perfect to her, it felt like she was living a dream. Lucas and Madrid were so far from her mind that it was as if the break up had happened a year ago. The person she’d been pining after for ages seemingly liked her back. She was at her happiest. 

There was one issue that gnawed at her, however. It bothered her that they had never spoken about what they were, or where their relationship was heading. She’d thought that the fact they had slept together was a mutual admission of serious feelings, that they had an unspoken agreement. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more she realized they hadn’t actually talked about it. The first two days or so, she’d been on cloud 9, swept away by the euphoria of it all. But now, as reality set it, it was torturing her. 

A buzz of excitement filled the VIP lounge as a small crowd gathered around the entrance. She suspected it was Kylian and his entourage; he’d promised to come up to the lounge after the game. Sure enough, in walked Kylian’s bodyguards, followed closely by the man of the match himself. 

He made the rounds first, meeting all the important people in the room, taking pictures and making small talk. He finally made his way to his family and friends. He came to Y/N last, and there was an awkward shuffle when he went in for a peck on the lips as a greeting, and Y/N instinctively aimed for his cheek. They laughed it off, and she gave him the kiss he’d wanted. Ethan let out a loud “ew!”, and Y/N flushed, looking at the ground. So far, none of their family and friends had had visible reactions to the recent developments in their relationship. No one had said anything when they’d shown up holding hands at Kylian's family Christmas party a week ago; it was almost like they expected it, as if they believed this was the natural culmination of Y/N and Kylian’s 10+ years long friendship and not an unexpected turn of events. 

“ I have something for you” she murmured after it was just the two of them speaking, indicating a small gift bag she was holding. 

He raised his eyebrows. “Oooh. What’s in there?”

“It's your birthday gift” She said as she handed it to him. “I was supposed to bring it to dinner but I forgot. I brought it to your apartment the next day but it slipped my mind again”

“And here I was thinking my gift was the mind blowing sex” He said grinning. 

She shoved him playfully, rolling her eyes. As he reached to open the bag, her stomach started fluttering. 

Someone slid up to him just then, whispering in his ear.

“ Give me one second, I’ll be back” he said apologetically as he dropped the bag on the nearest table and was whisked away, no doubt to meet some other important person that was there to see him. 

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. The gift was a scrapbook she’d made herself, chronicling their long friendship. She’d hoped it would help open up the conversation about their current situation.

“Fancy a drink?” 

It was one of the waiters, holding a tray of colorful looking drinks. She graciously took one.

“New here? I’m never seen you in the lounge before”

He seemed polite enough. “Uh, yes. I’m here with…my boyfriend” She tested the word on her lips, her eyes on Kylian across the room.

The waiter followed her gaze and snorted. “He has a girlfriend? I’d sooner believe Macron quit the presidency to be a mime”

He blanched as soon as he realized she was serious. “I- I meant-”

“What?”

He looked at the ground. “He just- I see a different model every other week here. They're almost always his guests”

She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it. “Look, just forget I said anything. It’s not my place.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Please don’t get me fired”

He scurried off before she could say anything. 

She glanced at her gift bag, left forgotten on the table. He was now taking pictures with a group of older people. Her eyes started to well up, and she walked out of the room. She kept going until she found herself outside, ordering an Uber. She sent him a text as she got in the car:

Y/N: going home to deal with some stuff, think I’ll spend the night there

She closed her eyes, tears now sliding down her cheeks.

She barely slept that night, spending hours on her phone looking up the many women Kylian had been linked with. She went through their instagrams, her mind treacherously comparing each one to herself, as if she could measure her worth against their curated, seemingly perfect lives. She came across photos of Kylian on yachts, laughing with bikini-clad blondes. The comments on the photos only twisted the knife deeper – some criticized him as a “playboy” , while others mocked him with a dismissive “typical footballer”.  Each photo was like a dagger to her heart.

But it was the final blow that left her breathless: blurry photos of Kylian leaving a club with a girl, taken just a month ago, in November. It was that recent. It all made sense now,  why he’d never made an effort to have a serious conversation about their relationship. He liked his current lifestyle, focusing completely on football while indulging in a fleeting series of flings from time to time. She was nothing special, just another name on the long list of women he entertained. 

What shattered her the most was that he had no consideration for their friendship, that he could throw it away just like that for some sex. He had traded something she deeply cherished for something else he considered transient, meaningless. 

By the time dawn broke and the first light filtered through her curtains, she was resolute. Dragging herself out of bed, she made her way to the kitchen and was shocked to find her parents sitting and laughing with Kylian. 

His face brightened as soon as he saw her. “Morning chérie” he greeted, the pet name failing to make her stomach flutter this time.

“Dropped by to check on you” he continued. “You weren’t answering my texts”

It was intentional, of course. Seeing the tired look on her face, her parents moved out of the kitchen to give them privacy. She sat down beside him slowly, and his face twisted into concern. 

“Is everything ok?” He went to grab her hand but she snatched it away quickly. She didn’t miss the hurt look on his face.

“I- uh. I’m ok” She didn’t know how to approach the conversation. “Did you finally open my gift?”

"What? Your gi- oh. Yeah. I did”  She could clearly see through the lie.

“Kylian” She warned, her tone sharp.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot. But it still has to be there though, no one will take it”

“What the fuck, Kylian?” her voice rose, frustration spilling over. “You didn’t even take it home with you?”

He frantically reached for his phone. “I’ll call and get someone at the club to look for it. I’ll get it back, I promise”

She snatched the phone out of his hand, her eyes blazing  “I spent a lot of time on it. I can’t believe you did that, it's like you don’t even care”

He looked at her earnestly. “You know I care, I care about you a lot”

“Is that what you say to every girl you sleep with?” She couldn’t help it.

“What?” He looked at her incredulously. “ No. This is different. You’ve always been different”

“I find that hard to believe, Kylian” She muttered, her voice quivering.

“Why?” He challenged her, his confusion mingled with frustration. “Why would you think that?”

“Because” her tears spilled over “You’ve been uncommitted forever”

“Well maybe that’s because the one person I would’ve liked to be committed to was in another country, wasting her time on some asshole” 

“Then why not now?” She spoke through tears. “I’ve been sleeping in your bed for a while now, Ky.”

“I was trying to give you time” His voice shook. “You broke up with that idiot literally 3 days before we hooked up. I  thought you weren’t ready”

He looked at her pleadingly, his eyes desperate. 

“I don’t know, Kylian” She laughed bitterly. “you said it yourself, don’t trust athletes”

She saw a tear falling down his cheek, and she was struck by the sight. She never thought the second time she’d see him cry, it would be because of her.

She weighed the possibility of making it work – a long distance relationship, with her in Madrid and him in Paris. They’d see each other infrequently, her being tied to Madrid with work and him to Paris by the relentless demands of football. They’d miss birthdays, anniversaries. She’d never be able to take him to an office Christmas party. Maybe she’d be able to go with him to things that mattered to him, like award ceremonies, but only because his career would take precedence over hers. She’d hear whispers about his potential infidelities, but she wouldn’t say anything. Until the resentment feels so suffocating it bubbles up, and she’d have no choice but to end it. It would happen, whether months away or years down the line. And then they’d have to cut each other off forever.  She didn’t want that. She loved him too much. She’d rather have some of him than nothing at all. Perhaps if she ended it now, their friendship could be salvaged. 

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kylian. I don’t think… I don’t think we should do this anymore”

They sat there silently for a few seconds. Then she heard a sniffle, and then the sound of his chair  scraping as he got up. She heard footsteps retreating, and then the sound of the apartment door open and slam shut. Only then did she let herself fall apart.

Her mother hurried into the room, looking very alarmed. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Maman” she choked out between sobs. “I need to book a flight back to Madrid”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Teas and Tisanes // G.W.

Request: Another request for my boy Georgie because I'm a needy bitch! Hahaha Set during OoTP, and they're at school and the whole Umbridge situation is really getting to the reader, and her anxiety spikes and she's struggling with sleeping and she hides her panic attacks from her amazing boyfriend (but he notices, just doesn't want to push!), until one night it gets so bad, she ends up sneaking into his room and sobbing in his arms and he soothes her and helps het sleep? just comfort and fluff!

A/N: Here’s your request! I’ve been working on it for so long so I hope it’s okay! Feedback is appreciated in any form whether it’s likes, reblogs or comments. As always, I hope you all like!

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, insomnia, nightmares and panic attacks BUT A LOAD OF COMFORT AND FLUFF AND A HAPPY ENDING.

Word count: 2.9k

The appointment of Dolores Umbridge as Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sent shockwaves through the entire student body.

They were all well aware of Umbridge’s presence – it was hard not to be, after all. With her constant decrees and her iron fist, Umbridge had become public enemy number one for the students at Hogwarts.  

You had always had issues with anxiety; struggling with panic attacks since your early teens, but since the appointment of Umbridge, you’re experiencing the attacks and the sleeplessness that follows much more often.

There felt like there was no end in sight as you sat up night after night; tiptoeing down to the common room, sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest, resting your cheek upon them. The usual heaviness settling over you as if greeting an old friend, and from then, you knew that the next few would days would be spent jumping at loud noises and such.

George realises something’s wrong a day into your panicked state. He makes the extra effort to walk you to every class; holding your hand that little bit tighter, silently letting you know that he is there – and he always will be. He’s loved you since Fifth Year, and now two years later in your Seventh, George is certain he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He’s well aware of how young you were, but his parents have loved each other since their Hogwarts years and who better to emulate than Arthur and Molly Weasley?

In a private moment in the Gryffindor common room, George pulls you to one side. One hand tangling with yours whilst the other brushes against your cheekbone. You lean into his touch; loving having him so close to you.

“You know I’m here, don’t you? If you ever need to tell me anything.”

“I know, I know,” You comment, burying your face in his chest.

His arms come to wrap around you tightly; his chin resting atop your head.

You hide the tears that threaten to fall. You just squeeze him that little bit tighter, thankful to know that he’s here and waiting for you to come to him.

-----

In your mind, Herbology is one of the calmest subjects offered at Hogwarts. Sitting in the greenhouse, you understand how young Neville Longbottom fell in love with the subject; deciding at such a young age to dedicate his future career too it.

You sit next to George throughout the lesson, and whilst it is one of the calmest subjects, it doesn’t stop your knee from jerking up and down for the majority of the lesson.

It seemed even in the safety of the glass greenhouse; your anxiety would not let up.

Thankfully, Professor Sprout has you up and about repotting Asphodel plants that have grown too big. It keeps you distracted for a time; your mind too busy on not damaging the valuable roots instead of on the crushing anxiety settling in your gut.

George flashes you wary glances throughout the class, and all you can do, is smile back at him with what you hope is reassurance. Each time you find yourself next to the red-headed teenager, you brush your hand against his gently. It takes everything within him not to pull you from the greenhouse and whisper reassuring words into your ear until you begin to believe them.

The bell rings, however. Standing from your seat, you look over to George where he remains seated.

“George?”

“I’ll follow you out, love. I need to ask Professor Sprout something.”

You smile smally at George before you leave the greenhouse. He promises he’ll meet you in the common room soon; you nod before grabbing your bag and heading out of the door.

George approaches Professor Sprout after the particularly long lesson. Usually, he’d be first out of the door, eager to finish his school day but he has more pressing matters on his hand.

“Professor?” George asks tentatively after waving Fred away.

“Mr. Weasley, is everything okay?” Professor Sprout questions, eyebrows reaching her hairline in surprise at the prankster still sat in his assigned seat.

“Everything’s fine with me. I was hoping you could help my girlfriend?”

“Whatever’s the matter with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“She’s suffering from a lot of anxiety and I think she’s having panic attacks as a result. She hasn’t come to me yet, but I was hoping you’d know of a plant or an herb that I could brew into a tea or potion to help for when she does come to me.”

Pomona Sprout blinks away the sudden wetness in her eyes. She had never seen this side of the Weasley twin, and it oddly touched her. She clears her throat before answering, “Lavender is the most helpful with issues of anxiety and panic.”

“Lavender gives her migraines I’m afraid. Is there anything else?”

Sprout purses her lips, thinking of alternatives, “Jasmine for relaxation. Peppermint boosts awareness. Chamomile helps to calm the nerves too.”

George grins; happy to have an answer, “Thank you, Professor. I’ll go find them now.”

“Don’t spend your money, Mr. Weasley. Take some from greenhouse but don’t tell anyone I helped except for Madame Pomfrey who’ll help you brew this into a tea.”

“Thank you, Professor.” George whispers; touched by the kindness lacing her words. Then and there, George resolves to take Herbology more seriously; to work on improving his grades and attendance in class.

Professor Sprout waves off his thanks as she hands him bundles of the plants, “Go on. I’ll tell Madame Pomfrey you’re on your way.”

George nods once again before leaving the greenhouses, heading straight to the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey already has her cauldron heating up when George arrives at the hospital wing.

“Pass me your ingredients here, Mr Weasley, and I’ll show you what you need to do.”

George hands over his bundle of plants and herbs; eager to know how to help you manage your anxiety.

Madame Pomfrey, for the next hour or so, goes over the method with George meticulously, ensuring that he won’t make any mistakes should he need to create this brew on his own. She highlights how long it needs to steep and the right amounts to add so the brew isn’t too overwhelming.

“How often would you say it needs to be drunk for it to be effective?” George asks as Madame Pomfrey starts to ladle the mixture into a container for George to take with him.

“One cup, every morning, Mr. Weasley. For it to be effective. It’ll stay warm until morning in the container I’ve given you, but if you have any troubles with it, come see me.”

George nods, taking the container from Madame Pomfrey. He thanks her repeatedly before rushing out of the hospital wing, eager to get the tea safely to his room where he can keep it safe until morning.

He lets himself give in to the growing excitement coursing its way through his body; he truly feels as if he has found one way to help you with the anxiety that paralyses you so often.

Upon his arrival at the common room, he rushes to his room where he stores the tea in an empty drawer of his bedside cabinet. He bounds back to the common room where he finds you sat at a corner table, working on another essay set by Umbridge; he knows exactly which one – the theory behind the practicality of the stunning charm. He won’t write it in protest of her abysmal teaching methods – final grades be damned.

He takes the seat across from you, “Love? How are you?”

You smile at him tiredly, “I’m tired and hating Umbridge.”

“How much sleep are you getting?” George asks; a concerned lilt to his voice.

“Enough,” You comment lightly, turning your attention back to your essay.

George sighs at your evasion, but the last thing he wants to do is push you into saying something you aren’t ready to say yet.

He leans back into his chair; watching your work silently for a while.

He leans back into his chair, and he hopes and hopes that the freshly brewed tea now hidden away his bedside cabinet helps you step away from the edge you’re teetering so precariously on.

-----

Even in sleep, the panic finds you.

It has you sitting up in bed, gasping for breath after breath; trying to leech enough oxygen out of the air to be able to properly inflate your lungs, but not enough is coming in and you’re panicking more. The tell-tale sign of tears dampens your cheeks and the sobs only add to not being able to breathe.

You throw your quilt from your body; not caring if it slides off the other side of the bed. You push your feet into your slippers; rushing out of your room without a second thought.

You climb the flight of stairs to the boy’s dormitory; your tears coming faster and faster with each step. The headache you would have in the morning was something to worry about then, but already, you didn’t look forward to it.

The door to the boy’s dormitory, thankfully, opens quietly as you tiptoe into the room. The only sounds being the echoing of snores from Fred and Lee Jordan.

You find George’s bed easily; having slept in here so many times before. You smile a watery smile as you gaze down at the sleeping teenager; he’s kicked off the covers and lies with an arm covering his eyes as his mouth hangs open. It’s not the least bit attractive, but all the same, you find your heart racing at the sight of him.

You kick off your slippers before padding to the small gap of mattress available.

George startles awake at the change of pressure; blinking bleary eyed as he looks for the culprit of change. He relaxes a little when he sees you but is immediately worried by the sight of your tears.

“Love?” is all it takes for them to start anew.

You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs in order to not wake any of others in his dorm. George frowns, pulling you into his lap, wrapping one arm tightly around your waist as the other runs through your hair. He rocks you gently back and forth; all the while hushing you quietly, whispering words of calm and reason into your ear.

Your sobs turn to sniffles, and you slowly start to feel your eyes get heavier and heavier, but you force them open out of the fear of experiencing another nightmare.

“Do you want to try and sleep?” George mumbles into the dark.

You shake your head. “Nightmare?” He asks.

You nod your head.

“Alright, we’re going to need to move, love.”

George pats your hip, getting you to shift further down the bed so he can grab his dressing gown and a hoodie for you to put on over your pyjamas.

Your slippers make their way back onto your feet as you shove your arms through George’s hoodie, pushing the sleeves up some so it fits comfortably.

You wait by the door as George grabs a container of some sort from his bedside cabinet then he reaches for your hand and leads you down to the common room.

The fire still roars as you take a seat on the couch in front of it. Your tears have dried now, and you scrub at your face with the sleeve of George’s hoodie to remove their stain from your cheeks.

George sets the container down on the small table before sitting down next to you; his arms already open for you to crawl into. His fingers doodle a calming pattern through the material of his hoodie and your breathing relaxes into a more acceptable rate. He presses kiss after kiss to your hair and for a while, he’s silent on the whole matter.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” You whisper.

“Are you ready to talk to me now?”

You nod, “It’s all been piling up on me, George and I thought I could cope but I can’t. Exams, Umbridge and the Dark Lord – I don’t think I’ve had a full night sleep since term started. And on top of that, I feel so awful with how I’ve been treating you; I am so sorry, George.”

George hushes you as you start to ramble faster, “Love… Love, calm down. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, George.”

“I accept your apology. I’ve been so worried; I didn’t think you wanted to come and talk to me.”

Your eyes widen, “No! I did! I did want to tell you, but I was so scared of what you’d think.”

“Love, anxiety and panic attacks are not something I’m unfamiliar with. Ginny suffered with both after what happened in her First year.”

You nod your head as you think back to the small girl now in her Fourth Year. You hadn’t started dating George yet, but the feelings were there. It was the disappearance of his youngest and only sister that had you talking to him for the first time; offering him any words of comfort that you could think of.

“I should have known, but I didn’t think.”

“That’s okay, love. The fact that you came to me now means everything.”

You nod your head, smiling apologetically at the red-haired teenager that you fell in love with at the age of fifteen.

Curiosity being your besetting sin though, you can no longer ignore the container sitting on the table, “George, babe, what’s in the container?”

“Oh!” George yells, only just remembering that it’s there. Then he blushes deeply, “It’s something I had made for you.”

“What?” You gasp.

George manoeuvres himself out of your grip; reaching for the container. He opens the latches, happy to see the steam rising from the tea. The smell of the chamomile calms his racing heart, and he turns to you with a shy smile – two cups already poured.

“George?”

“So after you left Herbology, I spoke to Professor Sprout. I asked her for her advice on some plants or herbs that can help with anxiety.”

Tears spring to your eyes, “You didn’t?”

“I did,” He nods, “She suggested Lavender at first, but I know how it gives you migraines just from being in its vicinity, so I asked her for some alternatives. Chamomile, peppermint and jasmine. Then I went to Madame Pomfrey who showed me how to brew this tea to help with your anxiety. She said to drink a cup a day and see how it helps.”

“Oh George,” You hiccup; tears falling fresh down your face, “This is everything. Thank you, my love.”

You lean forward to catch George’s lips in a long kiss. Tears mix with the laughter coming from your mouth. George can barely kiss you for the smile on your mouth; instead, kissing your teeth.

George pulls away with a laugh, handing you a cup of the tea. Immediately, you blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip. The tea warms your body and you settle back into the couch; George settling with you.

The scent of the chamomile has you feeling more relaxed, and just having the comfort of a warm drink in your hand, helps make you feel better.

As your grandmother would always say: everything can be solved over a cup of tea.

“What do you think?” George asks somewhat shyly.

“George, I think this is the best gift someone has ever given me.”

“Really?”

“Really,” You affirm, “You saw me struggling and instead of pushing me, you went out of your way to help find a solution for when things become too much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“I have an idea,” George comments lightly.

“Oh?”

“Let me know when you start to feel this low again? Or if you think you’re going to? I know how to make this tea now, and I’m sure mum wouldn’t mind growing these in her garden especially if I tell her what they’re for. She’ll be happy to help in any way she can-”

You break off George’s nervous rambling with a kiss, “What did I do to deserve you?”

He kisses you again, “Nothing, my love. You were yourself.”

“I promise though. To let you know.”

“Thank you,” He whispers.

Silence falls over the both of you; settling happily as you drink your tea, already feeling the calming effects.

With the heat of the fire and the feel of George’s chest pressed into your back from where he’s relaxed back to where he sat, your eyes start to droop once more.

No longer afraid of the nightmares that could come; no longer afraid to face the panic now that George has helped and will continue to help, you let your eyes slide shut.

The morning after brings with it sleepy smiles and a calm atmosphere. You kiss George good morning before stealing away back to your own dorm where you can get ready for the day.

On your way to the Great Hall for breakfast, you find George leaning on the wall opposite the entrance, waiting for you.

“How are you feeling?” George greets.

“Better,” You admit with a smile, “I’m glad we talked last night.”

“I am too.”

You nudge his side with your elbow, smiling happily for the first time in days, “Come on, Weasley. You can treat me to breakfast.”

“Love, nothing would make me happier.”

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

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @msmimimerton​

George Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

[hlizr50]

Update: Revelations

Chapter 3: Midnight Conversations

Finally an update for Revelations, where Hawke finally finds out about Poppy's experiences with Lord Mazeen and gets big ragey mad about it (because that's what we live for).

Read on AO3

Hawke stalked down the hall mentally checking off the list of things he needed to address with the fire-haired woman he had just caught on the Rise. Gods, where to even begin?

How did you learn to fight?

Why did you learn to fight?

Why were you on the Rise?

Are you absolutely mad?

Do you have no sense of self-preservation?

Do you own no proper clothing so you aren’t fighting Craven in a nightdress and satin slippers?

He’d taken a few minutes to rinse the blood from his armor and his face and out of his hair. The guard had begun his trek back to the Maiden’s chambers as soon as he’d stowed his broadsword.

Yes, they still had so much to discuss. Those questions – and others – swam through his mind as he reached the heavy oak doors. Using a surprising amount of restraint he raised a fist and rapped on the wood. After a few moments the door cracked open, revealing the lady’s maid – Tawny.

“The Maiden is sleeping –“

“Doubtful,” Hawke interrupted, amused at the untruth. He lowered his chin and gave the lady a pointed look, but she didn’t open the door wider. So he pushed through the opening, mouth quirking as Tawny stood agape. He kicked the door closed and fixed his gaze on Poppy, who’s jaw had also dropped in apparent astonishment. As if she should be surprised to see him there. “It’s time for that talk, Princess.”

The guard cast a glance toward Tawny, jerking his chin in the direction of the door. “Your services are no longer needed this evening.”

“You don’t have the authority to dismiss her!”

Hawke turned is gaze back to the Maiden whose pale cheeks and emerald eyes were alight with ire. He raised a brow. “I don’t? As your personal Royal Guard, I have the authority to remove any threats.” He barely suppressed a dark chuckle at the notion that Poppy’s lady’s maid could pose any real danger.

“Threats?” Tawny’s lips curled down. “I’m not a threat.”

“You pose the threat of making up excuses or lying on behalf of Penellaphe. Just like you said she was asleep when I know for a fact that she was on the Rise,” Hawke retorted. The maid inhaled sharply and whipped toward the Maiden.

“I have a feeling I’m missing an important piece of information,” she accused. An amused grin lifted the corner of Hawke’s lips.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you. And it wasn’t that important,” Poppy argued. Not that important? Oh how she wounded him.

He snorted. “I’m sure it was one of the most important things to have happened to you in a long time.”

“You have an over-inflated sense of involvement in my life if you really think that.”

“I think I have a good grasp on just how much of a role I play in your life,” Hawke deadpanned. Indeed. Her first kiss, the first time she’d even been touched by a man. But it was more than just the carnal urges that had brought them together that first night. He was, as far as he could tell, the only person who was willing to address what the Duke had been doing to her. He felt… drawn to her, felt a nearly overwhelming need to protect her inside this structure of stone and cruelty – one place where she was not able to protect herself.

“Doubtful.” She turned the word back on him and he could barely keep from rolling his eyes.

“I do wonder if you actually believe half the lies you tell.”

“I am not lying, thank you very much.” Gods, she was so stubborn.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Princess,” he breathed with a grin.

Poppy scowled. “Don’t call me that!” she exclaimed with a stomp of her foot. The guard lifted a brow at her, pouting his lips.

“Did that make you feel good?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Because the only other option is to kick you.”

There it was again, the need to fight roiling beneath her skin. That did something to him, sparking a flame deep in his belly. He chuckled. “So violent.”

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I’m your personal guard. I can be wherever I feel I am needed to keep you safe,” he stated. Hawke wished she weren’t so argumentative. He just wanted to talk to her, to understand her – dig deeper into her strength.

“And what do you think you need to protect me from in here?” She flung her arms out, gesturing to the empty room. “An unruly bedpost I might stub my toe on? Oh, wait, are you worried I might faint? I know how good you are at handling such emergencies.”

The Atlantian smirked. He knew she had been irritated that afternoon in the atrium, as the ladies in wait resorted to ever escalating heights of ridiculousness to garner his attention. He was like a shiny new toy, a handsome new Rise guard from the capital. If only Poppy knew that his attention was ever only centered on her.

“You do look a little pale. My ability to catch frail, delicate females may come in handy,” he countered, earning an enraged inhale. “But as far as I can determine, other than a random abduction attempt, you, Princess, are the greatest threat to yourself.”

“Well…” her lady’s maid drew out contemplatively. At least one of them was reasonable. “He kind of has a point there.”

“You’re absolutely no help,” Poppy spat.

Hawke softened his voice slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on her gaze that was green like Atlantian spring. “Penellaphe and I do need to speak. I can assure you that she is safe with me, and I’m sure that whatever I’m about to discuss with her, she’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Yes, she will, but that’s not nearly as entertaining as witnessing it.”

She was quite the spitfire, as well. The Maiden sighed.

“It’s okay, Tawny. I’ll see you in the morning.” She almost groaned.

Tawny was incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I have a feeling that if you don’t leave he’s just going to stand there and drain precious air from my room –“

“While looking exceptionally handsome,” Hawke interjected. “You forgot to add that.” Poppy rolled her eyes, but her lady’s maid giggled.

“And I would like to get some rest before the sun rises,” she finished. Likely story that was, coming from the woman who had just left her bed to fight monsters on the city walls.

Tawny heaved an exasperated sigh. “Fine,” she muttered. Hawke glanced at her as she moved to leave. “Princess.”

His lips curled up in a devilish smile. Spitfire, indeed.

“Oh, my gods,” Poppy groaned. He waited for the lady’s maid to exit through the adjoining door before showing his delight.

“I like her.” Hawke grinned.

“Good to know. What is it you wish to talk about that couldn’t wait until the morning?”

As he looked back to her his breath caught. He’d always known that she was a lovely specimen, but seeing her before him in that thin nightgown and red hair unconfined and falling wildly above her shoulders. She truly was magnificent.

“You have beautiful hair,” he murmured. She just blinked, and he could see that she hadn’t been expecting that. He was glad to have been able to take her by surprise.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Not exactly,” he shrugged and then allowed his eyes to very obviously roam over her barely-clothed body. The skin of her shoulders looked so soft, the dip at the base of her neck between her collar bones so inviting. The swells of her ample breasts were barely hidden, and the soft fabric clung loosely over her stomach and hips. And of course those pretty thighs and sculpted calves. She looked absolutely delectable, and the way the flush exploded over her flesh as she felt his gaze feel every curve caused his pants to tighten. She moved to grab the robe that was strewn across the bed and the corner of Hawke’s mouth curved devilishly.

And then she stopped, a challenge settling into those emerald pools as they met his. Ah, yes, she knew he’d already seen most of what her sleeping gown revealed, and a tremor of admiration rippled through him when she straightened, choosing not to hide herself from him.

“Was that all you were wearing under the cloak?” Hawke asked, balking at how utterly insane she must be. Truly.

“That’s none of your concern,” Poppy answered hotly.

“Feels like it should be.” His voice was raspier than he’d intended, throat tight from the vision before him. “I meant what I said that day. The Duke and the Lord told you that it was a lie, but it wasn’t. You are absolutely beautiful.” He noticed the widening of her eyes, the pace of her breathing increase. Again he had caught her off guard, although rage boiled through him with the knowledge that no one had allowed her to even consider the truth of her devastating beauty.

Poppy’s body seemed to sag all at once as she sighed and turned away from him, padding to one of the chairs by the fire. Hawke followed her with a burning gaze, unable to avoid how the slit in her nightgown revealed nearly her entire leg when she walked. Gods, she was going to be the end of him. He fucking knew it.

He followed and stood next to the chair across from her, watching as the reflection of the fire made her eyes appear to glow silver, how her body seemed to now bow into itself. She had fought so well – had knocked him on his ass – but it had only been two days since her punishment at the hands of Duke Teerman.

And Lord Mazeen.

The guard was determined that he would get answers this night. He would find out what the lord was doing in that room, what his interest in Poppy truly was. The oily, heavy feeling deep in his stomach told him that he wouldn’t like the answer.

But he knew he couldn’t just come out and ask, not considering how she’d try to deny the obvious torment even when he could see it with his own eyes and scent it on her skin. He would have to weave his way expertly through their conversation, through her defenses and over her walls.

“I’ve been thinking. About what you said.” Poppy turned her chin to him, the emeralds in her gaze finding him as he remained standing. Hawke was stunned that she had initiated the conversation, and even more taken aback by her quiet, steady tone. It was so unlike her.

“What I said?” he urged before gesturing to the chair. “May I?”

“You told me to think about the things they did. The Duke, the Ascended. To trust my instincts. And I,” she paused, turning her stare back into the fire, “I think Lord Mazeen had something to do with Malessa’s death.”

Hawke had settled into the chair, forearms resting on his knees, when his eyes snapped up. “Why do you think that?”

“He had… he had just come into the hall from that direction. Before she was discovered. He smelled of jasmine, and there was a petal left there. And he seemed… enthralled. He wouldn’t stop staring at her, with her skirts hiked up and her corset pulled down.” Poppy continued boring her eyes into the flames, as if the fire might give her the answers. He observed her with narrowing eyes, absorbing every word, every implication. “It felt so wrong, the way he stared at her. Nobody did anything to shield her, to give her even the smallest shred of dignity in death. But Lord Mazeen… he couldn’t seem to look away.” She looked down at her hands, then, alabaster fingers fidgeting in her lap. Hawke looked down at them, too, carefully considering her words. And only one thing continued to echo in his mind as the silence around them seemed to swallow him whole. One thought that needed only a spark to ignite a killing rage, one question that needed to be answered even though he knew it might boil him alive to hear it.

“How do you know what he smelled like?” Ice laced the words, a quiet promise of torment and death.

Hawke’s voice was usually warm, mirthful. He enjoyed their arguing, liked getting a rise out of her. But this question… the answer that could confirm that the lord – with his reputation for lust and degradation – was close enough to Poppy so she could smell him…

His shrewd eyes noticed everything, like the predator he had trained himself to be since his return to Solis. Her fingers stilled, jaw clenched, shoulders tensed. The redhead was immediately on guard, and Hawke understood with disturbing clarity that the lord would be a difficult subject.

“Poppy.” He whispered a warning. He could see the noiseless tells as she was trying to work through an explanation to feed him, to placate him. With a snarl he rose and strode the short distance between them. Grasping her chin between his thumb and finger he jerked her head to face him. “Don’t you dare lie to me.” Those green eyes flashed in promising defiance, then guttered to a dull, fathomless dark. And for a moment the Maiden before him was just a girl – lost, confused, alone, abused.

Gods, that look broke his heart.

Hawke released her chin and lowered to his knees in front of her, their eyes still locked on the other’s. He hesitated for a breath before reaching to cover her hands with his.

“I swore to protect you, Poppy. But if I am to do that, I need you to be completely honest with me. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what or who is causing you harm.”

She laughed bitterly, turning her gaze back to the flames. “Nobody can protect me from the Duke. From Lord Mazeen. The power they wield, the way they manipulate. I told you before – there’s nothing to be done.”

“Just because nobody has protected you doesn’t mean that I cannot,” he urged, nearly growling with her unwitting admission that the lord was yet another danger. His heart pounded in his chest as he murmured desperately, “What has he done to you?”

He could feel her racing heartbeat in her fingers, could hear it echoing through the hanging silence. His grip tightened, and Poppy’s spring green eyes slid to him.

“Please, Poppy. Let me help you.”

He was in too deep with her, he knew. But there was something about her, something he couldn’t understand. Sure, he could write it off as a decent man seeing a woman who needed help, who wouldn’t stand by while someone innocent was mistreated.

But it was more than that.

And after he’d seen her cutting down Craven on the Rise? A goddess of violence and beauty. He was irrevocably tangled in her web.

“The night Malessa died, Lord Mazeen stopped me in the hall coming from that direction. I had been on my way to the garden with Rylan, but he said he wanted to speak to me. Privately.” Poppy walked through her story with firm determination, nary a tremble detectable in her voice. “He pulled me into an alcove to the side of the hall and began his games. He knew that I knew that I didn’t have a choice. As the Maiden I am not supposed to linger or speak with anyone, but it would also be disrespectful not to participate in the conversation. One word to the Duke for either offense and…”

“And you get called to his study to satisfy his sadistic whims,” he finished the sentence after she trailed off, earning a terse nod. He hated it, hated them. He would kill the Duke for what he’d done, as slowly and painfully as he could.

“Lord Mazeen was taking the opportunity to… remind me… that his position was such that he was above reproach. He… he lifted his hand to my face, touched my cheek, my lips, down over my jaw and neck and… lower.”

Hawke breathed a curse, rage coiling tightly into a spring poised to snap. He squeezed her hands tighter but then let go, fearful that his grip may become painful as his ire grew. Instead he gripped the cushion on either side of her knees, trying to reign in his immortal strength as he kept his gaze fixed on eyes of shimmering green. Her throat bobbed.

“I tried to excuse myself and leave, but he pulled me back to him. His hand was still at my chest, my back against his front. I could… feel him.” Poppy took a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “I always knew he delighted in making me uncomfortable, but I don’t think I realized…”

She shook her head, finally breaking the link between their eyes as her lashes lowered. “That’s how I know he smelled of jasmine. I was able to run away when someone screamed – when they found Malessa.”

Hawke looked down at his hands, knuckles white has his fingers dug into the plush forest green upholstery. Would Lord Mazeen have dared to go further? It wasn’t much of a leap from his slimy touch to further violation. His vision blurred, his chest a chasm of disturbing realizations and maddening what-ifs. He only knew that he was still breathing because he could hear it – labored, sawing breaths. He grounded himself by focusing on her face – the raised pink skin of the Craven scars, the full luscious lips, the smooth porcelain of her flesh that he reached out to touch. Fingers traced over her cheek and jaw before pushing gently under her chin, her eyes raising to look back at him.

“And what about when you are summoned by the Duke. Is he always there, too?”

Poppy’s breathing stuttered, eyes widening as they lined with silver.

“I told you I heard everything, Poppy,” he murmured as his thumb drifted over her skin. “What was he doing there?”

When a tear escaped over her lashes, it was like the world shifted under his feet. When had everything become so fucked up and twisted? He’d always known the Ascended were monsters, but knowing that those two beasts took such great pains to back the Maiden into a corner, with no possible way to escape their sadistic attention… It made his stomach roil.

Slowly, so she would not be caught off guard, he lifted his fingers from her chin to wipe away the droplet that slowly fell over her cheek. Taking a calming breath, he encouraged, “You can trust me, Princess. I know it’s hard to do, and I know that I have only been at your side for a few days. But it is abhorrent that nobody in this Godsdamned castle has tried to shield you from these predators and I will not let it stand a moment longer. I swear it to you, Penellaphe. With my sword and my life, I vow to protect you. Not the Maiden,” he spat, “not the Duke or the Duchess or any of the lords and ladies, not this Godsforsaken castle or anyone else in it. I said your name. I promised you.”

She stared at him, expression calculating, weighing his declaration. Hawke pulled his hand away, resting it against her knee. He braced himself as she swallowed, preparing to speak.

“Lord Mazeen began taking a special interest in Duke Teerman’s lessons a few years ago. He likes to watch.” The redhead paused, gaze returning to her hands. She had started wringing her fingers again when she continued, “The Duke requires me to disrobe to my waist. He prefers to strike bare skin.”

Holy fucking gods. Hawke forced himself to breathe, keeping his eyes trained on her reddening cheeks and dreading that she had more still to tell.

“I lean against his desk to support myself, and in my state of undress I will hold myself up with one arm and try to cover myself with the other as much as I can,” her voice cracked. He could feel the heat wafting from her skin, face flushing with shame. He never could have prepared himself for how complete her degradation had been at the Duke’s cruel hands. “The last time,” she whispered, “it wasn’t enough for Lord Mazeen to just sit there. He… stood in front of me. Leered at me. He pulled my arm away from my chest and held my hands to the desk… so he could look his fill as the Duke took the cane to my back.”

Hawke was frozen, staring at Poppy’s bowed head. He could smell the salt of her tears as they silently coursed down her cheeks, glowing gold in the firelight. Gritting his teeth, nostrils flaring, a snarl rose from his throat. His head was empty of all thoughts, save for the need to massacre the monster. But the shimmering of her crimson locks grounded him, and he lowered his forehead to her knees as he struggled to calm his racing, raging heart. Air hissed from between his teeth, the sound of his ragged breaths roaring in his ears, and he could feel his fingernails clawing through the fabric that covered her cushioned seat.

“Poppy,” he groaned desperately. “I need you to talk. About anything else. I need – I need to find a way to calm down.” The guard’s shoulders tremored with coiled rage.

“Hawke?” Her soft voice pierced through the night. “I don’t understand.”

“The only thing keeping me from finding that worthless pile of refuse and tearing him limb from limb is knowing that I can’t protect you if I’m swinging from the gallows,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “Please, Poppy. I need–“

Any remaining air whooshed out of his lungs when he felt timid, trembling fingers combing through the ends of his hair. Immediately his muscles relaxed, shoulders bowing in. When he lifted his gaze she snatched her hand back, cradling it to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. The corner of his mouth tipped up.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Poppy’s breath caught, but her eyes stuck on his. Green, like an Atlantian spring. They were beautiful and clear and shining. Hawke felt like he couldn’t look away, and he wondered for a moment – maybe even hoped – if she felt just as entranced as he did.

“What is?”

“How it feels like I’ve known you longer. You feel that, too,” he answered. That gentle tickle of her fingers in his hair, a caress of care and a promise of… whatever this was. It was as if they had always shared such familiarity. But then her hands dropped into her lap, eyes following. “Why were you on the Rise?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

Hawke’s grin grew. “Your motivation wasn’t. At least, tell me that. Tell me what drove you to go up there to fight them.” She paused, casting her stare into the fire as she contemplated.

“The scar on my face. Do you know how I got it?” she asked.

Of course he did. It had been one of the many, many things Vikter had seen fit for him to know. “Your family was attacked by some Craven when you were a child.”

“Vikter filled you in?” Poppy smiled slightly, but it didn’t crawl into her eyes. “It’s not the only scar.”

Hawke didn’t respond to that, but he mentally scowled. More scars meant even less perfection, more opportunities for the Duke and the rest of the Ascended to remind her that she was somehow less. It grated at him.

The Maiden told the story of her family. How the town only had a short wall to protect them, but that it hadn’t seen Craven in decades. That seemed odd. And then how someone had somehow saved her and her brother.

“I woke up days later, back in the capital. Queen Ileana was by my side. She told me what had happened. That our parents were gone.”

He’d had to carefully school his features at the mention of the Blood Queen. To Poppy she had been a guardian, someone she could trust. To Hawke she had been a nightmare. He hoped to the gods that Poppy would understand one day. Regardless, he understood what it was to lose people that he loved. And for her to have been so young. It was truly tragic.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I truly am. It’s a miracle you survived.”

“The gods protected me. That’s what the Queen told me. That I was Chosen. I came to learn later that it was one of the reasons the Queen had begged my mother and father not to leave the safety of the capital. That… that if the Dark One became aware of the Maiden being unprotected, he’d send the Craven after me. He wanted me dead then, but apparently, he wants me alive now.” She laughed bitterly as Hawke quietly analyzed what she’d said. The implication of the Dark One in her family’s attack stood out to him, as he had never been able to control the Craven, much less send them to kill an innocent red-haired girl.

“What happened to your family is not your fault, and there could be any number of reasons for why they attacked that village,” he urged softly as he reached up to tuck a loose tendril of fire behind her ear. “What else do you remember?”

“No one… no one in that inn knew how to fight. Not my parents, none of the women, or even the men. They all relied on the handful of guards,” she explained. It wasn’t necessarily surprising – yet another way the Ascended were able to keep the mortals under their heel. “If my parents knew how to defend themselves, they could’ve survived. It might’ve been just a small chance, but one nonetheless.”

It made so much sense. So much so that Hawke scolded himself for not understanding sooner. “And you want that chance.”

“I won’t… I refuse to be helpless.”

“No one should be.”

And it struck him, then, the double meaning behind his reply. She had taken the steps to ensure that she could defend herself. She was highly skilled, enough to have knocked him on his ass. And brave to the point of recklessness. And yet, inside that hellish study, she may as well have been any lady in wait – with no skill or training or hope of escaping whatever the Duke planned for her. It was so, so wrong.

“You saw what happened tonight. They reached the top of the Rise. If one makes it over, more will follow. No Rise is impenetrable and even if it were, mortals come back from outside the Rise cursed. It happens more than people realize,” Poppy rambled. The guard tamed his expression, careful not to react to yet another unintended confession. He had heard rumors that the child of the gods would assist in providing a dignified passing to those who had been bitten. A day or two ago he never would have believed that it was the Maiden, that the chosen one would commit treason to ease the suffering of those cursed. But now… he truly wasn’t surprised. “At any moment, that curse could spread in this city. If I’m going down-“

“You’ll go down fighting,” he finished for her. When she nodded he mirrored it. “Like I said, you’re very brave.”

“I don’t think it’s bravery,” she muttered. “I think it’s… fear.”

“Fear and bravery are often one and the same. It either makes you a warrior or a coward. The only difference is the person it resides inside.” And he knew which one she was, without question. Hawke leaned back, settling himself to sit before her on the ornate rug. It took her longer than usual to respond.

“You sound so many years older than what you appear,” she answered quietly. Gods, if only she knew.

“Only half the time. You saved lives tonight, Princess.” He leaned his forearms upon his knees and peered up at her.

“But many died.”

“Too many,” he agreed. “The Craven are a never-ending plague.” Poppy sighed.

“As long as an Atlantian lives, there will be Craven.” It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. He would have to be as patient as he could for her to see the truth. But that didn’t mean he had to listen to the slander.

“That is what they say,” he answered dryly, turning golden eyes to the fireplace. “You said that more come back from outside the Rise cursed than people realize. How do you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” she offered, voice slightly higher than normal. He could hardly suppress a grin. She really was a terrible liar.

“It’s not spoken about a lot, and when it is, it’s only whispered.” Hawke’s eyes drifted back to find blazing, defiant green.

“You’re going to need to be more detailed.”

He lifted a brow. He already had her backed into a corner, but if she insisted… “I’ve heard that the child of the gods has helped those who are cursed. That she has aided them, given them death with dignity.” The guard studied the Maiden, mussed hair waterfalling over her shoulders and burning against her ivory skin. Her body was rigid with tension, an easy indication that she had been caught. And yet all he could really think about was how her flesh would feel beneath his fingers, against his lips.

“Who has said such things?”

Hawke shrugged. “A few of the guards. I didn’t believe them at first, to be honest.” And that was the gods-honest truth.

“Well, you should’ve stuck with your initial reaction They’re mistaken if they think I would commit outright treason against the Crown,” Poppy huffed, earning a snort from her guard. She lifted a defiant eyebrow in question.

“You’re a terrible liar, Princess.” Indeed, it was any wonder she was ever able to placate the Duke and Duchess. He continued before she could argue, “And I understand why you would. Those men speak of you with such awe that before I even met you, I half expected you to be a child of the gods. They would never report you.” He wondered for a moment if there truly was more to her, somehow. That she could be beautiful and courageous and strong and also… more.

“That may be the case,” she retorted, “but you heard them talking about it. Others could hear them, as well.”

“Perhaps I should be clearer in what I said about hearing rumors. They were actually speaking to me,” Hawke explained, fixing her with a pointed golden stare. “Since I too have helped those who are cursed die with dignity. I did so in the capital and do so here, as well.” Her plump lips parted in surprise, and he desired so badly to touch them with his own.

“Those who come back cursed have already given all for the kingdom. Being treated as anything other than the heroes they are, and being dragged in front of the public to be murdered is the last thing they or their families should have to go through.” Hawke lifted himself from his seat on the floor, brushing invisible lint from his breeches as he basked in the light of the surprise shining in her emerald eyes. Rendered speechless. How unusual. “I’ve kept you up long enough.” With a dip of his chin he started toward the heavy wooden door. He had made it a few paces before her voice called to him.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He paused and turned back to her, but she was still facing the fire. All he could see was the fiery mane above the back of her chair.

“Of course.”

“I know that what Duke Teerman and Lord Mazeen do to me is wrong. I know that. And I know that I am trained, and that I could fight back – but I don’t, because it would be catastrophic for Vikter. But…” Her voice trailed off a moment as she seemed to search for words. “I… I could have stopped Lord Mazeen. I could have cut off his most precious, private possession when he tried to touch me. But I didn’t.” Another long, heavy pause. She turned her head so he could see her profile, a silhouette before the flames.

“Does that… what does that say about me?”

Hawke’s shoulders sagged, heart cracking yet again. “The only thing it says, Poppy, is that you are in an impossible situation. That you are locked so tightly in a cage that they have given you no hope for escape. And yet you still stretch your limbs to protest it, in your way, and with great and grave potential consequence. And that is extremely brave.” The guard ran a hand through his unruly dark hair. “And the fact that you bear those consequences – not willingly, but to protect someone you care about – is perhaps even more courageous. You should feel no shame for that.”

With a nod she turned back to the fire. He was hopeful that he had convinced her that it meant nothing beyond the notion that the Ascended were monsters, and that they did nothing but abuse her and use her as a symbol to keep the citizenry in their thrall.

“Get some rest, Princess.” His paces carried him to the door, and as it creaked open under his had he paused again. “And wear better shoes the next time you go out onto the Rise. And thicker clothing. Those slippers are likely to be the death of you, and that dress… the death of me.”

[delightfulstarlightparadise]

Stardew Valley imagine Reader/ ?????

Possibly Sebastian... but who knows.

-So, I have been playing Stardew Valley for hundreds of hours in just few weeks and finally had de courage to write my own imagine. (Nice, I get off the game to write about it).

-I will avoid pronouns as much as I can, but when necessary I will use they/them. I hope everyone feels included.

-English is not my main language, but I am doing my best.

- I will, sometimes, bring some fanarts I made too.

Let’s go <3

The slow pace of the bus makes you feel dizzy. You look outside and see the most lively and green landscape you had ever seen, and along with it you feel the memories of old times coming to your mind.

Those days in the farm seem so far away now, playing with animals along your cousins, running around the crops, swimming in the rivers and lakes, fishing... and in the late evening sitting by a fire with your grandpa to hear stories about the valley.

Stardew. Stardew Valley, a place cherished in your memories.

You never imagined you would be going back to that valley to live in the farm from your childhood, taking with you just a small luggage. You are tired, sad and broke. Your wrists still hurt, a gift from hours typing in a computer of Joja corporation.

You don’t know how everything went so wrong. As a kid you always wanted to be a veterinarian or maybe a biologist, but you ended up in that corporative job, making thousands of reports that seemed the same one and attending meetings to talk about nothing. If you told yourself, that bright kid full of hope and wonder, that you would grow up to become such a bitter adult, you wouldn’t have believed it then.

At least you had the courage to leave.

You hold tight in your hands the letter from your grandfather, attached to it as a last light of hope that moving to Paradise farm can help you start new.  

The bus stops and the driver asks you if you need help with your baggage, but you decline. You didn’t bring much.

You stand beside the bus sign and feel the soft breeze from the valley, listening to the birds chirp. Those memories seem more alive inside you.

“Hey! You arrived!”

A friendly call takes you out of your thoughts as a ginger woman comes towards you with the nicest of smiles.

“I was worried that the bus would be delayed but you are just in time!” she says, taking your baggage from off your hands before you can say anything. “I am Robin, the town’s capenter, you must be the new farmer! Lewis asked me to pick you up!”

“Hi...” you stutter, shaking her hand.” I am y/n.”

“You caused quite a commotion here at Pelican. It is not everyday we receive a new villager, a new farmer, then!” she says, taking your luggage to a small red pick up truck parked beside the bus stop.

“Actually... I am not a farmer. I am just going to live in the farm.” you say a little unease about how friendly she is. You are used to the apathic city people.

“Well, I guess living at Paradise makes you a farmer now.” She says a giggles.  

As you take a dirt road, she continues to speak to you cheerfully.

“I just came by truck because I thought you would be bringing much more stuff. Your farm is actually very close.”

“I... I don’t own much.” you reply. “WHAT THE …!?”

When she parks by the gates your wonderful memories and hopes connected to Paradise farm seem to shatter. The landscape is taken by weeds and all the structures you remember seem to have aged twice the time you had been away. Trees had outgrown the charming paths or rock in which you and your cousins used to race each other, the little ponds where you used to fish were surrounded by twigs and bushes of weeds. The sight of the land was a mix of leaves, twigs and boulders.

“Not much of a Paradise anymore, hun? But I guess with a little effort you can bring it back to it’s bright.” Robin says as she notices the disappointment in your face.

“I guess...” you say, dispirited.

She takes you to the old cottage and the view is not much better. The wood seems a little rotten and cracked, you are afraid of what you might meet inside.

“Y/n! I haven’t seen you since you were this little!” an elder man comes out of the cabin and waves at you.

You think you remember him. Probably one of your grandfather’s friends. He had many, unlike you.

“Oh, I guess you were too little to remember me. I am Lewis, Pelican Town’s Mayor. You know, your granpa and I used to be friends since we were very young and this farm was full of coops, animals, fruit trees...”

Robins ahams to him to call his attention to your discomfort about the current situation of the farm.  

“Oh... I mean... Sure you will do a good work of taking care of your grandfather’s property. Anyway, I am here to welcome you and say that whatever you need, you can call me and that If you have anything to sell to the city or export, you jut need to put it into that box, I will gladly take it and return to you with the money.” he says, in a very mayorish manner.

“Thanks.” you reply.

You are not very good with people. Maybe that is why you ended up behind a computer job.

“It is almost lunchtime!” Robin exclaims, she is so spirited. “So why don’t you put your bag in the cottage and come have lunch with my family? After that one of my children can show you around town. My son Sebby is almost your age, I am pretty sure you two will get along.”

“I... I don’t want to bother.” you reply scratching the back of your neck, uncomfortable.

“It was not an invite, it was a demand!” Robin says, and you can see the seriousness printed on her eyes.

You leave your bag beside the old bed in the cottage and follow her to the truck. After a small ride, you find yourself in front of a big house in the mountains.

“I think I have been here before.” You say, as you look at the lake slowly flowing near you.

“Probably when I was still building the house. I remember you and your grandfather’s other kids swimming around the lake. I think Sebby used to play with you sometimes. I guess if you remember each other.” she says.

“I surely don’t remember that.” you say, pointing at a giant boulder pile beside the lake’s source.

“Oh, that. That is the result of a landslide provoked by Joja Mart.”

“JOJA MART?!” you screech.

The simple mention of the company’s name makes you sick to your stomach.

“Yeah, they say they are working to get it removed, but they wouldn’t have to if they had not caused it in first place. I bet they were exploding the mines in search of gold, like the leeches they are.”

“Probably.” you agree to Robin’s inflated discourse.

When you get in the house, you hear the sound of a small explosion, followed but smoke and a funny smell.

“Oh Yoba! Dad, are you ok?! I guess I overcharged the batteries again!” you hear a girl’s voice and then a fire extinguisher being activated.

“There can’t be a fucking minute of peace in this house.” a guy comes from downstairs complaining. He is wearing a hoddie and has headphones hanging on his neck.

“Sebastian, language!” Robin says.

He turns to you and for a moment seems completely astonished to see you there, but quickly turns back to the apathic face he had on before.

“Hi honey! Maru and I were just doing a little experiment, but it got a bit out of hand... Oh, hello!” a man comes out of the room where the smoke is coming from.

“Y/n, this is my son Sebastian and that over there is my husband Demetrius.” Robin introduces you as you wave shyly.

A girl comes out of that same room. She is cleaning her glasses worried, but as she glances at you, her face shines with a bright smile such as Robin’s. She runs towards you and starts shaking your hand with both of hers, excitedly.

“Hello! I am Maru, and you must be the new farmer!”

“I... han... not a farmer actually. I will just live in the farm.” you reply uneasy.

“Oh, but I guess living in the farm will make you a farmer, then.” Demetrius says and giggles.

“I am going back to the basement.” Sebastian mumbles taking the direction of the stairs.

But Robin stops him by grabbing the back of his hoddie.

“Sebastian, it is lunchtime, so why don’t you go to the kitchen and put on the table for our guest, hmn?” she says in a way only a mother could.

He grunts and heads to the kitchen.

Maru leads you there by the shoulders while asking you:

“So you are from Zuzu city, right? How is life there?”

You can see Sebastian turning to you with the corner of his eyes when he hears it, he seems a little interested.

“Busy.” you answer.

She keeps staring at you with a smile as if she is waiting for the development of your answer, and does it until you feel uncomfortable enough to either attend her expectations or flee.

“Well... it is crowded. People are unfriendly, time seems to go by very fast...” you say, cracking your fingers anxiously. “There are more malls, I guess.”

“Interesting!” she replies with that same smile.

“So, you will be now taking care of Paradise farm, hm?” Demetrius says while sitting down next to his daughter. “I guess you will be having a lot of work taking care of all those weeds.”

“I actually don’t intend to work as a farmer.” you reply.

“Oh really? What kind of work do you do, y/n?” he asks gently.

“I am a reviewer. I mean, I was. I used to take care of paperwork, write reports on data and... you know, spend the day in front of a computer. I think I will find me a job to do this, but from here.” you answer.

“Sebby here is a computer geek, too! You two will get along well.” Robin says while serving you more food than you think you can eat.

“I am a programmer, mom.” he mumbles, facepalming.

“You should not be afraid of trying your hand at farming though.” Demetrius says. “Darling! This food is DE-LI-CI-OUS! As I was saying, this land has very productive soil and the town is an exporter, I am sure you can make some profit by selling whatever you produce. Also there is much foraging around you can pick and sell, there aren’t much people who take their time on doing that. The Salmonberry season will be here soon.”

“Thanks honey!” Robin replies with a giggle. “I am pretty sure y/n has it settled for the computer job.”

“Actually, I am pretty broke.” you think while taking a bite of Robin’s food. It is really good.

REALLY GOOD. You can’t remember the last time you had a homemade meal and the thought of it brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, dear! Is it too spicy?” Robin asks, serving you a cup of juice.

You shake your head negatively trying to wipe the tears, ashamed. Sebastian and Maru stare at you, concerned, they even exchange a glance of worry and then, look back at you.

“No,no I... I have... a gland problem, I tear up sometimes... when... I am... eating?” you stutter, sobbing a little.

“I think I have heard about that. “ Demetrius says. “Maybe you should pay a visit to doctor Harvey in the town. He is a very good doctor.”

You nod as you continuously take bites of that wonderful food. It is so good to finally have a meal that isn’t pizza or a cold burger.

…

While having lunch you discover that Demetrius is a scientist. You take great pleasure in listening to him talking about how diverse is the Stardew biome. He also talks about minerals, the land’s properties and many other scientific things while Maru stares at him like she is the proudest daughter in the world. You feel like you would look at him the same if he was your father.  

Sebastian rolls his eyes more times than you can count and when he is finally done with the whole “family and guest lunch” thing, he stands up and says:

“I am going out for a smoke.”

“Actually Sebby, could you please take y/n to get to know the town?” Robin says while she collects the dishes.

“Mom, I think you better ask Maru, she is better suited for these kind of things.” He whispers at her, but you overhear.

“Oh well, so maybe you wanna stay and take her turn in washing the dishes?”

You swear you can hear him cursing while he passes beside you and makes a sign with his hand for you to follow him. You feel unease, but Robin points at him and shakes her hands indicating for you to go.

Sebastian takes you outside, to the garage and hands you a helmet.

“What?” you say.

“What?” he replies while putting on a helmet himself. “We’re taking the bike”

“Bike?” you ask.

Sebastian uncovers an old-fashioned bike and gets ready to sit on it, but you stop him by giving him back the helmet.

“No, no, no.” you say, gulping your breath. “I can’t, sorry.”

“What? Aren’t you from the city?” he says.

“I can’t ride a bike.” you say, shaking your head frenetically.

“You just sit down and hold on, I am the one doing the riding.”

“Look, you don’t really have to do this. I will just go home and you can tell Robin I had to... do something else.”

“You don’t know my mom.” he says while taking off the helmet. “Ok, wait here, I will grab the truck keys.”

Sebastian doesn’t take long to come back with the keys and the both of you get inside the truck. He lowers his window and immediately puts a cigarette in his lips.  

“Do you mind?” he asks you.

“Actually, can I have one?”  you reply feeling awkward.

“You smoke?” he says while rising towards you the pack with a cigarette extended.  

“Only when stressed.” you say while letting him light it up for you.

“Yeah. Me too.” he says starting the engines.

Next part here:

(I liked the sketch so much better, so here it is)

[twisted-nox-sidus]

Hello there, I’ve just read your headcannon of Strix trolling the Octavinelle trio. LOL. Thank you for the laughs. Since April fool’s day is coming. If you have the time, can you do a scenario where Strix trolls the other dorms with the help of her dream eaters. If you can include Malleus, it’s okay. If not, I understand. Thank you and stay safe.

Anon continued: Hi there, during my previous post, I was asking whether or not Malleus would join Strix’s trolling in trolling the other dorms since April Fools is coming. Oh! I almost forgot, can Grim and Lilia join with Strix in trolling. Thank you and have a good day or night.

Oof, doing six other dorms is a lot in one post, so I’ll keep things condensed, hence the headcanon format (sorry if you really wanted a scenario version!). I see Malleus and Lilia as types to watch for entertainment than directly take part in it. Strix left Grim out of her plans since he himself is chaotic already. It was time for her to assume the lead and let it out, at least for the day.

It’s come to my attention that I like doing headcanons of Strix and her dream eaters, so I plan on doing more headcanons/scenarios involving the pesky but cute spirits. They don’t stop here so look forward to it! Happy April Fool’s~

Heartslabyul

Heartslabyul could handle strange things more so than any other dorms. Just not anything against the crimson tyrant’s 810 rules.

“WHO PAINTED THE ROSE MAZE BLUE?!!!”

Riddle’s face fumes as red as his hair. Not a single trace of red is found! There was only blue as far as the eye can see.

Deuce, Trey, and Cater were rendered speechless by the sight. Just...wow. They’re not even dreading the culprit’s fate at Riddle’s mercy; instead they’re impressed with the feat. Such commitment!

Meanwhile Ace was resisting from bursting in a fit of laughter. That madwoman actually did it! She even casually remarked about doing such a feat but no one had paid her words seriously. Bravo! Bra-freaking-vo!

Ah, speaking of...

“You have a lot of nerve showing your face, Strix! You must be begging for your head to roll! This is defying the Queen of Hearts herself! Repaint every single rose -by yourself- until all is red!”

“Sheesh, let’s not get a rage stroke. You’re still so young...” Strix nonchalantly yawns. “I wanted to surprise you so I spent the whole night painting every rose blue. Of course, I had a helping hand with me.”

She vaguely gestured to the dream spirit hiding behind her leg. Me Me Bunny’s ears act as another pair of hands, and this cutie is quite dextrous; it also knows “bun fu”.

“Oh you surprised me all right. [Surprise] is only an understatement!”

A sigh. “You don’t get it, Riddle. Think of it this way. Blue makes the red stand out. Then the only red rose we’ll see...is you, my queen.”

She leans forward to slip a strand of Riddle’s velvet red locks between her fingers and graze her lips on them. Her half-lidded bright blue eyes gaze into his steel gray pair. Perhaps she was still under the drowsy spell to comprehend what she was doing, though a part of her was knowingly teasing.

Riddle stared wide-eyed. His cheeks flushed in a different meaning this time.

She pulls back to give space and turns the other way.

“Plus, contrary to your words, I think you actually like my surprise. It’s certainly not boring. And it’ll only be for today.”

Strix flashed a lazy grin his way.

“Happy April Fool’s~”

Savanaclaw

Strix’s dream eaters are quirky, adorable, and colorful spirits. Jack often questions their capabilities. What can little prey do to the brawny hotheads of Savanaclaw?

A lot.

One day Strix was on patrol. Jack had been keeping an eye as she works part-time as the “cleaner” of Savanaclaw. Just how much power can she draw from these familiars? It was a test for Strix to see if she can meet the standards of a respectable magician in this academy.

Meanwhile Ruggie anticipates something interesting will happen. Strix’s dream eaters are an enigmatic force to reckon with. He himself certainly doesn’t plan on confronting them since that’s not what he signed up for as vice dorm leader.

The hyena snickered his trademark laugh. What mayhem will the prefect student do?

Strix had to break up a fight for the nth time this week. Things happened, and one of the students said something that forced Strix to deal her hand.

Instead of commanding her eagle and hawk to attack, she summoned a single chubby cat/dog hybrid with stubby legs. It doesn’t look like a clever beast.

Aww, look at it roll around and paw at air for affection while its pink tongue stuck out. They’re going to die of cuteness.

Strix blankly stared ahead. “Meow Wow... Balloon.”

Said spirit stood on all four legs and stopped wagging. Every onlooker watched as it inflated in size. It continued to grow and grow until no one could see the light of day. It was then everyone thought it’d be wise to run from immediate vicinity.

However it was too late when Meow Wow deflated in puffy smoke and sparkles, drowning its victims along with the plume of clouds.

Jack and Ruggie watched from a platform above where they could see the area in action.

“Magic familiar tamers have unique strengths...” Was what Jack concluded. A hawk and eagle’s cries pierce the sky.

Ruggie rubbed the back of his head. “Let’s be real; in this world, birds are a real hassle. As long as you don’t make an enemy of them...”

Strix was already gone by the time Meow Wow inflated. Her eagle dream spirit now willingly massive in size acted as her glider and transporter. Strix’s body dangled as she clung tightly to her Eaglider’s talons until it settled her on the balcony of a dorm room. Eaglider flew to patrol elsewhere alongside Halbird, the hawk dream eater.

Sitting on a chair was Leona playing with a chess piece in his hand. A chessboard was already set up on the table, the black side facing him.

“Enjoying your job, aren’t you.”

Strix allowed a sheepish smirk. She’s not exactly proud to engage in cleaning up people’s messes, but there’s the thrill she finds in it. “To be honest, yeah. I think I might be a sadist at this point...” She mumbled under her breath and continued, “Sorry for the wait. Let’s start.”

Scarabia

“Jamil, a rainbow fish is swimming through the skies!”

“Nonsense. There are no aquatic animals in Scarabia. You probably just saw a magic carpet.”

“Then how come no one told me magic carpets can shoot lasers??”

Before Jamil can decipher whatever the hell Kalim meant by that, the sapphire blue skies turned murky. No, that wasn’t the work of clouds.

To everyone’s bewilderment, they bared witness to a school of colorful fish roaming freely through the air and above the whole dormitory aimlessly.

Lasers shoot from their mouths and make contact with the other to cause sparks to erupt in colorful fireworks. So that’s the laser part...

Kalim’s eyes sparkled. “It’s like the aquariums at Octavinelle, but airborne! *gasp* I just got a great idea for the next party!”

“For the nth time Kalim no more parties this month!”

*whistle* “Fin Fatale’s actually enjoying this. Who’d knew?”

The two boys turn to see Strix approaching them causally.

Strix grinned. “Bet you don’t see this in Scarabia often.”

Pomefiore

Pomefiore students have a tendency to look into a mirror at almost any given opportunity. They recognize every detail of their their highly bestowed beauty, lest they would fail to maintain perfection.

Imagine their surprise when a carbon copy of themselves suddenly replaces their reflection, except in a horrendous eye-burning color palette that screams “clown”

Turns out the copy really is a clown creature with a large tongue. Jestabocky simply loves to prank people at the expense of their reactions, and it took a liking to Pomefiore students.

Strix giggled in amusement, much to Vil’s chagrin. Standing next to the man was a Vil duplicate, except in that hideous orange carrot and lemon yellow palette that made his eyes want to bleed. Of course no one could ever compare to the original, especially a circus mimic at that.

Rook was examining his blood red and ice blue carbon copy. What a refreshing change of pace! “Your dream eaters never cease to amaze, little owl.” “Don’t hunt them for sport though!”

Epel was staring at his clone awkwardly. Cotton candy hair and yellow eyes are an odd combination. And would it stop grinning uncharacteristically like that? It’s freaky.

Strix looks beside her. Teal green hair, violet eyes, and an orange to yellow uniform color scheme. It’s horrendous, but that’s where the fun lies. Her dream eaters don’t know the meaning of color coordination.

Ignihyde

Strix thinks a surprise here and there in the shut-in dorm leader’s life ought to keep him on his toes. She knows how much Ortho wants him to come out his room, and so she’ll deliver just that.

Idia recieved an alert message as he was browsing the net. A window pops up displaying the security camera footage across the entire Ignihyde dorm.

To his horror, rainbows invaded the cameras everywhere he looked. In each one there was a massive bipedal colorful panda doing something to the students behind the screen. One was lifting a student to the air, another swinging and cradling, and others generally giving bear hugs to any soul -dead or living- that enter their vision.

Though the pandas are harmless and students are unharmed (some seem to enjoy it while others are bewildered in shock), Idia was quaking in his chair. If he walks out the room he’ll be crushed by the pandas’ mercy! (And by rainbows and cuteness!)

He zoomed in one of the footages. A Kooma Panda held a sign directly to the camera.

[YOU’RE NEXT]

This is nightmare fuel! Nightmares, he tells you!

Just as he spun around to hide and cower in the safety of his blankets, he had failed to notice the looming shadow over his flaming head prior to this very moment.

There was the same panda. In his bedroom. Staring right into his soul.

It smiled. (I reread this part and lowkey I realized I was writing a FNaF fanfic for a moment wut)

Idia wheezed. How did it get here?! Was it capable of teleporting?!

The shut-in had never ran for the door to the outside world with such eagerness in his life up to now. He slammed the door open and was about to hit the breeze when suddenly he recognized Strix standing right in front of him.

He practically tackled the poor girl (oof). Just when he dreads the contact with the floor, he felt something bouncy push them off. And then the same bouncing source came from behind. Now he’s squeezed between something.

The world spun in his eyes. Light-hearted laughter snapped him out of his trance. His soul actually came close to leaving him the moment Strix’s face registered in his vision. So close!

Two Kooma Pandas were hugging and nuzzling the two in a human-dream eater sandwich. Awww.

From the sidelines, Ortho watched in awe. That’s one way to bring his big bro out of the room. He eagerly joins in the hug fest with Strix and an all-too drained Idia.

Strix giggled and wrapped her arms around Idia and the panda behind him. She was clearly enjoying this. “Happy April Fools~”

Diasomnia

First things first: Strix can’t fool two all mighty and powerful faeries. Instead, she’ll entertain them like she and her dream eaters have always done. After all, boredom is their kind’s biggest enemy.

One day, Diasomnia students were walking down the halls when they notice a colorful bat creature hanging upside down from the ceiling, innocently watching people pass by.

There was one Komory Bat. The next door over there are two. The door after that door appeared three. In front of the dorm gate there may or may not be a bat perched to greet students in and out.

In the library, students are surprised when they’re greeted by the librarian aid...who was working upside down and levitating with gravity magic.

Strix casually acts as though it was natural. When she had to move away from the counter she continued walking upside down on the ceiling. If the ceiling was too high she’d float over just above people’s heads, and address when needed.

Strix likes to mess with Sebek by doing a “handstand” on his broad shoulders while talking to Silver. Sebek would shoo her off and when he does, Strix still pesters him by floating with a mocking haughtiness behind the way she rocks back and forth while grinning mischievously. The sight is hilarious, much to Sebek’s chagrin.

She can see why Lilia likes doing this. By the end of the day though, that’s enough walking on ceilings for the year.

Strix greets Malleus at eye level. “How’d you like it? Not boring, right?”

The horned fae chuckled. The glimmer of accomplishment in her stunning blue eyes amuses him the most. Like a child who proudly boasts their little achievements to appeal to their parents. It was adorable. “Certainly.”

[thenamesseven]

“When, exactly, do you plan to inflate 200 balloons? I think I missed the part when you explained that cause for me it seems physically imposible"

Rolling your eyes you unlocked your car and got inside. Jisung, noticing you had successfully ignored his question for the tenth time, stayed outside glaring at you through the window, it didn’t take him too long to start laughing though. As soon as you turned on the car’s ignition he jumped into the seat next to yours, afraid you would leave him helpless in the parking lot. The genuinely scared look on his face made you laugh so hard that a couple of tears rolled down your cheeks

“Where you seriously going to leave me there!?” He shouted looking at you shocked. You could only laugh even more at him which only made Jisung even more angry “What the hell (Y/N)!? What if some fans saw me!?”

“Oh come on, you are not that famous” You were biting the inside of your cheek trying your hardest to not smile at what you have just said. You knew how famous Stray Kids was but seeing Jisung’s mad expression every time you said they weren’t was one of the funniest things in the world.

“Sure, say that to your boyfriend” He tried to tease back, it wasn't going to work though.

“I say that to Hyunjin every single day” You replied chuckling, eyes glued to the road and hands on the steering wheel and radio, looking for a good song

“Remind me to ask him why he is dating you” Seeing the small smile on your lips, Jisung smiled too, leaning back against the car seat. He slapped your hand away from the radio to search for a song himself “I don’t want to die, thanks”

You glanced at him rolling your eyes for the umpteenth time. Earlier today, Stary Kids had to wake up really early because of a photo shoot they had to go through and also, to practice the new choreography of their upcoming comeback. Unfortunately, Jisung was always kind of whiny when he woke up late, he just liked sleeping too much.

“So, about the balloons?” An exasperated sigh left your lips, he was really pushing your buttons today.

“I have a friend that can lend us one of those machines that blows air” You muttered with a soft shrug “And Chan said you guys would also help me filling the room with balloons”

“But-”

“The leader said it, you have to do it man” This time he was the one being kind of frustrated and you couldn’t help but chuckle. Teasing Jisung was so fun. “I’ll teach you how to use the machine so you don’t have to use your precious lungs, Jisung”

“Thanks, I would really appreciate that”

Another traffic light turned red and you had to stop the car, today was just not your day. Looking down at your watch you saw you were almost ten minutes late. You had told Hyunjin you were going to hang out with him in the afternoon since he seemed to be a little needy thanks to waking up early but right after agreeing to go to the dorms, you remembered you had also told Jisung you two would go together to the mall to get some stuff for the party. Hyunjin always got a little upset whenever you were late and after dealing with a really whiny and kind of frustrating Jisung, the last thing you wanted was to be scolded by an even more whiny Hyunjin.

“Come on, I have somewhere to be” You whispered sighing frustrated, your fingers tapping the steering wheel impatiently.

Jisung scoffed “Your boyfriend’s bedroom?” He asked with a sarcastic smile, you only glared at him.

“At least I have somewhere to be” You teased back, Jisung seemed to abandon the small battle between you two since he turned his head back to look out the window. You knew he wasn’t mad, he was just sleepy and felt like crawling into bed and not getting back out for the whole day “Plus, I know you are dying to get to the dorms so you can take a nap”

“You are right, I’m freaking exhausted” He whispered rubbing his eyes quietly, his head rested against the glass.

“Then sleep” You turned off the radio and glanced at him with a small smile on your lips “It’s not like I don’t know how to get to the dorms, I’ll wake you up when we get there”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He whispered in an already low and hoarse voice, pulling down his cap to shield his eyes from the sun light before he closed his eyes.

It only took Jisung seconds to fall asleep in your car and by the sound of his snoring you knew he hadn’t been lying when he said he was feeling exhausted. You felt slightly bad for dragging him out to the mall knowing all the members were probably relaxed and warm in their dorms, Chan and Felix were working on the playlist for the party while Woojin and Seugmin were making a list of the people that should be invited, all of them would be close friends and a couple of more idols that got along well with Hyunjin.The party was kind of a personal celebration so only close people would be able to attend. Changbin and I.N. were the ones that had to organize a way to decorate their practice room without your boyfriend finding out and as for Minho his job was simply to hang out with Hyunjin so he wouldn’t realize what the others were up to.

Everybody was busy organizing his party but the one that got the hardest part was Jisung. He knew he was the second member you were the closest to so he had volunteered himself to help you buy everything what meant that he was basically the only one that had to get out of the dorm. Even though you felt bad about it, you had to admit that you were glad he wanted to do this with you since with the other members it might have been a little awkward. You were a shy person and you still weren’t as close with the rest of Stray Kids as you were with Hyunjin and Jisung.

When you arrived to the dorms it was drizzling, you didn’t feel like waking up poor Jisung but you knew that the more time you spent in the car the stronger the rain would get. Zipping up your hoodie, you opened your door instantly running to the trunk to get your umbrella, once it was opened you grabbed the bag where you had all the balloons and decorations you bought and placed it inside Jisung’s back pack so Hyunjin couldn’t see anything when you two walked inside. Hanging his back pack on your shoulder along with your purse you walked to his door and opened it.

“Jisung...Jisung” You tried to shake his body as softly as possible not wanting to scare him but when you noticed he was sleeping deeply your shaking got a little bit stronger. “Jisung let’s go, it’s raining and we’re both going to be sick if we stay too much time out”

Jisung seemed to hear you because his eyes fluttered open “It’s raining?” He asked sitting up, trying to regain enough strength to step out of the warm car.

“Yeah and I would really appreciate if we could get into the dorms already cause I’m kind of freezing out here” You smiled a little when he nodded, taking his bag from your shoulder before stealing the umbrella from your hands. “What a gentleman” You joked laughing, locking your car before walking by his side

“Oh? Are you complimenting me? You don’t have a fever right?” He asked glancing down at you, both of you laughing at his response.

The walking trip to the apartment was short, Jisung and you didn’t get too wet and luckily by the time you got inside Stray Kids’ dorm they had the heater turned on. It sort of felt like walking into Heaven, you hadn’t realized how cold you were outside until you walked into the apartment.

“Give me your coat, I’ll hang it up there so it can dry off”

You nodded at Jisung’s words, placing your purse on the table that there was in the entrance before offering him your coat. Right when you took of your shoes to put on the slippers you noticed your socks were a bit wet “Ah, my socks got wet” You mumbled pouting.

Right as you were saying this, you noticed Hyunjin walking into the living room with a small frown on his face as he glanced down at his phone. He was probably waiting for a text message from you since you were almost 15 minutes late to your “date”, you two weren’t going anywhere, Hyunjin and you would be staying inside with the guys but he still didn’t like you being late. Willing to catch his attention, you sighed a little loudly before speaking again.

“Ah! My socks got wet!” You repeated being dramatic.

“I heard you the first time, ask Hyunjin for-” Jisung was already complaining about your comment, however, he didn’t have time to finish his sentence since Hyunjin gently pushed him away to wrap his arms around you.

“You are finally here!” His voice was loud due to his excitement, you felt a bit guilty for making him wait but if only he knew about the huge party you were organizing for him, Hyunjin would definitely think all the wait was worth it “I was thinking you wouldn’t come”

“It’s okay, I just had to do a couple of things before coming here” You lied, letting him pick you up to give you a tighter hug. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you wrapped your arms around him “Geeze Hyunjin, I was here three days ago”

Hyunjin smiled burying his face into your neck, a rather intimate gesture he’s been doing recently. “I know but I still missed you” You stroked his air gently, glaring at Jisung when he made a gagging sound as he walked into the dorms probably heading to his bed already. “Let’s go to my room, I’ll lend you some warm clothes”

Willingly you let him drag you into the apartment, waving your hand into the studio were Chan, Felix and Changbin where hanging out. They all smiled at you before Hyunjin closed the door, interrupting any possible conversations that could have been started between you and the other members. The guys laughed and you were about to complain but Hyunjin was already throwing at you one of his hoodies and pants. Without saying anything he simply laid in his bed and buried his face against his pillow, giving you some intimacy to change your clothes.

“I could change in the bathroom, there’s nobody taking a shower now” You proposed, afraid he would choke himself.

“No the other members will want to talk with you, they have been all so...Talkative when you are around” He pouted a little “Specially Jisung”

His choice of words made you frown a little. Hyunjin had never been bothered by you spending time with the other members, he has always seen it as a good thing when he saw you being accepted into their family. When you spent time at the dorm it wasn’t always with him, of course you tried to spend as much time as you could with your boyfriend but you also liked to spend time in the studio with 3RACHA, to watch stupid yet funny TV shows with Jeongin and Minho or just hang out with the guys not doing anything special.

However, this time Hyunjin sounded kind of jealous of it which wasn’t a good thing. He was noticing you were hanging too much with some of the guys in the group but you couldn’t tell him the real reason of it without screwing the surprise party. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you prayed to all the Gods in Heaven that he would believe your lies without creating any misunderstandings in his precious yet sometimes too imaginative mind.

“Why did you come with Jisung anyways? I thought he was sleeping” He frowned as if he had just realized the fact that you two had arrived at the same time.

“I saw him on my way to here and offered to give him a ride” You shrugged not saying the truth but not lying too much to him. You did give Jisung a ride, right?

“What was Jisung doing outside?” He asked again, turning his head to face the wall when you started to take off your clothes.

“Why would I know that?” You asked putting on his hoodie and sliding your cold legs into his pants.

“I don’t know, you are his best friend”

Again his words felt like pure jealousy. You sat down on his bed and took his warm hands on your cold ones, Hyunjin was probably being like this because since he was tired and on top of that you had been late, it was nothing you could simply fix with some hugs and a couple of kisses. Pulling his hands, you wrapped your arms around his body to give him a soft squeeze.

“And I’m your girlfriend” You stated, resting your chin on top of his head. He nodded quietly, his hands moving up and down on your back “Want to lay down and rest for a little? I heard from Jisung that you guys had a long morning”

“Yeah, practicing that early is horrible” He whispered laying on the bed, instantly pulling you down with him. He placed one of his arms under your head, the other on your side and pulled you close against his chest. "I needed this so much" His voice was as low as Jinsung’s before he had fallen asleep in the car, his breathing was slowing down as his eyes fought to stay open.

“It’s okay Hyunjin, I’m going to be here when you wake up” You whispered, running your fingers through his hair knowing this would truly relax him.

However, when he nodded and accepted falling asleep there with you Seugmin opened the door startling Hyunjin and making him jump away from you, almost falling down of the bed.

“You guys want to watch a film?” He said happily, his smile soon fading when he realized Hyunjin’s flustered expression “O-Oh” His face got really red and the poor guy didn’t know if he should just exit the room without saying another word or if he should wait for your answers.

“Do you want to?” You asked turning to look at Hyunjin who was still glaring at his mate for waking him up.

“I have the feeling that if I say no someone will barge into this room again and steal you when I’m sleeping” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes grumpily. Right there, your boyfriend looked like a sleepy kid whose mom wasn’t letting him take a nap and it was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

“Then let’s go” You took his hand, intertwining your fingers. Hyunjin looked down at your hands and then back up to Seugmin who simply smiled feeling much more calmer now although your boyfriend was literally freaking out because you were holding hands in front of another member. “You can rest your head on my shoulder and sleep” You whispered as Seugmin walked away letting out a soft chuckle.

Shyly, Hyunjin nodded and the three of you made your way into the lving room where most of the guys were already sitting down surrounded by pillows, blankets, sweets, chocolates and water. Hyunjin and you sat down by the corner of one of the couches, sharing a blanket as Hyunjin leaned onto you with his head resting tiredly on your shoulder. Right when the movie was about to start, Jisung joined you all and sat down by your side handing you the bowl of popcorn.

“Want some?” He asked with a small smile

You shook your head before turning to Hyunjin but he just shook his head rolling his eyes, making Jisung frown.

Jealousy was definitely getting the best of him.

[first-man-adams-blog]

Aster, Daffodil, Iris for the flower asks and Aaravos? ^^

Thanks for these!^^

daffodil: how has your f/o changed your life?

Well...in a few ways. Some good, some not so good...but do I regret them? I can’t say I do. He’s given me a new perspective on reality and...well I’ve never met a True Neutral mindset person like him...

(Meta answer: He’s made me question my sanity, his motives, and if his name is really true to his character...and if I’m completely over my anime-prettyboy phase while still maintaining my attraction to non-human humanoids. Because he meets almost all my monster-lover aesthetics (everything but fangs, that I know of) but he also matches all the features of anime crushes in my past. Long hair, gold or unusual eye color...and pretty face. Seriously...the crew knew their audience range. It’s scary how much he was designed to appeal to us fans...I’m scared what they’ll do with this.

So this is the first character I have gone through great amounts of stress over...but in a manageable way. Don’t worry. I’m just really new to actually liking elves in something. This is my first time being attracted to an elf character. Period.)

aster: tell us about a gentle moment shared with your f/o.

I believe I can answer this one, since there is one that comes to mind, but it has not happened yet.

Keep in mind visions of the future are liable to change, but this is one that was quite vivid to me when I saw it. I can not determine where we are or what the state of the world is in, but it is a peaceful scene...

We are sitting by a lit fireplace on what looks to be a blanket of some sort. She is in my lap, and appears to have dozed off while we are reading what looks to be a book in ancient Draconic. Perhaps I am teaching her more about ancient magic. She did express an interest recently, I recall.

Let me see if I cannot recreate this vision for you to see... *he draws a rune in the air and an image fades into view. Shimmering slightly as it materializes:

Forgive the quality...it is a bit difficult to get an illusion based upon Star magic visions to look accurate to real life. I do wonder when and where this may take place... *Aaravos appears lost in thought now*

iris: compliment your f/o, and share a compliment that they have given to you.

*smirks* Does he really need his ego inflated even more?

I beg your pardon? When have I ever been that vain or self-absorbed?

Please. Your default method of attack is charm and you sparkle as much as the vampires from that romance novel I told you about. Not to mention the sass.

I am not THAT glittery. But I will not deny I do sparkle quite a bit more than other elf races.

Now a PROPER Star Touch...you would possibly be blinded without proper eye protection...

I prefer your amount of sparkly anyway, Danger Star~

...Was that the compliment you were supposed to give me?

No. This is. *places hand on the glass where his face is on the other side*

?

I know I’ve said it before, but I will say it again. I love all the physical and non-physical features about you, but I especially love looking into your eyes. I could look at them, into them, all day if I was able. If I had to choose one thing to compliment, it would be those. *smiles lovingly up at him*

*for once is at a loss for words* ...

((I headcanon his eyes and horns are the features he used to be most insecure about. Now he just accepts they’re a part of him, but finds it hard to believe anyone thinks they’re his best features, or at least worth the same amount of attention as any other part of his being.))

———

As for a compliment he’s given me...uh...well he does it a lot. Hard to choose just one, haha. I mean usually they’re to fluster me, which works. Every time. That voice, man...and that smirk...oops. Complimenting him again. Ok, ok...I guess if I had to choose one it would be on our first...date you could call it. Through the butterfly (Which is like this caterpillar Viren uses to communicate with him) he can cast some magic with my permission through me, so he made an illusion with Moon magic of himself. He explained only I could see, hear, and touch in that instance, so it was ok as long as no one saw me out in formal wear...seemingly by myself.

I was wearing a dress for once, since I do own at least one...but I don’t wear it except to formal events I’m allowed at (or am ‘encouraged’ to attend). So he took the opportunity to compliment me in it. I don’t take compliments to heart easily, so it was hard to believe he wasn’t just saying it because that’s what you do on dates. But...a traitorously soft side of me did want to believe him. After all, he never lies, right?

[voulezvous-rpg]

Congratulations, Dean! You’ve been accepted as The Noble — Fitzgerald Bradford, with a face claim of Max Irons!

Anyone who knows me can tell you I’m always a sucker for the rich bitch boys, which is pretty much making Fitz my personal kryptonite. The overly inflated ego is one thing, but it takes on a new life when paired with the notion that there’s very much a secret out there that could pop his bubble, again, at any moment. I’m so excited to see how that charm and entitlement help him play with others in the club! Very much ready to fall in love with you both. Welcome to the team!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Dean Pronouns: She/her Age: 21 Timezone & Activity: GMT, I’m fairly active, the only times where I can get quiet is when university work is heading towards deadlines which will be over after early May! Even then, I’m still around on the dash.

IN CHARACTER

Desired Skeleton: The Noble Name: Lord Fitzgerald Charles Orson ‘Fitz’ Bradford   FC: Max Irons Pronouns: He/Him Age: March 28th, 1880. 30 years old Occupation: A Lord

Lord is used as a generic term to denote members of the British peerage. Five ranks of peer exist in the United Kingdom: in descending order these are duke, marquess, earl, viscount, and baron. The appellation “Lord” is used most often by barons, who are rarely addressed by their formal and legal title of “Baron”.

How long has your character been around the Moulin Rouge?

Although Fitz hasn’t been in Paris for long, he’s managed to spend most of his time and a lot of money within the walls of the Moulin Rouge. The club’s allure and reputation was what lead him there first, the moment he caught word of beautiful things dancing around and women that could be his for a price, he knew it would be somewhere worth dwelling.

How did the fire impact your character?

Fitz was never sad about the fire, or those who lost those lives. Instead he found himself irritated that he’d lost his favourite night spot for six months. He’d had to spend time indulging in other parts of the city, going places where they wouldn’t welcome him just as much like a king as they had in the Moulin Rouge. If anything, the vacancy of the club was a knock to his ever so precious ego.

Biography:

Fitzgerald Charles Bradford was your typical high society boy. Brought up in Kensington, he was tailor fit for the lifestyle the future would bless him with. Of course, like most, it all started with his education. After finishing at Eaton college, Fitz went on to study Politics at The University of Oxford. It was there where he’d fell into just the right group, making friends with other blue-blooded gentlemen and aristocrats that would set him apart from those that would go on to nobility and those that would remain nothing more than rich private school boys. You see, Fitz had always been good at viewing the bigger picture, he knew he had been dealt a strong hand and with his own ambition he was able to navigate the situation in his favour.

After graduation, Fitz had created quite the reputation for himself and stir in the politics world. It was a matter of time before he would join a political party which lead him to be personally nominated by the Marquess of Salisbury for his own chair in The House of Lords. As word spread of the new, young and quite attractive, Lord of Islington, fame and popularity followed in pursuit. The media was crazed by Fitzgerald’s life and the coverage seemed to stay consistent when it was his name in the headlines that was selling the papers to bored housewives and aspiring young politicians. Not only had he gained the power of a Lord, but he’d won the people’s hearts. Fitzgerald Bradford was what some might call an inspiration and a true idol.

Fitz had everyone wrapped around his little finger, he played people like pawns and was selfish with his authority. It was only a matter before he would inevitably slip from his pedestal, it couldn’t have stayed that good forever after all, not with the media watching. Once the press caught word of the scandal, London’s golden boy turned into an abomination overnight. What made it all the more bitter was that Fitz had never seen it coming, being undermined by someone so close. Truth be told, he had been involved with another Lord’s wife for months, their affair was under lock and key and that’s exactly how he thought it would stay. Nothing more than a secret hidden from the public eye. But the Lady had other plans, the second Fitz declined any possibility of supporting her in a divorce and engaging in a marriage to him instead, she’d made the decision to ruin his reputation.

And that was exactly what had happened. The weeks that followed were unbearable, for a while it seemed like the whole of Great Britain was discussing the young Lord’s fall from grace. His profession had turned into a mockery, humiliated by the widespread story and unable to be taken seriously as a politician any longer. With his name completely diminished and pride tarnished, he was not longer treated as a Lord but instead a uncivilised child. Nothing would ever be the same for Fitz again, not in London at least. But that’s where he had found a loophole and did what anyone else would have done it his situation. Fitzgerald ran, he ran to a place he was confident hadn’t caught word of the English media. He ran to Paris.

It was an easy solution, a quick fix that would put him back at the top of the food chain. Fitz had already had another circle in France he could migrate into and owned property in central Paris. That combined with his trust fund meant he was basically set for life. He could forget about London, the scandal, everything, because in Paris he was still a noble. Fitzgerald was allowed to be the man he was born to be again, carrying out his fantasy even if it was built on delusion. Perhaps it was that which lead him to the Moulin Rouge that one fateful night. It was a place that promoted the concept of the dreamer, those walls were draped with luscious lies and facades of every other human that had come into contact with the club. There was nothing you couldn’t become, nothing you couldn’t have and for a Lord that had lost everything it became like a drug to him. Being called out within crowds for his British nobility and treated by the dancers and courtesans like a celebrity. It was a momentary return of power, and he was greedy for the attention he’d persuaded himself that he deserved. Fitz was convinced he had found the antidote to all his problems under one low lit roof, a sanctuary.

But he was never truly relaxed. The moments of ecstasy couldn’t conceal the fact that the man held mystery, a riddle that most were curious to solve. Fitz could never escape the anxiety of the scandal and the pressure the secrecy would weigh upon his shoulders. He had begun building a respectable name for himself as a gentleman in Paris and no one could ever find out that he was a living a lie. No one could ever find out that he was just a disgraced Lord who had ran from his country and his high responsibilities. The things someone could do with that information, what they could make Fitz do to keep it concealed from his new circle. It was only a matter of time, of course, before another Brit came to the Moulin Rouge and spilled his little secret. Fitzgerald was no gentleman, no, he was a creature of the underworld like all the rest of them.

Potential Plot Points:

Ego boosts- With his fall from grace, Fitz has got himself quite the busted ego. Because of this, he’ll always be in search of those who would be willing to praise him. Whether that be genuine, or for a certain price, he wouldn’t care. He’s desperately clinging to the person he once was, all he wants is to be that man again.

Stuck in his old ways- For a while, Fitz will remain in his old habits. Sleeping with any woman that throws a wink his way and caring little for the consequences. Of course, as his insecurities grow and trust diminishes he’ll start to build more of a mysterious facade. He’ll only indulging in those he has the utmost confidence in, in order for the past to never repeat itself.

Secret keeper- Keeping The Double Entendres secret reassures him even more in his power. Not only that, but it’s strangely settling that someone else is also hiding a part of themselves from the crowds and their inner circle. But he won’t be making her any promises, his mind works like politics after all and he isn’t past throwing someone else under the bus, especially if it meant keeping the spotlight away from his own reality.

Fall from grace- Just when it seems like he’s back in the limelight, that he’s regained his status and privileges, it will come out. The scandal that lead him here the first place. Be it the nature of travelling word or another Brit entering the Moulin Rouge, Paris too will know of Fitzgerald’s disgrace. He will learn that he can’t just run from his problems and be forced to confront his demons.

Down to earth- With the truth being out and him not going anywhere, he’ll learn that titles and wealth are not everything that should make a man happy. Fitz will begin to notice those around him from different financial backgrounds and how they shine with fulfilment despite their lack of money or authority. He’ll learn that life is more than numbers and blue-blooded societies and he’ll want to find out what that it.  

Become a real gentleman- With his growth as a person who no longer bats an eye at his own or other’s status, his ability to be a true gentleman will also flourish. The way he treats others will develop from seeing them as below him to his piers and genuine friends. He’ll stop feeling so threatened that everyone must treat him as royalty and start seeing relationships from a new perspective.

Possible infatuation or sibling bond- To start caring about someone else more than he cares about himself would be his biggest accomplishment. Be it platonic or romantic, finding someone that he can put their needs before his own and help them in achieving their own goals and dreams will give him a new sense of a pride. Because he’ll have more than just himself to be proud of.

FREESTYLE

Myer-Briggs personality types: ENTP

The ENTP personality type is the ultimate devil’s advocate, thriving on the process of shredding arguments and beliefs and letting the ribbons drift in the wind for all to see. Unlike their more determined Judging (J) counterparts, ENTPs don’t do this because they are trying to achieve some deeper purpose or strategic goal, but for the simple reason that it’s fun. No one loves the process of mental sparring more than ENTPs, as it gives them a chance to exercise their effortlessly quick wit, broad accumulated knowledge base, and capacity for connecting disparate ideas to prove their points.

The Alignment System: Chaotic Neutral

A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn’t strive to protect others’ freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organisations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behaviour is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it.

Star sign: Aries

Strengths: Courageous, determined, confident, enthusiastic, optimistic, honest, passionate

Weaknesses: Impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, aggressive

Aries likes: Comfortable clothes, taking on leadership roles, physical challenges, individual sports

Aries dislikes: Inactivity, delays, work that does not use one’s talents

As the first sign in the zodiac, the presence of Aries always marks the beginning of something energetic and turbulent. They are continuously looking for dynamic, speed and competition, always being the first in everything - from work to social gatherings. Thanks to its ruling planet Mars and the fact it belongs to the element of Fire, Aries is one of the most active zodiac signs. It is in their nature to take action, sometimes before they think about it well.

Archetypes:

48% Royal

When the Royal walks into a room, they command attention. They are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

26% Rebel

The Rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind—and bucking the system—if that means getting their point across

26% Performer

Taking center stage comes naturally to the Performer, whether at the water cooler or in front of an audience. They are magnetic and know how to inspire.

Traits:

+ Charming: there was no effort or thought put behind it. Fitz was a natural charmer, bewitching most of those around him. Be it his witty temperament or sleek appearance, the man was seamlessly refined. He’d learned quickly that he could get almost anything his heart desired with an enchanting smile and smooth words. It was like an alter-ego, an intoxicating version of himself that he could so easily slip into and enhance at will.

+ Persuasive: He knew the game well, every sentence designed with killer disposition. Fitz was a tactical thinker, strategizing his every move so that the cards would play out in his own favour. He had a talent for making anything sound appealing, it was not just a talent but an art to him. It was all part of politics, without a persuasive tongue, he wouldn’t get far.

+ Adaptable: It was his intellect that had made him good at adapting to any situation. He was never the fish out of the water, floundering simply wasn’t in his vocabulary or an option. In many ways, it made him a chameleon, how easily he could establish himself with such ease.

- Promiscuous: as any young bachelor, loyalty in such a sense was a manner in which he lacked. He was flirtatiously alluring, toying with broken hearts and he generally regards the women he seduces with little more than contempt. A romance wasn’t anything he’d ever been intrigued by. It seemed trivial to him, a gimmick that he solely had never sought to find.

- Ingenuine: Fitz was a liar, a con-artist disguised in pressed suits and designer shoes. He was a riddle that no mundane person was able to crack. He likes it that way, he doesn’t like the thought of being a person that’s easy to read. Fitz doesn’t want to be the guy that you can see what his next move is going to be, he takes pride in his spontaneity, he likes to keep people confused.

[creativitytoexplore]

Crusade by Lawrence Martin https://ift.tt/3gKYOMJ Doctor Miller will try anything to get his patient to quit smoking, but who is more determined? By Lawrence Martin.

Dr. Lewis Miller always struggled to get his smoking patients to quit. He cajoled, he pontificated, he pointed out facts. When all that failed, he used his funeral home gambit. "Mable," he would say to his patient, when her smoking habit came up, "What funeral home do you do business with?" This question would, of course, get Mabel's attention. After her "why-the-heck-are-you-asking me-that?" response, he would go into his the-cigarettes-are-killing-you-quick spiel. He tried some variation of this question with most of his addicted patients. Sometimes it worked, but most often not. Still, he kept trying. And if one of his smokers was admitted to the hospital, for whatever reason, he would, in the middle of examining the patient, ask where they stashed the cigarettes. "My cigarettes?" "Yes, the ones you brought with you." Outed, the patient would invariably reveal the hiding place, usually a purse or the bedside drawer. "May I have them, please?" the doctor would ask, ever so politely. "You won't be smoking in the hospital." And usually, without a fuss, the patient would turn them over. Like his other methods, though, this gambit seldom worked to break their habit. Still, he felt it a duty to always try something, and he liked inventing new ways. Which brings us to the case of Amanda Wiggins, a middle-aged woman with chronic lung disease whose chief complaint was always some variation of "I am short-winded." She had gone through several hospitalizations for chronic lung disease, yet continued to smoke even when in the hospital, this being an era when "smoking rooms" were available for tobacco-addicted patients. Neither fear of funeral homes, emergency rooms, artificial breathing machines, lung cancer, nor skin wrinkles - all warnings offered by Dr. Miller - had made any dent in Ms. Wiggins' smoking addiction. She was incorrigible. She continued to smoke in her hospital room, even though that was forbidden, and when reminded of the ban, she got out of bed and walked to the ward's one small area that allowed the stinking habit. Now you might think there is something wrong with the mind of a patient who continues to abuse the very thing making her sick, and you would be correct. There was a history of depression and a chaotic home life, and she had seen a psychiatrist on occasion, though she was no longer taking prescribed anti-depressant medication. As for Dr. Miller, he practiced pulmonology and did not feel daunted by her psychological problems. He would find a way. He had come to learn that Ms. Wiggins' anchor in life was the Bible and fundamentalist religion, facts heretofore not mined in his no-smoking crusade. And so, on her second day of yet another hospitalization for chronic lung disease, Dr. Miller made his move. Ms. Wiggins was in bed, reading her Bible. He arranged for her nurse, Emily, to come join him. He needed a witness in case Ms. Wiggins really did quit smoking, someone to testify to his no-smoking creativity. While he stood to the left of the bed, he had Emily stand on the other side, making it easy to observe her reaction as he focused on their patient. "I want to discuss something with you," he said to Ms. Wiggins. She put down the book. "Yes?" "It's about your smoking, Amanda. We can't get you better if you continue to smoke." There was a short pause, then she said, "I'll quit," in a manner which conveyed just the opposite intention. "You've got to quit." "I'll quit. I want to get better." "You're gonna die!" "Don't say that, Dr. Miller. If I quit will I get better?" "How are you going to quit? You've promised me a hundred times, and you always go back to smoking." "Well, I'll quit now." "Can I have your cigarettes?" He knew her supply was endless; taking them would be like trying to cut off the flow of cocaine with a single arrest. Still, he figured it would be a step in the right direction. "Take 'em, Dr. Miller," she said, confidently, pointing to her nightstand. "They're in here." He opened the drawer and took out two unopened packs of Camel cigarettes. "Can I have the others?" he asked. "I don't have any more. That's all I have." He knew there would be others, easy to obtain. "Now you've got to swear you'll quit smoking." "I'll swear," she said, showing no emotion. He raised his brow slightly to catch Emily's eyes, then returned his gaze to Ms. Wiggins. "Then swear," he repeated, raising his voice slightly. "I swear." Still no emotion from his patient. Dr. Miller reached over and picked up her Bible from the bed. "Swear on this," he commanded. "Why do I have to swear on the Bible?" Now her voice was rising. "I said I wouldn't smoke. Don't you believe me?" Dr. Miller knew the power of religion, especially her fundamentalist brand. Unless he could get her to swear on the Bible she would never take her promise seriously. "Ms. Wiggins you've got to swear on the Bible. Otherwise God won't believe you're sincere." She hesitated and her body began to shake. She looked at Dr. Miller, then at Emily, then at her Bible. She seemed lost in thought. Then, after a few seconds, she looked up again at the doctor. "Dr. Miller," she said, this time with indignation, her voice trembling a little, "that's the word of the Lord! You want me to swear on the Bible?" "Swear!" He paused, counted the seconds: one-two-three. "SWEAR!" "I can't do that!" "Then you don't intend to quit. You lied to me." He looked again at Emily, wondering if she found his method unprofessional, but she remained an impassive observer. "But I will quit, Dr. Miller. I promise!" "Then SWEAR ON THE BIBLE!" Slowly, with hesitation, she placed her right hand on the holy book. Now he felt the flush of victory for his crusade. He had reached the pinnacle of no-smoking creativity: a unique message tailored to a unique patient. "Repeat after me," he said. "I, Amanda Wiggins..." She hesitated and looked again at Emily, who merely nodded her head, affirming Dr. Miller's command. Then Ms. Wiggins looked back at him, and their eyes met. Evangelist and true believer. She repeated his preamble. "I, Amanda Wiggins..." "Do swear before God in Heaven..." "Do swear before God in Heaven..." "That I will never touch or smoke cigarettes again." "Oh, Dr. Miller!" He repeated the command with raised voice, this time a deep baritone. "THAT I WILL NEVER TOUCH OR SMOKE CIGARETTES AGAIN. SWEAR, AMANDA!" "That I will never touch or smoke cigarettes again," she echoed. "SO HELP ME GOD!" he bellowed, hoping no one from the hallway would hear him, enter the room and break the spell he was so carefully crafting. "So help me God," she whispered. With the last word her whole body shook, and she began crying. He checked her pulse and listened to her lungs. No acute problem. She was not having an asthma attack, just a religious experience. "She's okay," he told Emily. "I think we can go now. She'll be fine, but please check on her in a half hour or so." The two professionals left the room, with Ms. Wiggins sobbing quietly in her bed. Feeling quite smug about his effort, Dr. Miller went to see other patients. He thought: to get a patient to quit smoking you must learn to communicate on their level, to search out that part of their psyche that will obey the doctor. Why aren't all physicians this creative with their advice? A half hour later Emily called him to return to the ward. "Check out the smoking room," she said. "You won't believe this." The tone in her voice was like a sharp needle to his inflated balloon. He ran up to the ward. There, in a chair next to a card table, sat Ms. Wiggins, smoking a cigarette. He noticed only two items on the table, an ashtray and a pack of opened cigarettes. He saw no Bible. Relaxed and calm, she looked up at her physician with not the least hint of anxiety. "What happened?" he asked, feigning a hurt incredulity. "You PROMISED me you would quit. You promised GOD! You swore on the Bible!" "I just had to have a cigarette," she said, flashing an innocent smile. "And besides, I had my fingers crossed." Never again did Dr. Miller try religion to break a patient's habit.

[kmp78]

This is what made me stop being a fan

“i feel like J will never do anything right in your eyes. like what would he have to do for you to say something positive about him? genuinely asking, not hating”

His life, he can do whatever he wants. But actions have consequences. So whatever he does, he has to be ready to deal with people not necessarily liking it. That’s life. 

Just like K, I too started as a fan. As a quite big fan actually. As someone who did everything they could to support the band. Buy merch, buy Vy tickets, go to shows, do M&Gs, spread the word on sm…And in the beginning I was happy to do that. I admired J because he seemed like a “go-getter” who worked hard, he seemed like he cares and is involved in what goes on around him in our society and around the world (His Oscar speech, anyone? And him speaking about Ukraine, supporting the LGBT community, concern for the environment, etc). He seemed passionate about his art, he obviously is very talented. He was great on stage. And he seemed like the “underdog” and like someone who fights for the underdog. You know, all his speeches about “be who you wanna be, love who you wanna love, be different, fight for your dreams” blah blah blah. And then of course his whole “struggling artist” act, the whole “no ones making any money here”. Yeah I fell for that. “Oh poor thing. He’s so great and so talented. But he’s not making any money. Yeah, we have to support him and his art and give from our very little salaries so that he can keep doing his art.” Yes, in that sense I was one of the “sheep”. I have to laugh at it now. 

Just like K said too, I also didn’t have any specific moment that made me stop being a fan. Shit just kept piling up until it hit the fan. It was just a sum of a lot of different things having happened. 

It started with the London Vy really. When they set the tickets at 10,000. It was insane. Now, nothing wrong in being ambitious and dreaming big and trying to do big things and trying to reach your goals…when YOU work for it. Not someone else. Had they promoted the shit out of it themselves and had done everything they can to get the tickets sold, fine. But it was like “Oh let’s put out 10,000 tickets to make a lot of money but let the fans do all the work any pay for it all.” It’s like DT saying “Let’s build a wall and make Mexico pay for it.” It’s ridicilous. Oh and “let’s sell tickets to an event that has no date so the people who buy live tickets won’t even know if they can watch it.” I mean, seriously? Real “geniuses” at work. Smh! And even though it was clear it will never work and people kept complaining and sending in suggestions, they just ignored it all. And then they did the VIP VV (that was supposed to be a treat for those who got their tickets early) unannounced, so that most of the people missed it. So from that point on I was like “Okay, let’s see them doing some work THEMSELVES to sell their events. I’m done. Unless there is some effort coming from YOUR way, I ain’t doing shit!”. I also stopped buying multiple tickets and I stopped buying VIP. If they don’t put in any effort, why should I? They’re the ones with a company trying to sell a product, not me. I don’t go to my workplace either expecting my clients to do MY work for me while paying ME. It’s ridicilous. And if you wanna improve your product, listen to your costumers. If they tell you something IS NOT WORKING, do something about it. Don’t ignore them, block them, black list them just because they told you their opinion about your product in the hopes of helping you improve it. And for god’s sake don’t be RUDE to them and tell them they should be grateful they got anything at all even though they PAID for the product and dont tell them to fuck off if they dont like it. Well, unless you wanna lose all your costumers. In that case, go ahead. 

And then there was the whole Joker thing with the used condoms and dildos and all his Joker antics. his whole “method actor” bullshit while frolicking around with models, while going rock climbing, while sending pics of himself in Joker makeup to models only to have it leaked and almost ruining things for WB. His antics were disgusting and not funny and if you claim to be a method actor and those stupid antics were needed as a part of your “method acting” then BE a method actor and don’t fuck around with young models or go rock climbing. At least stick to your story then and act like it. 

Which leads to the next problem. His words and actions not matching. Being fake. Lying during interviews. “Be who you wanna be, be different”. Well, why don’t you start with yourself and take your own advice, J? If barely legal underweight girls are your thing and you can’t even be friends with anyone who doesn’t look like a model or isn’t much younger than you are, then be that. If that’s who you are, fine. So be it. If vapid models with half a brain cell are the company you prefer and want around you, it’s okay. But in that case don’t try to speak about women’s rights and about having respect for strong women or any of women’s issues. Keep your mouth shut. And don’t try to hide it and act like that’s not who you are. People are not dumb. So don’t assume they are and treat them like they are. Just because everyone around you are stupid, doesn’t mean the rest of us are, thank you very much. 

Then Gucci came into the picture. Gucci this, Gucci that. Gucci, Gucci, Gucci. I AM SICK OF GUCCI! We get that you are the face of Gucci and friends with AM. But can you not shove Gucci down our throats 24/7, thank you very much. And shut up about “no one’s making any money here” and quit the “struggling artist” act. Please. When youre wearing an outfit that costs more than my whole month’s salary. Go fuck yourself. And if you raise your prices, I expect a stellar product. I expect to get my money’s worth. If I pay thousands to go to Camp MARS, I expect MARS to put some effort into it. Have activities with fans, interact with them. You have the whole weekend. You’re literally booked for the whole weekend. It’s YOUR “festival”. So do the work. And if you sell your camp packages by promising to play new music, then do that and don’t do false advertising, if you’re not intending to play new songs. And can you please tear yourself away from your freeloaders for ONE weekend  and concentrate on your work, thanks. Also, if you’re going to do a show and people paid thousands to see it, can you please rehearse so you actually know the lyrics to your own songs. I don’t come to shows to listen to the fans sing. I come to hear YOU sing. And play. That’s if the band even bothers to show up. 

I could go on and on but what finally made me go “I have had it!” was him disappearing from sm and only coming on when he needs something from us. When he only remembered he has fans when he wanted our votes or our money or  needed us to do PR for him. And him lying the whole time. Can you take things seriously for once and quit being immature and actually say what you mean for once. And do what you say. Don’t expect us to believe you and feel sorry for you if you say your back hurts soooo much, but instead of taking care of it,  you’re flying around long distance to go to fashion shows and to unnecessarily go to some art gallery for a day and when you can go rock climbing with your kittens. Same thing goes for your knee.Don’t go on sm to whine about it to get attention and do ice baths in trash cans and  come on stage wth a cane when you then after two songs take off your knee brace and jump around. 

The last drop for me was the lies about the new album. the ten millionth “#soon. The "we’re 80% done” for 2 years straight. The “We’re finishing the album today” only to tell us two weeks later that he’s working on the lyrics on the first single. Only to tell us the album isn’t even done. At some point it stops being funny and becomes pathetic. Come tease us about a new album WHEN YOU ACTUALLY HAVE AN ALBUM: And dont go around talking about how “exhausted” you are now that you finished ONE SONG. In FOUR years. Seriously, dude! Have you lost touch with reality completely?! Do you actually even know what HARD WORK and REALLY being exhausted from working is like? You need to get out in the real world more, dude. Stop hanging out with your freeloaders whose only job is to go from one vacation to another and lay around by the pool all day or who get dressed by other people and their only job is to look pretty in pictures. That’s not hard work. Neither is doing one song in four years. That’s just insulting.  And if your staff can’t get even one lyric video right, it’s time to finally take a look at your staff and start hiring professionals. How hard is it to get a LYRIC video with two verses right? You write the lyrics down, the person doing the lyric video writes them on the video and reads it through. Another person looks at the LYRICS video when it’s done and compares the lyrics to proofread. Boom. Done. Don’t need to be a genius to do that. 

I don’t know what happened to J. If the Oscar and the millions he got from the Joker role went to his head and his ego got too inflated and he got lazy, because why work when you can make money by doing nothing? Or if he completely lost touch with reality after hanging out too much  with the type of people he does and since he’s dressed head to toe in Gucci and no doubt gets it all for free, he thinks everyone can afford to throw around thousands. Or he just was a shallow douchebag who is full of himself before too and he just played another Oscar worthy role…the “Oscar J” role…and people fell for that PR campaign. And now the real J is coming out again? I don’t know. 

For me to be able to like J again, he needs a huge piece of humble pie. Tone done the attitude. You’re not above everyone else J. You’re not the center of everyone’s universe. You’re not THAT important and you definitely are NOT “different” than most in HW. In fact, you’re pretty much a cliche. So stop acting like you’re “all that”. You’re not. Tone down the Gucci. Seriously. We’re sick of it. Start hanging out with smart people. You’ll be surprised how inspiring smart people actually are. And yeah, most of them don’t look like models, but the good news is you don’t have to sleep with them. You can actually just be friends with people. That’s if you can bear to breathe the same air as someone who is normal weight or, god forbid, overweight. Get involved in your community. If you actually care for the environment or for animals so much, prove it. Letting your interns RT a tweet or two does not count as being “active”. And if you write a “protest song”, please do show with your ACTIONS that you care about things BEFORE writing said song and conveniently using a current unrest to sell it. Stop lying. Seriously. We’re not dumb. Be who you are, whatever it is. But ffs STOP LYING about who you are!!!!!! Put some effort into your work again. Focus. You once did. We want that J back.

***

Extremely well said, anon.

I found myself nodding and agreeing all the way through.

(Disclaimer and rules)

[webcricket]

Nudge Theory

Characters: CastielXReader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 1465 (Act IV - Part I)

A/N: A five act mini-series. The reader and Castiel must work together to solve the curious case of the missing Winchesters. Fluff, smut, and a plot for kicks. Whatever happened to Sam and Dean Winchester anyway? Act IV is conveyed from the brothers’ perspective – their whereabouts and mischievous plotting revealed as the tables are unexpectedly turned. Action-packed fluff-filled conclusion coming your way next week!

Completed Series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/162181272535/nudge-theory-masterlist

(X)

Nudge [verb] –

·       “Coax or gently encourage someone to do something.”

Act IV - Part I

“Y/N sounded pissed,” Dean snickered, tone not at all apologetic for the wild goose chase he and Sam sent you running on for the last couple of days. Driving up to the motel you and the angel were staying in, he set the Impala’s parking brake and smoothly released the clutch.

“Yeah, well Cas didn’t sound too pleased either,” Sam pointed out, groping blindly for his bag in the backseat, “you of all people know he hates being dicked around with. Well-meaning intentions aside, that’s exactly what happened here.”

“And there’s the real beauty of it Sammy,” Dean grasped his brother by the shoulder, “their shared anger will bring them even closer together. Real bonding material! Besides, how many times has Cas up and disappeared for days or weeks without so much as a word? No way in hell I’m feeling guilty about this one time, especially if it means he gets past this whole Debbie Downer shtick he’s been hung up on lately.”

“Right Dean. How totally selfless of you,” Sam smiled incredulously, shaking his head at his brother’s hair-brained scheming as he exited the car into the breezy night air. The metallic clatter of an ice bucket buffeted about the asphalt parking lot by the wind momentarily caught his attention. He dismissed it as a trivial detail.

Dean could barely contain the triumphant swagger threatening to burst forth from his person at any moment in the form of a victory dance, his green eyes flashing firework sparks in the pale artificial light as he hopped the small decorative fence in front of your motel door.

Setting you and Cas up to work a case together as a pre-text for meeting and falling hopelessly in love had been his idea. He’d known you for a good long while, appreciating your spunky but patient personality (spunky, but patient enough to endure his goofy shenanigans with a laugh and flat-out ignore any advances he made). He’d called you in on a few cases here and there over the years, keeping in touch with enough regularity to know you were still single and a little bit lonely as most hunters of your indomitable ilk tended to be. He also remembered your keen interest in hearing detailed accounts of his friend Cas, so much so you asked after the angel you’d never laid eyes upon every occasion you and Dean spoke, with Dean more than obliging in recounting (and frequently exaggerating) their unbelievable adventures – expounding Cas’ virtues like he was some fairy-tale prince for you to pine after. A supremely competent wingman, Dean laid the groundwork for your amorous inclinations toward the angel long before he knew what he was laying the groundwork for.

One caseless evening, teetering at the precipice of drunken insentience over a half-empty bottle of whisky with his mopey angelic friend planted dejectedly across the table droning on and on about bees or failure or some such nonsense to Dean’s disinterested ears, Dean’s inebriated mind divined the genius idea that you and Cas would be perfect for one another. Lord knew Cas needed someone spunky to inject some fun into his existence and show him the lighter side of life, someone patient and willing to listen to his endlessly odd meandering contemplations, to deal with his lack of hobbies beyond shadowing the brothers and the increasingly annoying 24/7 angels-don’t-require-sleep pacing of the bunker halls. Sure, Cas was family, but even family had its limits.

Cas likely would have brushed off Dean’s idea with nary a second thought, except for once Dean managed to kept his notoriously bombastic mouth shut. Sort of – he’d passed out, a thin string of spittle flowing over silent loose lips and cascading across the freckled back of his hand to pool on the table. Cas noted Dean did some of his most sincere listening whilst peaceably unconscious – mostly because the lack of voluntary muscle control severely hindered his ability to roll his eyes at the angel’s absurdly random musings.

Unlike Dean’s typical drunken theories, the notion of hooking you and Cas up still seemed absolutely brilliant when he awoke the next morning, head throbbing, cheek stuck to hand in turn stuck to table. Luckily, the first person he laid eyes on and enthusiastically spilled the proverbial beans to was his brother. Over a greasy diner breakfast to absorb whatever alcohol still circulated in Dean’s system and to avoid Cas’ innocently snooping angelic ears, Sam agreed to go along with the plan, primarily because Dean clearly wasn’t going to drop it any time soon and it was the fastest way to shut him up about it. Sam argued one caveat. He knew neither you or Cas would go along willingly on a traditional blind date. He also knew his brother would be unable to function in any kind of a normal and not overtly meddlesome capacity if you all simply worked a case together as an introduction. No, you had to be gently nudged in the right direction, free will and all being of utmost import – you and Cas had to choose each other, or at the very least have the illusion of choice.

Constructing a believable farce of a case (the best lies are based on truths – what better truth than a real case), setting the stage (leaving just enough clues in the bunker and bread crumbs in town to pique your interest and persistent concern), pulling the strings (ensuring you and Cas would both be at their beck and call at the same time and be compelled to help), and getting the logistics of the charade in place (easy-peasy when your late father, John Winchester, is something of a minor celebrity in the incredibly small town of Clifton Springs, NY where he saved the life of a perpetually grateful mayor’s son and his betrothed 13 years prior – all the folks in town practically tripping over each other to play their part in the strange production) – that was all 100% Sam Winchester. Yet despite Sam’s innumerable contributions without which none of this would have happened, and because the effort appeared to have been a resounding success based on Dean’s earlier phone call to Cas wherein he learned you and the angel evidently had gotten to know each other as intimately as possible, Dean Winchester intended to take full responsibility as match-maker extraordinaire.

Stationed before the motel door, fist poised to knock, Dean squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, donning a somber expression as he prepared to bask humbly in the glory of your everlasting gratitude.

Rolling his eyes, thoroughly done with the drama, Sam reached a lanky arm around his brother and thwacked a knuckle on the door – the door swung ominously inward without resistance.

Satisfaction stolen, Dean glowered at his brother before stepping jauntily across the threshold into the darkened room.

Intuiting something amiss, Sam’s bag dropped to the ground with a dull thud, his fingers instinctively reaching for and withdrawing the knife tucked discreetly inside his brown corduroy jacket. “Dean,” he warned in a hushed tone, yanking his brother stumbling backward by the coat collar.

“What?!” Dean whined, swatting Sam’s hand aside, ego too puffed up to recognize the blatant signs of a violent struggle before him.

“Dean, seriously?” Sam snorted, setting his jaw in the harsh manner that sufficed to belay both his worry and derision. He flicked the switch by the door, shedding further light on the situation.

Dean dispassionately examined the room – focus gliding over the unmade bed, overturned chairs and busted table, smashed picture frame, and random spattering of vivid red viscous fluid on the dingy carpet and multiple walls. He shrugged, snorting in retort, “Like I said, what?”

Sam’s square jaw threatened to dislocate just then under the gnashing force of teeth required to bite his tongue.

“Look, they’re just trying to get back at us,” Dean strode forward, picking up a snapped bloodied stump of table leg, using the pointed sliver of crimson painted wood to motion grandiosely around the room, “play us at our own game. The whole thing’s obviously staged.”

Wits undamped by over-inflated ego, Sam’s eyes alit on a wrinkled piece of pale beige toned mottled oddly familiar point of something vaguely flesh-like protruding out beneath the disjointed bed. Closer examination revealed the thing to be a crudely severed finger. And judging from the knobby rheumatic knuckles and age spots decorating the amputated bit, the severed finger of someone apparently elderly in years.

Dean could find no feasible way to explain this detached digit away as part of an elaborate payback hoax. You and Cas were indeed missing – really, actually, genuinely, and concerningly missing. Fortunately for everyone involved, Dean retains the remarkable ability to transition from jester to bad-ass hunter faster than anyone else in the known universe.

Continue Reading Act IV - Part II:

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