#so i thought this would be a fun time to celebrate with some crowd source korrasami

[2miniverses]

new years kiss ; han jisung

warnings: mentions of alcohol....that's it!

a/n: i actually don't care for strangers to lovers but i actually love this *sobs* i definitely wrote this last minute but this came out way better than i thought! can you tell i have no one to kiss this new year? lol. I'm crying. i want a jisung. anyway happy new year!!

wc: 610 (i think..)

you walk into the party already wanting to leave. you can’t believe you let your friends drag you here knowing that you absolutely hate parties.

“oh, come on! it’ll be fun! you just need some drinks,” your friend lightly punched your shoulder. “it’s new years! loosen up a bit, would you?”

so you loosened up. you drank a bit, conversed (somebody asked where the bathroom was, you said you didn’t know where it was), and even danced. suddenly, amid the fun, you realized it was almost midnight— new years. and you had no one to kiss. not that it’s a big deal but you’ve never had a new years kiss and it kind of bummed you out, no matter how silly it seemed. you sighed, walked outside to escape the noise, and sat on the curb.

“you hate parties, too?” a voice in front of you interrupted your thoughts. you looked up at the source and were met with the cutest guy you’ve seen at this whole stupid party. he had kind eyes, puffy cheeks, and fluffy hair. 

“uh, yeah. hate them,” you replied shortly and took another swig of some random beer you got earlier. 

“my friends dragged me here in hopes i would stop whining about how bored i am but this is not what i wanted,” the cute guy chuckled. “i’m jisung, by the way.”

you smiled at jisung and told him your name. he sat down next to you on the curb and the two of you shared complaints about parties, the noise, and the pressure to have a memorable, special new year's moment. it felt comforting to have someone who understood your perspective.

as the minutes counted down, you both continued talking, not realizing how time flew by. with each passing second, the excitement of the approaching new year started to fade, and you both found solace in each other's company.

suddenly, the crowd inside erupted with cheers, signaling the extremely close arrival of the new year. although neither of you was partaking in the celebration, the sound echoed in your ears. jisung turned to you, a playful smile forming on his lips. "hey, i have an idea," he said, leaning one of his puffy cheeks on his hand. "since we're both in the same boat when it comes to not having someone to kiss, why don't we share a new year's kiss?"

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his proposal but intrigued nonetheless. a mix of curiosity and excitement bubbled within you. you hesitated for a moment, weighing your options before making a decision. after all, it couldn't hurt to have a little spontaneous kiss. 

“i-i was kidding!” jisung jumped away. i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable i was just…i’m sorry,” he apologized. you smiled at him and shook your head.

“it’s okay you didn’t make me uncomfortable. i was hoping something this cliche would happen,” you moved closer to him and tilted your head. from a distance, you could hear the five-second countdown.

(5!)

“so you gonna kiss me or what?”

(4!)

(3!)

jisung blushed and leaned in, (2) there was a fleeting moment of doubt, but it quickly vanished as his lips met yours.

(1!)

ironically, time seemed to stand still as you felt a gentle and warm connection. it wasn't a passionate kiss, but rather a sweet and tender moment, shared between two strangers on a night that had initially seemed mundane.

when you pulled apart, fireworks went off as you both exchanged shy smiles, feeling a newfound connection that had blossomed within such a short period. jisung took your hand and smiled, “happy new year.”

“happy new year, jisung.”

[sgiandubh]

No Liberace's smile

Warning: this will take forever to read. It didn't take forever to write or research, though. But since I will be gone tomorrow and back well, next Saturday, let it be done with a bang.

S the Actor. S the Entrepreneur. S the NYT (3x!) best-seller Writer. Coach S. S the Lover. S the Womanizer. S the Husband. S the Father.

Is something missing, in this deck of Happy Families?

S the (closeted) Gay, of course.

It doesn't really matter the man himself took the time to deny it loud and clear. Twice. This avatar, fueled by idiocy, hatred and ignorance, makes regularly the rounds, each and every time we dare to celebrate something, anything really. It serves three tribes and serves them well: the Congregation of Domestic Bliss (aka Taiters). The Data Lounge crowd. And the Disgruntled Harpies, who once were some of the most fervent Ginger Jesus worshippers, but whose hopes, dreams and trust wrecked on the shores of Quarantein Ha-wa-wee.

It is the proper of calumny to leave a pungent, persistent trail wherever it fumbles around. Calomniez, calomniez, il en restera toujours quelque chose, Beaumarchais once wrote. Calumny, calumny, something's gonna stick - in a very lazy, but dependable translation. This one is particularly vicious, because it sounds coherent: he trades in make-believe, lots of actors are, precedents exist. And my favorite: it explains everything (fun fact: it doesn't even start to cover the shitshow).

Four exhibits should put us out of this dumpster. Chronologically and comparatively:

Exhibit A: Rough Beginnings (2009)

This one is the most touted on Tumblr, by that horrible woman Queen Puff thought was the same person as Paul C. (and was probably wrong). In a nutshell, she was in London then, she often went to the theatre, she was in the know, fuck knows what else, but she has SOURCES, too: there is nothing straight about his bat.

I suppose this person must have watched Nicholas de Jongh's Plague Over England, a play essentially narrating a scandalous episode of John Gielgud's biography, with a heavy-handed focus on homophobia in Britain during the 50's.

He got naked on stage! He kissed a man! Oh, oh, oh... the rumor! the scandal! (insert domestic fire shrieks) My eyes! Quick, let's fetch the smelling salts! And chlorine! I need a good rinse!

You would imagine Sodom & Gomorrah Ltd on that stage, eh?

Tumblrettes United of the disgruntled sort, did your talkative friend ever show you this devastating Guardian chronicle, signed by their in-house critic, John M. Morrison on February 27th 2009 (https://www.theguardian.com/stage/theatreblog/2009/feb/26/de-jongh-plague-over-england) ?

Should I sign it or use a pistol flare? It wasn't exactly scandalous, the only thing is the text was really, really piss poor. S is only gracing the above picture, hovering over the article: no mention of him whatsoever. Unlike Somerset 2019, a most Unremarkable Performance.

And S himself was very interested to explore precisely this kind of progressive-ish acting, as he clearly writes in Waypoints. This sounds legit - this is business, baby:

Exhibit B: Know your Classics, bi@ tches (2010)

*channeling Tears for Fears* Data Lounge, I am talking to you/[something, something]/These are the things I could do without...

Aside the already very, very tired stock stories purporting that "my dog's aunt knew Heughan and yeah, he was so, so, so gay I could cry", all you have (I checked!) is 1 (one) absolutely dubious BTS pic taken on the set of that terrible dud, Young Alexander, shot in Egypt, circa 2010. Prominently featuring S's waxed calves (see? gay AF!), an unbecoming, supremely effeminate white tunic and *gasp* a bong (no comments were made on that one, a pity). Yeah, you got it: I am writing and I am laughing at the same time. Freak.

How the hell do you want him to look but, pardon my French, queer as a three-dollar bill? You clearly have no idea about sexual ambiguity as social norm in Ancient Greece and also no clue about that fascinating Alexander himself, his life and his yeah, blatant, documented bisexuality.

Take one of the most interesting sources (yeah, only serious ones, with FACTS) of the Late Antiquity, a guy named Athenaeus of Naucratis. He left us The Banquet of the Learned, a fifteen-volume encyclopedic compilation on the pleasures of eating and drinking and doing it in style, along with some juicy gossip. For example, this (open in separate tab, it's worth it):

What do we read? Alexander's mom, dad and tutor (Aristotle, my favorite Greek philosopher, along with Diogenes) are worried he finally might not really be into women, after all. The future of the Macedonian Kingdom itself is at stake (that watery semen made me choke on my Coke) and this is a very serious affair of the state. The most cost-effective and discreet solution is to handsomely pay that Callixeina courtesan from (famous for pin-ups) Thessaly and be done with it.

Apparently, it worked, not without some resistance. If you ever have the curiosity to go on that (in)famous Wikipedia, you will find a whole page dedicated to Alexander the Great's personal life. It reads exactly like the ABC, do-re-mi summer soccer mercato, feat. the Fitness Harem. One of the major joys of Classical studies is to realize we really didn't invent anything new.

But I digress again, so onwards to ...

Exhibit C: Jobbing Actor on the Road, nothing straight about his Bat (2011-2013)

Once the Batman show is on world tour, things are looking a bit better and it is time to try and lockpick America. Still, the struggle is real:

Also, this:

This is something no one noticed. And this is very clear: how on Earth do you expect to commit to a relationship, any relationship, when your basic needs, according to Maslow's Pyramid (a roof, a job, a steady paycheck, etc), are not satisfied? What would you offer your woman? Your precarity? Your insecurity? Your fear and shame of the bailiffs? A pint of cheap Polish beer? A futon in Golders Green?

But let's conveniently not answer these questions. Let's pretend that poverty has no impact on one's sexual life or dating history. Let's just endlessly cackle and blather on a drunk tweet stating candidly - and perfectly truly - "there's nothing straight about my Bat". I hate to quote myself - for any good speaker, this is a defeat- but, LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE OF MORDOR:

Exhibit D: A French example - the case of Michel Serrault

The 1979 comedy La Cage aux Folles, later adapted for the US public under the name of Birds of a Feather (that Robin Williams/Nathan Lane forgettable gay movie) is absolutely representative for the live and let live French approach to homosexuality, ever since it was decriminalized by the revolutionary Penal Code of 1791. This is why I chose Michel Serrault, one of its two leads, to illustrate my Gay Anon post. Not to mention Serrault was a genius who could play absolutely anyone, from a retired hitman in Matthieu Kassowitz' Assassin(s) to Zaza Napoli.

This balding, ageing, cantankerous drag queen (sound is horrific, but you've got English subtitles - granted, you lose about 30% of the hysterical hilarity in translation, but it is what it is), as seen here in a domestic scene opposite her partner, played by notorious womanizer Ugo Tognazzi:

By the limp standards of Mordor, Serrault must have been a French LGBTQ+ institution, given his stellar, flawless acting, isn't it?

Incorrect, dolls. In his real, personal life Serrault was a devout Catholic, an exemplary father of two and a one-woman man. His wife, Nita Serrault, whom he met in drama school and never looked back.

It almost sounds like... but no, this cannot be..

The hard, gruesome life of shippers.

[ehlnofay]

I have been thinking about Nordic childhood traditions lately. As far as they go, I only found that young men in the Old Holds hunt ice wraiths in the dead of winter as a claim to full status as citizens, and that Nordic names are chosen based on omens and given in a special ceremony when a child is young. I'm interested in your thoughts on the childhood traditions of the Nords. Would they differ from hold to hold? How different would they be in a more cosmopolitan hold like the Reach compared to one of the Old Holds where the Old Ways still thrive, such as Dawnstar? Would traditions be different between young boys and young girls? What if a child were to grow up sheltered? What would they be missing out on during their childhood?

hmm, interesting question… I think most ritualised traditions pertaining to childhood are about growth and moving from one state to another, so your question is making me think mostly about coming-of-age traditions. the ice wraith thing is obviously an example of this, but not one that would be super accessible in most of skyrim, and though I can imagine it still being practised in some communities I imagine others might consider it archaic (the source for that one dates to the second era iirc, so definitely not a contemporary observation!) I wonder what other kinds of practices might stand in its place… skyrim is harsh country and socio-culturally speaking I think nords value both knowing the land and how to manage it and protecting the hearth and home. durability and community are prized and rites of passage into adulthood would need to exemplify these ideals. I’ll keep pondering this… might be fun to try to figure out what these traditions might be

(I do imagine that there are visual changes before and after earning adulthood – there are probably garments that only children wear and vice versa. and I don’t think people begin to braid and decorate their beards until they’ve recognised as an adult. they can have one beforehand, it just has to be boring. so beard care is often a point of pride)

and I DEFINITELY believe that there’s enormous variation between the traditions of different holds. not least because the environments that shape them are so different (the swamps of morthal prompt different ways of interacting with the world around you than the snow-clad pale or the mountains of the reach)… imperialisation is also a massive factor. skyrim as we see it in-game is so heavily influenced by the empire that despite the whole civil war occurring over Nord Lands and Nord Traditions and Nord Beliefs, there is exactly one character shown who gives a rat's ass about any of the old gods, or how they've been overwritten by cyrod interpretations. now I do think the game is just wrong about that and there are definitely more people who feel that way, but even so - one has to assume it's affected how traditional milestones and rites of passage are perceived and celebrated. religious traditions in particular would have had a hard time sticking around as skyrim became more used to the imperial pantheon. cities, being generally more cosmopolitan, more crowded, more imperialised, and kind of seen as separate from the land, are probably where these traditions have become rarest and altered the most (there isn't always the right cultural backdrop for them - there often just isn't space). they’re still there, just different.

(whether there’s any difference between the traditions of boys and girls – I honestly don’t know what to think! tes is in such a weird place gender-wise because it feels like the writers tried to create a world without sexism, or at least in which it was negligible, but then did exactly zero reflection on what the ramifications of that would be on anything ever. I can’t really tell if the social roles there might be different, or how, because the game never says that the roles are different but it also never really challenges player expectations either. so I respectfully bow out of answering that one because it confuses me)

[koco-coko]

Mea Culpa - Vincent x Jean - Ikemen Vampire

-> The entire mansion was invited to a summer gala! Jean and Vincent sneak off for some alone time… Except- Oh no! They didn’t hear the footsteps behind them!!

Tags/Warnings <--> Slight crack, Humorous, Slightly fluffy, Supportive Family, Being Outed, Slight spice (is making out considered spice?), More kissing than I originally planned, Theo loses his mind, "Comte loves all his sons equally" (the mansion knows Jean the favorite- Jean does not), Arthur bullies indiscriminately

Word Count: 3203 (about 6 pages)

A/N <--> I had too much fun writing this. I genuinely don't know how I wrote this so fast. Also I recommend reading https://www.tumblr.com/koco-coko/737240114777948160/when-the-world-exploded-vincent-x-jean?source=share this if you want more context if not that'a fine

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (if anyone wants to be removed or added lemme know)

A summer night’s gala… What a romantic scene. The heat and humidity of evening air, the faint glow of candlelight, the soft melodies of a piano and violin…

It was a beautiful event, really. A friend of Le Comte’s invited him and the residents of his mansion to celebrate the summer solstice. It was the first summer after Jean and Vincent started their relationship. It wasn’t public, considering the era, but nobody in the mansion knew either. Maybe one day, but Jean was not ready for the amount of teasing comments he’d receive after this. Besides, only Sebastian and Mitsuki came from an ‘accepting’ era… How would the rest feel about something like this?

So, for the gala, Vincent and Jean stayed trapped in their own bubbles. Vincent hung around the food with his brother while Jean was a wallflower by Mozart’s piano. Jean would’ve approached Vincent by now, but unfortunately, the light of an angel attracted many people. Mostly women. All in their nice summer dresses with their fans, all swooning over the innocence and purity of the man before them. Theo seemed to fight them off fairly well by just… being Theo… but Jean felt something rising in him as he watched the crowd, tipsy and carefree, flirting with Vincent so openly. A green-eyed monster in Jean’s heart made his jaw tighten, only made worse by Vincent’s cluelessness and occasional discomfort when a lady in red mentioned the idea of courting him.

Jean tried to stay next to Mozart as long as possible. Except… the people really did love Wolfram, flocking around his piano to listen to his songs more intently. Jean’s discomfort then brought him to linger around Napoleon, but then Napoleon chatted with Isaac, who was being stalked by Dazai, and no way was he going anywhere close to Comte and that bundle of nerve and nobility…

Jean found himself at a loss in the corner. Why did he even agree to come to this place? He really wasn’t the type for fancy events. Even his suit felt stifling, though maybe that was the humidity getting to him. Jean pulled at his collar and wiped his forehead with his arm, scanning the area for any type of escape. The balcony already had lovers on it, enjoying the idyllic starry night. A single glimpse to the upper levels gave him the sight of an older man and woman clinking their glasses together. A young pair behind them was making their way to the balcony, whispering and blushing as they did.

His eyes traveled to a sandy-blonde without any command. The thought of passionate and amorous nights made his thoughts turn to Vincent in mere seconds. 

Vincent was rubbing Theo’s shoulder while Arthur laughed about something, when suddenly he caught a glimpse of Jean staring at him. He waved, but his grin faded as he saw the anxious look on his partner’s face. Theodorus was starting to chide Arthur for something, not even realizing his older brother’s hand had left him. Vincent pointed to the open door, the only thing that caught the venue from being too stuffy to handle.

When Jean nodded shyly, Vincent made a beeline outside. Of course, the garden was filled with groups of people as well. The fairy lights and lanterns were just too nice to miss. Wine and lovey-dovey nobles littered the area. When Jean joined his side, that’s when he caught sight of a small place beyond the bushes. None of the fine ladies in their bouncy dresses would want to go through thorny bushes to somewhere so dark and secluded to flirt with their lovers (Well, there were a few unseemly sounds coming from behind the banquet hall… B-But they weren’t going in that direction! Vincent was actively trying to avoid places with sound, anyways…).

There weren’t many lights in the clearing beyond trimmed bushes, leaving Jean and Vincent alone in the dark. Still, by how close they were put together, there was no need for it. Jean grabbed Vincent’s hands and held them to his face, peppering both of his knuckles in kisses before he could even get a word in..

Vincent hadn’t even gotten a word in! He chuckled lightly. “What spurred this on?” Vincent asked, naive to the expression on Jean’s face. He looked desperate and helpless, as if being away from Vincent that long was torture for him.

Jean glanced to the side. “I do not know… I believe envy has claimed me tonight.” How embarrassing it was to admit such a deadly sin to his lover… He’d likely never live it down. “Seeing you with those women, I believe it has stirred something in me. Forgive me, monsieur.” Jean hid his pink face behind Vincent’s hand. They vaguely smelled of oil and lead. From here, Jean could even observe the dried paint behind his lover’s fingernails. It was cute, sort of.

When Jean looked back at Vincent, he had the most romantic expression, his smile almost reaching his ears. “Aw, Jeanie…” Vincent whispered. His hands moved from Jean’s grasp and onto his cheeks, causing the soldier to straighten himself into the proper standing position. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize they were trying to court me,” he said. Unconsciously, his finger rubbed Jean’s eyepatch as he spoke. It had become so natural at this point. “I’m not the best when it comes to that kind of stuff. But next time–”

“I will be there next time. To protect you,” Jean cut him off, although unintentionally. Neither had great social cues, it seemed. 

The possessive tone in Jean’s voice made Vincent’s heart flutter quite a bit. He couldn’t tell if he was heated from the summer’s humidity or something else anymore. In all truth, Vincent had a possessive streak in him as well, but he had always pushed his jealous thoughts to the back of his mind. Despite everything, his habit of trying not to feel still had quite the hold on him. 

Jean cleared his throat once he realized how long he’d been staring at Vincen’t face. “Apologies,” he mumbled, “That is only if you wish.”

A moment of silence dragged on between them, but the painter’s palms on Jean’s cheeks made him all too aware of the time that elapsed. Seconds felt like hours when he couldn’t hear his lover's sweet and soothing voice.

“I don’t mind,” he started softly, his hands slowly lowering. A distant sadness was behind his sky blue eyes, one Jean had come to learn all too well. His arms wrapped around his lover’s waist on instinct. “It’s just…” Vincent sighed and grimaced as the words struggled to leave his lips. “It’s times like these I wish they’d see us as real lovers.”

Jean’s heart had struck a chord. Vincent could tell from the tightening of his grip.

“It’s not that we aren’t,” Vincent explained, laying his head on Jean’s shoulder comfortably. “I know this–” he placed his hand on Jean’s heart and almost laughed when he felt it suddenly speed up, “–is real. But others are going to say it’s not, and I think that hurts a bit.”

Jean, despite a bit of stiffness, began to rub Vincent’s back as best he could. It wasn’t very soothing, but the gesture was appreciated. “I didn’t believe it either, at first,” Jean responded slowly, picking his words with care and precision, “But I do now. Maybe others just need time like I did.”

“And a lot of persistence,” Vincent teased. He couldn’t help it– not when Jean’s flustered pout was so cute!

Jean and Vincent always had a struggle with words and pinning down their true emotions into tangible sentences. It’s why Vincent had his art to escape to. Jean’s coping mechanisms were a little (a lot) less healthy (fencing his feelings out until he forgot about them), but both were actively trying to get better at this whole thing. A relationship meant communication and communication meant a lot of scary things.

Communication didn’t have to be just words, though. Vincent’s paintings revealed much broader ideas than even he realized, and Jean’s actions were much better at showing his true intent as well. So, with a short smile and one last scan for safety, Jean tightened his grip on Vincent and pushed their lips together.

Vincent loved kissing Jean, and vice-versa. It was much more personal and loving than they could ever voice. Jean, in all his shyness, was surprisingly passionate with every kiss and put his entire heart and soul into every minute of it. It was only exaggerated by his jealousy tonight. He pulled Vincent closer and closer, until their bodies were up against each other completely. He was also a die-hard fan of French kisses (I wonder why). Almost every session like this devolved into those. Not that Vincent was complaining.

Vincent smiled when their lips touched, nothing but accepting the moment. There were so few times they could display their love, and they both barely had any idea how to do that either. But here? For just a minute or so, they could pretend that they were your average, head-over-heels couple, unable to keep down their passions any longer. They could pretend that they didn’t have to hide and completely soak into the other with no pesky inhibitions to get in the way. Vincent wrapped his arms around Jean’s shoulders just as their tongues started to meet, his hand running up his neck and into the lower strands of his slate blue hair.

Oh, it was utter bliss. They could stay like this forever, if time let them.

“I KNEW IT!” A voice yelled beyond the bushes. They ignored it at first. Then, the stomping got closer–

“I TOLD YOU, I KNEW IT!!” Wait, was that Theo’s–!?

The bushes parted with a big swoosh just before the lovers could retreat their faces from the other, revealing Theodorus’s red face and gritted teeth.  “YOU ARE STEALING MY BROTHER FROM–” 

His eyes opened wide when he saw the scene before him. It was as if his whole world shattered right then and there. “... me.” Theo’s angry stance fell to one of complete disbelief.

Jean and Vincent… like two peas in a pod… Jean’s arms around his waist…. Vincent’s on his shoulders… their faces, red and flushed… inches apart…

“Um… Hallo, Broer!” Vincent laughed awkwardly, trying his best to put on a welcoming smile. No point in trying to move away from each other now. It was bound to happen eventually, right? Oh, why’d it have to be Theo? Even Arthur would’ve been better…

Jean, unlike his partner, was as still as stone, staring dumbstruck at Theo with wide eyes rivaling the little brother’s look of shock. He couldn’t even move. It was as if Jean had been completely frozen in time.

“Pal, what in the brother complex are you going on about?” Arthur was quick to join the scene. The partners in crime never seemed far apart, so it was only a natural development. He just had to glimpse at Jean’s tomato-red face once to burst out into laughter, holding onto Theodorus’s shoulder for support. Thankfully, Arthur was pointing at Theo and not the two currently in a tense embrace.

Suddenly, Jean shoved Vincent off of him. Vincent didn’t seem all too upset at that, quickly patting down his suit. Actually, he was thankful he did. With Arthur’s bellowing laughter, the real chaos soon began.

Mozart, then Sebastian, then Comte, then William, then Leonardo, then Napoleon– in that order. There were more, but the bushes were too dense for Vincent to see the others through.

“Is there something I should worry about happening here?” Comte asked gently, clearly confused by the combination of residents. 

The playboy was doubled-over, clutching his stomach and wiping his face of tears. He could barely look at Theo’s traumatized face without wheezing. “Oh, nothing wrong, dear old dad! Just Theo walking in on his older brother’s love session!” Arthur barely had the breath to force those words out as he fell onto the grass. “Dear Gods, I’m about to piss myself!!” he snorted.

Mozart’s face was utterly disgusted as he tried to avoid the foliage, only to gaze at Jean and Vincent with mild disinterest. “That’s it? Here you had me thinking it was somewhat important. But…” Mozart’s expression softened when he saw Jean’s red face. The soldier still wasn’t completely in reality. Mozart snapped his fingers in front of his face, but it did nothing. “Vincent, huh?” he leaned over to observe the painter currently biting his lip and rubbing the back of his neck. “I did not expect blondes to be your type.”

“He’s not the worst choice in the mansion,” Napoleon added on, smirking broadly. This was currently… amusing. “Though, I thought Jean would be more into you, if anything.”

“I was going to tell you Theo– we were going to tell you all, really!” Vincent desperately tried to control the situation, stepping in front of the flustered Jean. “Just… Not now. But eventually! We didn’t know how everyone would react, and we’re just trying to take it slow and–”

William laughed heartily, approaching his friend with glee written all over him. “Th're is nothing to beest dainty about! i has't did kiss many a sir in mine own lifetimes!”

Vincent blinked and his expression dropped. “What?”

Shakespeare smiled lightly. “Actresses didst not exist  in mine time. Juliet wast just a knave in a dress. Or I, if 't be true nobody else could fill in at rehearsals that day.”

“Oh… I see,” Vincent replied. Will pat his shoulder reassuringly, joined by a slap on the back from Leonardo. Jean and Vincent both recieved one as Leonardo came from behind them. Jean let out a soft ‘oof’ as he caught himself, finally waking from his humiliated trance.

“Welcome to the club, you two,” he said, grinning. “Man, I remember the day… I was almost arrested for something just like this when I was younger!” Leonardo gripped Jean’s shoulder and shook it. “Ah, memories.”

Jean glanced at Vincent, then at Will and Leonardo. “How many residents of the mansion are… like us?”

“More than you think!” Sebastian chimed in, grinning madly as his pen went all over the pages of his notebook. He slammed it closed quickly and hid it behind his back. “But that’s just a hunch. Take Napoleon, for example! He’s likely kissed almost every resident here!”

To that, Napoleon smirked and shrugged. He couldn’t really deny it…

“I can’t believe it,” Comte sighed, a hand over his chest as he gazed fondly at Jean. Jean’s face instantly scrunched up and he turned out. “I never thought I’d see the day Jean found happiness in another!” Comte’s face lit up as he made his way to Jean’s side and wrapped his arms around him for a quick, tight squeeze. “I’m incredibly proud. Maybe one day you’ll even open up to the rest of us.” 

Jean looked as if he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Mozart, Leonardo, and Napoleon all gave each other an exasperated, knowing glance. Comte wasn’t even trying to hide his favoritism anymore.

Vincent sighed, half-relieved and half-worried for the future ahead of them. He caught sight of Theo, still standing there with complete shock. At least, unlike Jean, he was blinking and looking around.

The brothers stared at each other for a bit. It was tense, at least on Vincent’s end. “Broer, I’m sorry–” Before Vincent could finish, Theo had closed the gap between them and embraced his older brother tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered shyly, just as Vincent’s arms made their way around his younger brother. “I wouldn’t judge you for something as simple as this! I could’ve helped you! You didn’t have to hide all by yourself. How long have you had to bear this alone!? A month? A year??”

“Oh, Broer…” Vincent held his brother just as tightly, only moving back so he could pinch his cheek. Theo, although embarrassed, let it happen. “You really are a sweetheart sometimes. And I wasn’t alone, Theo. Jean was there with me!” Vincent looked over at Jean, only recently free from Comte’s smothering. By the look on his face, he was going to wash himself the moment they got home. Theo squinted at Jean. “He’s good to me, Broer. With Jean… I’m really happy with him. I promise.”

Theo’s glare didn’t stop just because of that. Jean met eyes with the little brother. It only added to the soldier’s nerves about such a sudden outing. If looks could kill, Jean was already a goner. Stabbed 29 times, shot 46, and probably a few broken bones.

Theo left Vincent’s arms and examined Jean in excruciating detail, head-to-toe. Once he had been thoroughly checked at all angles, despite Jean’s squirming, Theo leaned in close. Too close for comfort. Jean tried to lean back, only for Theo’s deadly glare and infuriated expression to come closer.

Theo pointed at Vincent. “You even think about breaking his heart, and I will hunt you down until the end of time and cut your dick off. You got that?”

“Broer!” Vincent exclaimed, “Language!”

Jean heeded Theo's warning, nodding his head quickly.

“Oh, old pal,” Arthur said, finally able to stand and dust himself off. He quickly went to his long-time friend and leaned on him. “That look on your face… Whoo, I’m never letting you live that down!”

The night continued on fairly normally, with only a few residents who weren’t present at the scene asking for clarification (Mostly Isaac, considering his era). The residents were surprisingly welcome to the idea, though maybe the whole vampire thing put the small stuff like this into perspective. 

Things were a lot different back home, though. 

For one, Theo was always giving the death-glare to Jean when he was around. He was checking in on Vincent a lot more often, always making sure his Broer was always happy and satisfied. It was only after a few talks with Arthur and Comte that he started to lay off (Comte and Arthur? Teamed up? It had to be serious).

Arthur and Dazai would often have teasing remarks, to Jean’s displeasure, but it was really only in the first few weeks that they were bad. Isaac nodded to them anytime they said a word, considering they were now fodder for jokes.

Comte was… more than proud, to say the least. If Jean ever mentioned that he wanted to take Vincent to a show, tickets would magically appear on his bedside the next day. Sebastian joined Comte, hiding around the corners near them a lot more often to take notes. This need for information (Comte was more on the: making sure his sons’ were always content side of things) led to a truce about the notebooks between the master and butler.

Despite all the changes, or lack thereof, there was one change that the lovers were the most fond of.

Finally, finally… Vincent could leave a peck on Jean’s cheek anywhere he’d like. Right in front of the dining table, after a sparring match with Napoleon… and nobody would bat an eye. 

It was the simple things that meant the world to those two.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Merry Christmas, Rose!❄️🎄🎁💖

Merry Christmas, Rose!!! I hope that you're having a lovely festive season, full of good food and spending time with your loved ones!!!💗💗💗💗

@rosesloveletters

Total word count for this gift set: 6, 442.

First, a handwritten letter from me because we always do this first!!😭

Now for some fics!!! I had so much fun writing these; I hope you enjoy! I think you will😉 If you don't like them, please don't be shy in letting me know and I'll happily write you something else.🥺💗 I love you so so much, I had a lot of fun writing these and I hope you enjoy them!!

To have and to hold // 1971!Wonka x Rose

Summary: Sometimes, you just want to sit in Wonka's lap while he's drafting letters to the queen, working on his recipes and seasonal confectionaries, filing invoices and working on the organisation of his international business, you want to hold him while he works. And if you happened to fall asleep, well... who would he be to disturb you?

Quote in italics found here, by Pavana.

Word count: 1, 168.

Everything was cut in half in this room; Wonka's office.

The grandfather clock that hung on the wall, the papers and posters detailing various contracts, legislative guidelines, and other things which needed to be known but couldn't always be remembered off the top of a very crowded head, the mirror, the lamp shade, the desk and its many accessories...

Everything was cut in half in this room, except time and the reality under which Wonka occasionally had to bow, even in his world of pure imagination.

And the depth of your affection.

You never withheld affection or love from Wonka, no matter what kind of day either of you were having. In fact, the worst days involved more affection, with both of you holding onto each other even tighter just so that you could make it through. Wonka held the weight of the world on his shoulders with poise and grace; he knew how to handle even the most stressful of situations, and he did it without a curl falling out of place. Even the curls that sat atop his head, concealed by his top hat, stayed perfectly imperfectly whenever he took his hat off. The way they flopped around on one side often made you laugh, though you tried to hide it behind a hand sometimes. He carried himself as if nothing ever affected him, and for the most part nothing did - his reputation was his blanket - but sometimes his gorgeous smile was a little dimmer than usual, his oceans of blue a little icier and his gaze a little further away than you were used to.

On those days, which occurred more frequently during any and all potential holidays one could celebrate in a given year, you gave yourself permission to love on your chocolatier a little firmer than you already did. You wanted your affection, your love, for him, to cut across the meaningless noise of his thoughts until all that remained was his ability to make his way through his to do list, to face what has to be faced and to handle everything as gracefully as he could without even slightly marring his reputation.

All of this so that then he could stop working, put the pens down and the papers aside, close the lodgers and the financial books, and get some rest in the arms of his beloved; his sunshine.

You.

You were the one success Wonka never counted on; for years, he had been locked away in his factory churning out new confectioneries, designing new packaging and continuing to churn up his chocolate by waterfall. Everything was regimented, precise, controlled and measured, except for his imagination, the endless source of his success...

... And the appearance of you.

There was to be no controlling of the way that the sunlight had come to resemble the face of his beloved as it poured in through the windows of his office, the way you had so suddenly turned the world - his world - upside down and righted it again so quickly that Wonka felt his aptly named rose tinted glasses slide off his face, though his vision remained bathed in pink as he took in the new angles of the world with his love of you and for you cradled so closely to his heart.

Wonka, in all his wildest dreams, in his world of pure imagination, never saw you coming, and it only made him all in love with you all over again every single day.

He liked surprises, and you continued to astonish him even months into your relationship when he should have been used to you, and yet he found that he never really could be; you were simply too ethereal, too rich a personality in your own right. Every time he thought he knew you, you revealed more of yourself until his pure world spun on its axis anew and your image, forever carved into his tired heart with the gentlest of blades, became deeper, more vivid, a knowledge of the garden of your soul only for him.

Try as he might, Wonka was always almost shocked by all the ways in which you managed to show that you loved him.

One such way was your newly adopted habit of letting yourself into his office when he was bent over his desk so close that the tip of his nose was almost brushing against the surface of the ink filled pages he was diligently working on, and curling up in his lap. Your arms looped around his shoulders so that you could pull him up to sit in a way where you could easily slide into his lap, the cool tip of your nose buried in the warm crook of his neck, your body perfectly cradled by his own.

Wonka always sat back in his chair immediately once he realised your intentions, his pen loosely dangled between graceful fingers, his hands slightly raised above his desktop as he waited for you to make yourself comfortable before he would resume his work. It was almost like two puzzle pieces slotting together; his touch as you settled into his welcoming lap felt right, like it was where you were always supposed to be.

You always tucked yourself as close to him as you could, keeping out of his arms' way as best as you could even though they caged you on his lap quite naturally from how he sat as he filled out paperwork, but Wonka never would have asked you to move even if you were in his way. He would have simply rested his chin over your shoulder so that he could still see and carried on regardless; accepting your love without a word and returning it to you as best as he could.

"The greatest intimacy lies between the nakedness of two minds."

The smile which broke across your face at the sound of his quiet voice, the way he so often spoke when he was quoting someone literary, was serene, hidden though it was in Wonka's neck, and you shifted ever closer into royal purple, your fingers slipping into golden curls. Fingers scratched, soothed over scalp, and for a brief moment the two of you had closed eyes and wore smiles which came from within; there was nothing unnatural about the bond between you.

As Wonka finished a letter to the Queen and began to go over some business invoices for the next bulk of monthly stock orders, he began to hum. He knew by the way you were holding him that you were falling asleep, and he had much work to do and not much time in which to do it - yes, that was the right way to say it. He felt a touch of pride in you as the first few notes drifted into your ears and sunk into your mind, helping you to find rest by creating a heavy cloak of sleep which you couldn't help but to slip into.

"Come with me, and you'll be - "

I had two ideas for you and Wonka; I couldn't pick one so I figured I'd write you both!!💗

Alternative delights // 1971!Wonka x Rose

Summary: Wonka finds out that you are allergic to dairy and as such, can't eat anything in his chocolate room. To you, it is a throwaway comment, but to Wonka... it's not just a challenge, it's a certainty that he's going to make sure you can enjoy his world of imagination just as much as he can.

Word count: 1, 055.

Wonka couldn't help but to notice that even as you walked around his much beloved chocolate room, his much prized creation carefully cultivated to showcase the best of his many talents and skills, you didn't touch anything.

You didn't even dip a finger into a mushroom stool on your way past and lick it.

You didn't touch, you didn't taste, you didn't indulge.

You just looked, awe-struck, and explored. All you left behind was the ghost of who you had been before you stepped through the deceptively small door, changed by your experiences with Wonka and ever-growing and evolving as your own person.

Somewhere deep inside him, Wonka knew that he would get to watch you blossom, and he couldn't wait.

Finally, he had to know why you weren't using the chocolate room for its express purpose, and he stopped you in your tracks with a gentle hand curled around one of your elbows as he pulled you closer so that he could murmur in your ear.

"Is there something wrong, my dear?" Wonka used a casual hand to gesture towards the nearest creation; a giant gummy bear. That likely wouldn't harm you, but you could never be too sure unless you were reading the ingredients list, and you knew that curiosity was never worth the very visceral bodily reactions to ingesting dairy.

"No," you shook your head with an easily smile, "I just can't have anything with dairy in it."

Wonka's eyebrows shot up in surprise; he thought he had heard it all in his decades as an international business owner, but clearly he hadn't. You were full of surprises, and it only served to draw him to you even further. He could only imagine how hard it must be for you to be able to find good food which you could safely enjoy, and he channeled that into figuring out how he could make that happen for you. There was nothing he couldn't do if he put his mind to it, and the very same could be said for you.

You continued to explore, not even trailing your hand along anything in case you forgot to wash your hands before ingesting anything later on (again, you had learned the hard way to treat anything potentially containing dairy as being like poison to you, and you always took your medication) and Wonka waited until you had gone out of earshot before he pulled his flute out from his inner breast pocket and flagged down an Oompa Loompa. "Find out everything you can on people who are allergic to dairy, please. I want symptoms, alleviations, and alternative ingredients."

Five hours later, he and the Oompa Loompas got to the real work. They started working on new adjusted recipes, and Wonka set about clearing out a room for you - a chocolate room.

There was little to do and too much time to do it in - wait. Strike that. Reverse it.

It was fine, Wonka shrugged, he knew what he meant the first time. He only clarified his thoughts for everyone else's sake, even if there was no one else in the room. One could never be too sure if there was an Oompa Loompa around, they were rather mischievous.

As he did with all things, Wonka threw himself into this latest (and therefore greatest, a magician was he with taste buds) innovation - if this proved to be a success for you, then perhaps he could look at developing a dairy free line for the general public, too. That was not to say that you were to be his guinea pig, only to say that he trusted your judgement implicitly and if you enjoyed his adapted creations, that meant everything to the chocolatier. It was to be only the best for you, as was befitting for someone as incredible as you.

You hadn't known one another long, but you gravitated towards each other all the same, like you were both the moth to the other's flame. Leading each other quite naturally into your new lives together. It had only been some months, and yet Wonka could already see that you were kind, tender, compassionate, gentle, creative, logical, funny, caring, wise, and someone he would go above and beyond for... as he was doing right now.

Five days to the hour later, and there was a new chocolate room on the other side of the factory, to make sure that cross-contamination was kept to an absolute minimum, with a sign on the door which read, no entry; chocolate Roses within.

Hope swirled within you as you stood in front of it, your beautiful eyes taking in what was inscribed on the door, but you pushed it down forcefully. Maybe the sign wasn't implying what you thought it was. You refused to let yourself get excited. You had done that before, and you weren't so keen to get bitten again.

"Well, my dear... this room, which is an exact replica of my own chocolate room, is entirely for you." As he spoke, Wonka dipped into the same pocket which held the flute he used to communicate with the Oompa Loompas, and withdrew a large key. "All of it is dairy free and entirely safe for your consumption. I hope that you enjoy it..." He smiled wistfully. "I'm sure you will." Another pause. "Yes, quite sure." His voice trailed off as he got lost in his thoughts, though he quickly recovered. The tip of the key he had given you was much smaller than the head, which made the key look almost comically large, the tip looking like it would snap under the slightest pressure put onto the top-heavy key. He handed it to you, ignoring your furrowed brows of confusion, and gestured to the door with a graceful hand.

After you.

With a slight tremor to your usually steady hands, you slotted the key into the lock, and Wonka raised his eyebrows in anticipation as you pushed the door open with your other hand.

"Welcome to your chocolate room..."

The door opened, and the gorgeous room was a perfect replica. The only difference was that you could fully enjoy this journey into a world of pure imagination, made only of chocolate, sugar and love.

The look of absolute awe on your face was all the thanks Wonka ever needed.

Planting new life // 2012!The Onceler x Rose

Summary: The Onceler inspires you to plant some trees in your back garden. It becomes a moment of bonding between the two of you. The Lorax looks on, proud and serene.

Word count: 1, 174.

You had always been a bit green-fingered.

For years, it had been a dream of yours to have your own garden, to be able to grow and eat your own vegetables and nurture your own plants. There was something so therapeutic about getting your hands in the soil and planting seeds; peppers, tomatoes, sunflowers especially were amongst your favourite to plant and observe in their element, and, you hoped and planned for trees. Watching them grow, knowing that you were the one who put them there, and many years later being able to see the sun shining through the pure green leaves as the tree continued to flourish and thrive under the conditions you had created and then maintained for it as best as you could. There was nothing in the world quite like it, and you did your best to grow what you were able to.

There was a great oak in your back garden, close to your neighbour's fence, which needed to be cut down for various reasons. Out with the old, and in with the new. It needed to be cut down, there was no other way, but rather than pay for someone else to do it, you would rather have your Onceler do it. He knew what he was doing, having cut down many a tree in his time, but those trees had still been alive. This wasn't anything more than doing what had to be done so that you could plant new life where the dead had fallen.

You knew that The Onceler had once sworn that he would never, he promised, chop down another tree, but this one had to go. Its roots were compromised, it was actively dying, and cutting it down so that you could then dig it out at the roots before planting a new one in the same place was the best decision out of all of the available options.

And who could you turn to, who else knew how to do this quickly, but your Onceler?

It was a process greatly deliberated between the two of you, with many a bad memory attached to the felling of a tree, and even more bad memories attached to why such an act had become a frenzy for your thneed creator. No one had cared, no one, as the invasive greed of capitalism had taken hold of a once pure intention and twisted it, warped it, beyond recognition, until it was an ugly festering thing which brought devastation and starvation to those left in its wake. No one had cared, The Onceler had taken it too far, his abusive family encouraging him into worse thoughts and worst actions, only using him for his fame and money, with little care for the man himself, and so nothing had changed, even when it was far too late. Caring was the first step to making any change, and you cared enough about the health of your garden that you had to change the tree.

The lessons you had learned from The Onceler, the mistakes you had watched him make and spend much time trying to correct and make right, were cherished within you, and you carried them with you as often as you could in as many places as you could. You understood his journey like no one and nothing else, except perhaps The Lorax, and you helped to humanise him even to himself.

You were, in short, his 'unless'.

Unless you cared, nothing would change. That tree would still be rotting where it stood and your garden's health and the overall view wouldn't change. Unless you took the initiative to go after what you wanted, nothing would improve. Unless you humanised The Onceler, he'd never come to experience genuine unconditional love from anyone; he would only know the manipulative and conditional love from his family.

Unless, unless, unless...

How could one word mean so much?

As soon as the great oak came down, you would empty out the remaining hole and immediately plant a new one.

Your resolve in this decision, the way that you couldn't be swayed from doing what was right because it was right, was a much more positive attitude to have towards the act of cutting down a tree than what The Onceler had ever had, and in less than thirty seconds, with two of his sure swings of the axe which was favoured in this work, the dying oak was on the ground, the stump raw but quickly dug out to expose where the roots had taken hold. He made quick work of clearing the hole, and then looked at you expectantly, almost reverently, as you swiftly and with great care re-potted the chosen baby tree to take the place of the fallen one.

Such was the cycle of life. From death came life, the soil in which new things grow nurtured by the flesh rotting within, the worms working hard to consume all they came into contact with, everything ends as everything begins, and so it goes.

You patted the new tree down into the soil, got it comfortable and fully tucked into its bed of earth, and stepped back so that The Onceler could put a wooden plague down before it, fashioned hastily from the fallen tree. The date was carved into it, as was the species of tree.

Neither of you spoke beyond shared weighted glances, your hands brushing together as you worked to complete the task as quickly as you could without damaging the spirit of the garden. It was your garden and therefore it deserved the utmost care.

The Onceler dropped to his knees beside you, his thighs pressed against yours along the outside, and watered the baby tree, a soft smile on his face. It was tinged with the bittersweet ache of regret, so you leaned over to rest your head against his shoulder.

I'm here with you.

No matter what, you made sure that he never felt alone in what he was going through, even when he committed acts you weren't fully sure you could condone. Even so, you understood, you accepted him without judgement, and your love was quintessential in The Onceler's redemption. Similarly, your love of gardening was essential to your plants flourishing, as was your love for The Onceler being able to grow into a better version of himself after the mishaps of his past, his grievous errors and his lost way, and his love for you was important, too. People were like complicated plants; they needed nutrients, water, a careful hand to guide them to grow, patience, and most importantly of all, love.

It always, always came back to love.

As The Lorax watched the two of you, somewhere close and yet so very far away, his yellow chest filled with oxygen and pride in equal measures. He smiled, and as he exhaled, he thought with all the serenity and goodwill of the world, you done good, beanpoles.

The Lorax spoke for the trees, but the baby you just re-potted was singing.

You can keep the towels // Terry & Rose Benedict (familial) ft. The Boys™️

Summary: You're as strong as your father, and he couldn't be prouder of you.

Word count: 1, 574.

The older you got, the more like your daddy you became.

It was obvious to absolutely everyone that you were, more than anyone else, your own person, and that was definitely something you got from Terry. It had taken a lot to get you to where you were, but you kept pushing and persisting because you knew that there was no other way; no one could save you but you, though he always had a hand on the middle of your back to gently nudge you one way or the other if you happened to look back at him. Lost or unsure, he was there to advise you.

One nod from him was all it ever took for you to find your footing again; if your daddy approved, it was 'safe' or 'right' for you.

You had a quiet confidence about you; you listened to the music you wanted even and especially when Danny and Rusty tried to get you to listen to what they listened to by playfully snatching your earbuds and swapping them for the wires from their phones. You wore the clothes you wanted, ate the food you wanted and gave yourself permission to spend money on what you wanted. Even if it took you months to buy a $200 bag, you still bought it in the end because you knew you wanted it, and that meant that the price tag meant nothing in the face of the joy it would bring for you once it was in your possession. Its usage would pay for itself; the more you used it, the faster you earned back that $200, though you paid it in smiles, rather than in money.

Even if you hadn't bought it yourself, your daddy eventually would have, and left it somewhere for you to find. It would have been placed on your pillow, most likely, or perhaps at the foot of your bed if Tess had been the one to bring it into your home on Terry's behalf. He would have spent the money without hesitation, just held his bank card out with a lazy hand to his most recent assistant without looking at them, and that would have been that.

But not you.

You deliberated, you considered, you planned, you restrained, you waited, you were patient... and when you spent the money, you were so excited that all of the previous worry seemed not to matter, when you were so happy.

You lived your own life on your own terms, and even if it sometimes felt like your screams were nothing more than whimpers, you still made some kind of noise in protest when things weren't working out well for you. Your ability to still speak up in some kind of way was something which Terry had instilled in you from a young age, and he was always so proud of you for having the bravery to be yourself. It wasn't easy, not with the world trying to tell you who you should be, how you should live, but you knew yourself, you knew yourself, and that was what counted when nothing else mattered anymore.

Even when you were working, you were yourself. You handled yourself with such grace and maturity; you answered the phone within three rings every time, your greeting rolling off your tongue as you cradled the phone to your one ear while you typed or scrawled down notes of follow-up questions to ask your daddy or any of his staff members, but your desk was full of things which were yours. Grinch stress balls which Rusty had thrown at your head one time as a joke, but they had actually really helped you, both in the moment and later on. Cat pens of various colours and silly shapes, Van Gogh notebooks which resembled the same paintings on your father's walls, an onyx fox figurine with a blank white calling card slotted underneath it for safekeeping, framed photos of your sister standing beside you... you never lost sight of yourself, even when the world most pushed for you to.

You kept yourself within your line of sight at all times, reminding yourself of who your daddy was, and therefore of who you were. Invariably, it helped you to do what needed to be done. Even and especially at personal cost, though that never included compromising who you were; it referred more to skipping meals or forgetting to look after yourself. All of the bad habits your father had, though he hid them so well even he didn't notice them sometimes. But you did. In reminding Terry to take care of himself (or, at least, to eat the food brought to his desk, rather than pushing it aside in favour of getting some more work done and then forgetting about it all together), you were also reminded to take care of yourself.

He had raised you and continued to raise you with the utmost care, and now that you were an adult, the two of you grew and blossomed together, taking care of one another through impossible to do lists, chores, workloads, meetings, heist plannings you both liked to sit in on without making any concrete plans as to where you would rest your weary head that night, and other challenges that life threw at you. Sometimes you returned home, and sometimes you crashed with Ocean's Eleven; it depended on the situation and how tired you were. With Terry kept in your eyesight just as much as you kept yourself there; home is where the heart is, and you would always follow Terry. You would follow yourself there, too, because you knew the way of your own path better than you thought you did, and in our quietest of moments is this truth revealed.

Terry watched as you stood at the top of the stairs, looking over the lobby of The Bellagio as you did floor staff head counts and other security checks. He watched as you checked the clipboard, which contained a sheet of paper outlining all of the day's tasks; it was a long list, but he knew that you could do it. He never thought otherwise; he had not the time or luxury for self-doubt. Sometimes you got scared to begin with, but you always found your way forward, and Terry's chin dipped forward as he eyed you, making sure that you were doing what he always did when he was taken unawares; closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then faced it. He had always been your guiding light, this he knew, in all things.

He tried to stay as bright as he could, to help you light your way in any varying degrees of darkness. Leading by example was one of the best ways for a parent to pass on wisdom to their children, and Terry Benedict was one of the very best and the very worst, depending on whether he liked you or not. If you were Linus, then he was always the worst - Linus was so easy to wind up and it was too entertaining to ever miss an opportunity to mess with him. On this one thing, Terry and the Oceans' boys were firmly agreed.

Terry turned to his assistant and inclined his head, talking quietly, "make sure she has a fresh pink drink when she gets to her office, please." He knew how much you liked having a drink while you worked; it often lasted for hours, long enough for the ice to melt and the freeze-dried strawberries to stick to the inner lid of the takeaway cup.

Your office was in the same room as his; he had sectioned off the biggest corner for your own workspace some years ago, so that the two of you worked together and your daddy was in easy access for you to have hugs as and when you felt the need for them; truly, you both received comfort from the affection.

You turned and caught sight of Terry as you marked numbers down on the paperwork, your checks finalised. Your smile broke your face in two and Terry couldn't - wouldn't - fight the very small smile which he allowed to show on his face. It wouldn't do to appear to frown at you, just as it wouldn't do to beam. But his daughter would know that he was happy to see her, at the very least. Terry gave his loves everything he had, just as you poured all of your heart into your projects. He was always so very proud of you, but most especially when you were still trying, still fighting, in the moments when you thought that no one was watching.

Because your daddy was. He always was.

He inclined his head - let's go to our office - to tell you that it was time for the next part of your very busy, very chaotic but ultimately manageable day, though you wouldn't know how you would get everything done even after the shift was through, and then he was off at his usual break-neck pace. He followed his schedule almost to the second, and it had always inspired you to try to be a bit more like him in the ways you approached your own work. You followed at a leisurely pace, your steps confident and a content smile on your face as you took in the sights of The Bellagio - she was beautiful, and so were you.

Profundity, simply stated // Abbé de Coulmier x Rose ft. The Marquis

Summary: you admire the Abbé's intelligence, while he's admiring yours.

Word count: 1, 471.

Abbé de Coulmier was one of the most beautiful men you had ever met. He would tell you that you were blasphemous for making such a comparison, but he really was an angel amongst all of humanity. You firmly believed it with everything in you. He inspired you, especially in the ways of the academia, and you took to heart his opinions pertaining to creativity; the flesh could starve as surely as the spirit when asked when he allowed the patients to take art classes, singing lessons and other such 'luxuries' which were seen by external authorities as being a waste of money.

Indeed, most others in the asylum were horrible to the poor souls being housed there; they dehumanised the patients, ridiculed them for their struggles, kept them cold and hungry if they acted in a way which was true to themselves and did little to make an already difficult life easier in any kind of capacity. There was no privacy, no respect, little care and definitely not even a glimpse of hope for future improvement or for a better prognosis. People were dumped in the asylum by tired family members, by doctors who knew not what else could be done for the 'wretched souls', the key and their future was thrown away without a second thought once they were deemed to be criminally insane, and left to rot.

And yet... the Abbé didn't like that, he wasn't like that. He tried to counteract the horrific state-approved treatments as best as he could, to be the one shining beacon in the patients' lives. He was a man of God, and this was the path he had chosen to devote his life to. To guide, to nurture, to protect, to hope, to love.

The Abbé was... he was kind. He was wholly good, though misguided at times, and someone you could converse with for hours on end if he let you. Most of the time, he did. He was just as enthusiastic about conversing with you, someone with whom he was on equal footing despite the fact that you were both stood on unholy ground.

He cared about the patients he was charged with rehabilitating and housing; he engaged with them and encouraged their creative endeavours, be it painting, writing, singing or acting, taught the illiterate how to read and write and continued to educate those who knew the basics. He made sure that the linens were washed well - though he never doubted Maddy's abilities, he saw fit to check everything that went on in the Charenton Asylum to make sure that the patients only received the best of everything he could offer them with the limited funds available. He made sure that the entertainment provided for and by the asylum was tasteful (though he never disciplined those who put on an unscripted show; to quell their creativity would mean willfully harming their spirit, and that was unthinkable), and that the funding was adequate to cover all overheads, meagre wages, expenses, supplies, and charitable donations with any spare money every month to encourage healthy publicity to later bring about potentially increased funding... the Abbé's responsibilities were dizzying.

He couldn't even list them out to you without becoming overwhelmed, and yet he loved his position. He laughed at the patients' jokes, especially when he had heard them before so that each of them felt joy at having shared something they had rehearsed in their own rooms, he cried at their sorrows and spent time with every patient individually, he gave polite ones extra pillows and gave The Marquis all the paper and ink he required, and above all else, he cared he cared he cared.

He was an angel with revolutionary ideas, controversial medicines and methods; unfortunately and fatefully ahead of his time.

The Abbé's relationship with you, such as it was when he was forbidden to devote himself to anyone other than God, was based on a foundation of intellectual conversation and of consistent guidance, for any and all issues you encountered in your life. You spent a great deal of your time in The Marquis' quarters, laughing at his vulgarity, reading his books and asking for recommendations similar to one you had just finished and enjoyed, but most often did the two of you sit side by side, your elbows and shoulders brushing against one another's as you worked on your own tales; you, on your poems and stories, and The Marquis on his soulful depravity.

The scratching of quills on expensive paper, the smell of ink and the flickering of burning candles, deep baritone humming coming from The Marquis and the crisp and sudden turning of pages when inspiration seized him by the heart and sent him into a frenzy... it became your heaven, your solace, the one place that the Abbé knew he could find you when he needed or wanted to. It was where you retreated to at least twice a day, with Maddy having taught you that the trick to getting in to The Marquis' chambers without being caught was to make sure that you pulled the latch up before you ran it across the bolt. It allowed for a quiet entrance, as long as you pulled the door shut behind you. The Marquis would never tell on you; he welcomed your presence. He coveted it. You, who understood his creativity frenzy, for you experienced it too in your own ways.

"All we can do is guard against our own corruption." It was something the Abbé had said to you late one night, when rain had lashed against the windows and the wind had howled, thunder rumbling across the skies and scaring you. He had meant it as comfort, as something for you to think upon, though your interpretation of his wisdom was perhaps not what had been initially intended when you had confided in the Abbé. Still, you had thought on what was said to you and you had reached your own conclusions, which was really all he wanted; to share wisdom, to have conversations which came from the soul, and to share himself with someone else in one of the few ways he could as a priest. He was more than willing to guide you with cryptic statements, but what you chose to do with that was entirely up to you, and he would support it as he supported all individuality.

The Marquis, for his part, had been slowly teaching you the life-saving importance of the art of self-indulgence; to eat what you wanted, to listen, to write and to write and to write, to be innovative and yourself, even when the world was so shocked and horrified by you that it locked you away and threw away the key. Especially then, should one be true to themselves, lest they died inside long before their body had gotten to an age where it could begin to rot; unable to withstand the sands of time. You had to change, to grow and to flourish, but only as yourself; never masquerading as someone else. It would simply be a tragedy, one worthy of the Greats, if you lost who you were in your pursuit of others' approval. The Marquis had yet to teach you that the only person whose approval of your actions mattered, was your own. What good was external validation if you were still, at your very core, unhappy with yourself? You could only be happy - and untouched by corruption - if you remained true to yourself and all that that entailed.

With these two men in your life, with these lessons imparted upon you simply by spending time with them every day, you had come to the conclusion that the only way to guard yourself against corruption, was to protect your inner sense of peace. To treat yourself well, with music and books and creativity, while the world raged on outside these walls. These methods would protect you from the world's teeth, keep you from bleeding out when the world inevitably took too big of a chunk out of your too-small soul (as the world often made you feel; in reality, you were larger than life), and guard you against the evils of the world.

You were precious to the Abbé and the Marquis, too precious, and between the two of them, why, your every need was met and you were well cared for. If one man came from Heaven and the other from Hell, then perhaps you were an altogether celestial being deserving of only the best of the best. For you could unite heaven and hell, and that was sure proof of the miracle of God's love.

Or, if you asked The Marquis, it just meant that there were two sane people in the asylum - him, and you.

And finally, the prose I wrote in September has finally been typed up. I have included the censored version here to protect personal details, but I will DM you the actual version.

And a moodboard! I was gonna put it with your fics but I used GIFs for those and didn't wanna disturb the flow 🥺

I do have another moodboard for you but I've used my 10 images per post so I'll DM it to you once you've read everything so I don't give you spoilers🥺❤️

And there we have it! I hope that you enjoy, honey, and if there's anything you didn't like, then please feel free to let me know! I'm happy to write you something else.🥺💗I love you so so much, and I'm so sorry this is posted a day late - between shifts at work, uni, technical issues with my laptop, it was a challenge to get this posted but I really hope the content makes up for it all.🥺

[rosethreeart]

Have a little sneak peak at the wip 👀 This is basically everything I wrote yesterday so consider it a "chapter 1" kinda deal lmao

As per usual: Nedame

fic is basically a first meeting :}

about 1.6k words long

Abigail was…overwhelmed to say the least. She had never been surrounded by so many nations before! She shuffled in her stiff and stuffy gown, all too aware of the eyes on her.

 A party, to celebrate her. She didn’t feel like celebrating. Sure, she was happy her people found freedom and independence from the English, but selfishly, she was mourning. 

“You are no daughter of mine!” Her father, no, Empire barked. His hands gripping his musket so tightly she was terrified it would snap in two in his shaking, blood stained hands. 

Not his daughter… Was she really ever his child to begin with? All those lonely nights locked away in her home, utterly terrified of the world, waiting for her father’s return. And for what? Some sick twisted fate that she would be disowned on their first reunion? 

God was cruel. 

Just like her father.

“Why such a glum face, hmm?” came a much too cheery voice.

Quickly she sorted herself, plastering on a gentle smile for the Frenchman.

“My apologies, Mister France,” she said, giving a quick little curtsy as red dusted her face, “I suppose I got quite lost in thought there…”

The slightly intoxicated Frenchman chuckled, “I could tell! Honestly, you needn't worry yourself with such negative thinking, my dear!”

She was only able to give a slight nod before being forced into the man’s grasp.

“You know, all of this here is to celebrate you and your people!,” His other arm swept across, gesturing to the whole room, the champagne almost spilling out of its glass as it did so, “Go and have fun! Mingle! Meet some new faces! You are your own nation now, you need to go out there and connect!”

“I know but—”

“Then what are you waiting for?” He interrupted, gently shoving her towards the crowd away from the little nook she had wedged herself into.

She stood stock still for a moment, only to slowly turn her head back to Mister France, eyes wide in disbelief.

He just waved his hand, a smug smile barely concealed as he took a sip of his drink.

 Abigail was glad that her legs weren’t visible, as they were shaking like a newborn lamb. She was never quite good at socializing and years spent in isolation had done her no favors if she was to be frank. 

Her eyes quickly darted around the ball, as if in search of some sort of safe haven. Someone or something she could cling on to.

She remembered how her father would chuckle as she hid behind him, grasping at his pants. She could still feel the way it would vibrate, the warmth of his being, the softness of his eyes…

All of that is long gone now. No longer would she get to feel the warm embrace of her father as he held her gently. No more warmth, only icy glares and cold shoulders. 

Abigail sighed, and did one of the few things her father had ingrained into her being: chin up, and a stiff upper lip. 

There was an uproar of laughter to her left. The boisterous kind that was unforgettable, the one only a certain albino Prussian could produce. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she hastily made her way towards the source of the noise.

She almost had to skid to a halt to not run into the man, “Mister Prussia, oh I am so very glad to have found you!”

“Abigail— sorry Madam America,” Prussia said, giving an overdramatic and playful bow; hand flourish included. “I am very glad to see you as well.”

His cheeks were almost as red as his eyes; crimson irises which sparkled with pride.  Abigail knew that a part of herself will forever feel indebted to the man, he had been the one to find her and bring her back to camp and look after her, after all. She would never dare voice the thought out loud, but at times she had found herself viewing the man as a paternal figure. She had a feeling that he was acutely aware of it; she was not one for subtlety it seemed. 

“Mister Prussia, “ she began.

The man held up a hand, “Gilbert.”

“Mister Gilbert,” she rephrased, as she watched the Prussian not correct her but not hide his smirk either, “I wanted to thank you once again for all the help and effort you have provided.”

“Abigail, you really don’t need to keep thanking me. I mean, I know I am absolutely, positively undeniably a legend of a man…”

“But..?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“But?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow of his own.

Abigail shifted her gaze unsure of what to do, or where to go with the conversation. She had thought about changing the subject before another round of laughter had bursted from the man.

“I merely jest!” He laughed as he placed a hand reaffirmingly on her shoulder. 

A nervous giggle escaped her lips, “ah..”

“Listen, I know I am always deserving of all the attention, all of the time. “ He said as he pulled her into a one armed embrace, “But I’m aware that there are times which other people deserve it more. Today is your day. Revel in the praise and adoration. ”

Praise.

Adoration.

Things she seemed to have little to no experience with. Things she yearns for always. Yet…it didn’t feel right. Empty, almost. She knew she should be pleased, and indulge in the niceties; let the gifts be showered and let the words stay sweet, but it felt wrong. For the one singular source that she actually wanted such things from would not be there nor provide them to her. 

“Stop lamenting,” Prussia said, his voice firm yet soft, “all it does is make the aching of your heart worse.”

Abigail subconsciously lifted a hand to her heart, and nodded.

She engaged in some small talk with the man for some time. Well, as large as small talk could get;  he was no short on pride that was for certain. However she had begun to feel all too trapped. The weight of her dress, the noise of the crowd, the heat, and the smells were starting to feel all too much for her to handle. 

Abigail cleared her throat as he excused herself, “My apologies but I feel as if I need a breath of fresh air.”

She barely even registered his concerned response before forcing herself to calmly walk towards the balcony. Quickly, she shut the door behind her, feeling all too relieved as she exhaled a breath she wasn’t even aware she was holding, and closed her eyes.

She just needed a moment to compose herself, and then she would go right back in. Yes, that was a splendid idea…

After a few deep breaths, she began to flutter open her eyes. If she was going to sit out here for a bit she might as well enjoy the beautiful garden below. 

Abigail quietly admired the fine landscaping that had been done. Trees and flowers and statues had filled the yard, bright splashes of color illuminated by the light of the manor, the moon, and the warm light of a match.

Light of a match?

She furrowed her eyebrows. What in god’s name—

Oh dear lord she wasn’t alone out here.

  She shot up, correcting her posture, and patted down her dress to get rid of any non-existent dust. Excuses had begun stuttering out of her mouth almost as quickly as her eyes darted. Her face was red and hot despite the breeze that gently passed by. Mentally she  berating herself; how could she have let someone see her in such a state?!

“Uhhh.” She so eloquently said. 

The man just seemed to stand there, unbothered and took a drag of his pipe. 

“I apologize for that behavior, I was unaware there was someone else out here as well,” Her voice slightly gravelly as her throat had felt all too tight.

“It’s quite alright,” The man replied, “you seemed like you needed a moment.”

“Ah, uh, yes.” She coughed into her hand. 

“Care to join me?” 

She hesitated at first but she had already seemingly humiliated herself in front of him, and he seemed to not be bothered, so why not? Carefully she made her way over to the man at the edge of the railing. 

“It’s quite lovely out.” She stated, her hands fidgeting with the marble in front of her.

“Indeed.”

“Oh do forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself!” She blurted out.

“You seem to apologize a lot.” The man responded. 

Does she? She hadn’t noticed but perhaps there was some merit to his statement…

“Perhaps,” she cleared her throat, “My name is Abigail—also United States of America. It is quite a pleasure to meet you.” She said curtsying to the man. She messed up that introduction hadn’t she? Was it rude to state human name first? Or was it the other way around? Or—

Oh.

He grabbed her hand.

His hands were cold. Then again, hers ran warm so perhaps it was that or the chill of the air. Long Lanky fingers gently wrapped around hers. She watched, almost mesmerized as they were led oh so slowly to the man's face. She hadn't noticed how tall the man was before, he seemed to almost bend in half to reach it. She could see in the dim light that his eyes were the color of Topaz, or even gold. His hair was a dusty blond which seemed to stick up in a peculiar, yet oddly charming hairstyle. He was a handsome gentleman that was for certain. 

“The Netherlands. Lars Van Dijk,” He said as he pressed his lips to her hand, eyes never wavering from her own,” I am very pleased to meet you as well.”

Abigail was not aware that one’s own heart could beat so quickly. 

[policemanofprincesspark]

Are there any popular fandom theories you just can’t get behind? I personally have a hard time believing Louis has been blacklisted from radio or that Sony intentionally sabotages his popularity. I thought the whole point of the closet was to keep making as much money as possible, why intentionally kneecap your own income source? His marketing could be better sure, but i haven’t seen enough evidence to indicate intentional sabotage. And even good marketing can’t force everyone to buy a product they don’t care for. Unfortunate as it is, i think he’s just regular old unpopular.

I honestly think it is a mix of both. There is some evidence I've seen that he could be blacklisted from radio play. It's easy to do something an executive doesn't like and for them to do this sort of power play. I agree though that Louis would never and could never do that well even if we could prove that he isn't being blacklisted. Fandom lives in a bubble. Louies and Larries adore Louis because we love him as a person. The general public doesn't give a rat's ass; they care about talent. I don't care if people want to cancel me for this but Louis has a weak voice. He can't hold his own singing live, often failing to hit high notes or being drowned out by the crowd and his own band. I don't hate his voice at all, but to me it's clear he never practiced as hard as, say, Harry, to improve. Also, fans need to understand that this is how the general public has always seen Louis: rude and untalented. In a way, they're right. A lot of his "sassiness", while funny and lighthearted, can go too far, and Louis does definitely have a bit of an ego problem; he himself has admitted as much.

I also don't believe a single bit of Louis's closeting is for him or his career. It's all for Harry. Look how famous Harry is. Look how much money he makes. This is all about money and always has been. I cannot say for a fact whether Louis chose it, but I'm leaning more toward his being pressured or coerced into closeting and babygate, because of his relationship to Harry. They have always needed Harry to appeal to women. They need him either straight or bisexual, and available. That means that he needs to be in PR relationships to generate publicity and so that women can project onto his girlfriends. He will never settle down with any of his "girlfriends", and he will probably never "date" any of them for more than 2 or 3 years, as per my guess. It's always been the same structure. Louis gets in the way. It cannot come out that Harry is married, much less to a man, and therefore not available for women to have their groupie fantasy. They think he's Jim Morrison, and that they have a chance of being picked out of the crowd for "backstage fun" if only they dress cute and do their makeup all nice. Fortunately Harry took some power back recently and decided to shave his hair off, the one thing he's always been known for, right after being declared the "Sexiest Man". It's only a matter of time before that title goes to someone else, when Harry ages out of the system. Maybe he's tired of being this "sex god", but what do I know? I think part of him likes it from what I see in videos, where he jokingly flirts with fans and laughs at their weird perverted signs. At the same time, I think he just wants to be out of the closet and for people to listen to his music and not pay attention to the way he looks. I don't know why people think they have a chance with celebrities. I'd rather appreciate his beauty from afar, while caring more about his music and his personality.

[apopticghoul]

a little prompt if you’re up for it!! some kind of hurt/comfort where dew is the one comforting someone please? <3

yayaya i have not really beta read this its kinda shit but !! i hope you enjoy, dear anon <3

Aether has Brain Pain (sensory overload)

rating,,, i guess general... theres some sex jokes because i cannot resist :]

word count is 922 :)

Everything was supposed to be fine. It was one of the biggest events of the year for the ministry, with lots of drinking, dancing, general debauchery… ghouls usually leaped at the opportunity to let down their glamour, unmask (not literally, but you get what I mean), have a little fun with a willing sibling or each other without needing to hide themselves away. And usually it was very fun, especially for the band ghouls. Everyone wanted a piece of them, they could take their pick of the crowd. Except this time wasn’t fun, wasn’t good for Aether. This time, everything was a little too much.

He could hear, feel, sense everything happening around him all at once, at the same intensity. Clinking glasses, stamping feet, electronic hums, Swiss’s booming laugh from somewhere near the centre of the dancefloor, someone whispering filth into another’s ear, unsavoury sounds that at any other time would have excited him. 

The heat and humidity of the area, the cool chill slicing his exposed skin like a knife from the open windows, the burning of the floodlights, the scratch of hems on his chest, the press of his boots and bracelets and jeans into his skin and the tickle of his hair on the back of his neck.

The overwhelming emotions flowing strong from everyone in the abbey. It didn’t help that the celebration just happened to fall on a full moon, when his magick was the strongest. Ecstasy, rejection, pleasure, excitement, bliss… everything assaulted his mind like someone was throwing stones at his skull. His mental walls could only deal with so much, and they were beginning to crumble at the edges. If he didn’t get out soon, he feared the danger he could put the clergy members in if his magick exploded out of him.

A small hand appeared at the curve of his waist, a little too low to just be friendly. Aether jolted, tail lashing, and spun to find himself face-to-face with a cheeky looking Dewdrop. His face fell quickly, though, upon seeing the clear distress engraved into Aether’s features. He sent a little reassuring thought tendril towards Aether and felt him latch onto it for dear life. Aether’s eyes were unfocused, he was about to break down. Dew needed to get him out of here now. 

He cupped Aether’s cheek for a few seconds, then slid his hand down to take Aether’s in his own. Wordlessly dragging him to a nearby spiralling staircase and up away from the sounds below. Aether just followed blindly, stumbling a little. He could barely register the change in scenery, the burn in his thighs as he climbed the stairs after Dew. It got darker as they ascended, the only light source being the moonlight shining in through small windows and the glow of Dewdrop’s eyes. Aether felt the tension lessen in his shoulders, his hands unclenching. He released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

Dew led them into Aether’s room, onto his bed. He sat Aether down and busied himself unlacing both of their boots and fetching him a glass of water from the ensuite. Aether felt like he was in shock. His eyes were still unfocused, staring into a point in the middle distance and not registering anything. When Dew returned with water, Aether turned his head instead of his eyes to follow his movements. When his eyes finally snapped back into motion, tears welled at the corners. His eyes were so dry, but that wasn’t the only reason he was crying. All the stress of the past few hours had suddenly hit him like a freight train. The walls around his brain collapsed entirely. Dew felt the shockwave in his own thoughts, and set the glass of water on the nightstand.

“Dew.” Aether sniffled, but he was trying to be strong.

“Dew, help me get this shit off, please.” Aether tugged at the skin-tight black crop top he was wearing. The hems were itchy and scratchy against his stomach and chest, and the fabric felt synthetic and uncomfortable against his sensitive skin. Dewdrop, ever the very confused gentleman, asked Aether for a little clarification.

“Uh… aren’t you having sensory overload? I don’t think… forgive me, but I don’t think fuckin’s gonna help all that much. Might make it worse, actually.” That was the wrong thing to say, Dewdrop.

“No, you stupid horndog, it feels bad against my skin. Uncomfortable. Please help me take it off, Dew.” Aether scrubbed his face with his hands. Dew tried his best, but he really was stupid sometimes. (Aether says this with affection in his tone. He loves everything about Dew, including his silliness.)

“Oh, yeah, of course. Lemme help.” Dew, flushed with embarrassment, reached over and helped Aether out of the crop top. All Aether had to do was lift his arms up. When it was off, Dew got to work removing Aether’s jewellery and boots, soothing his hands across Aether’s body as he did so. Aether just sagged in place, tears slowing to a stop. Dew came up from where he was kneeling in front of Aether to kiss him lightly on the forehead; to cup his face in his hands and wipe away the tears with his thumbs.

“Hey man, you’re alright now. It’s okay. I’ve got ya.” 

Aether sniffed.

“Don’t make this weird, Dew, but. Can you get my pants off too…?” Dew chuckled. 

‘Of course I can, you big goof. I’m sorry for bein’ stupid earlier. Lift your hips up for me, okay?”

[thebadboyfanclub]

You Are My Light (Rio x Reader)

Hey, so I'm super excited for this cause I haven't written for Rio in so long. Enjoy!

Rio was a tough cookie, a man of crime which only meant he was surrounded but those types of people. When he had met Beth back in the day he was intrigued because her life was so different from his, so... Colorless and grim, a life of routines and packed sandwiches. For a while it was fun to shake up her life, until she became like all the others in his cycle, greedy for power and sneaky, now she was "his girl" which meant she was his fall person, gave her the keys and put her name so if anything goes wrong she can be the one to take the blow.

"Alright little man today is mother's day, you gotta pick the best flowers for mama"

Rio said to his son as they stood in the flower shop, Marcus was going all around the shop, dragging the man that worked there with him so he can point out which flowers he wanted.

"Your son has a great eye for arranging a bouquet"

"He's a momma's boy that's why"

At that the phone rang. The man went to pick it up and it seemed to be important, he covered the phone and yelled a name, then she came out. A girl with hair falling on her face and wearing an apron

"Yes"

"Can you fix the bouquet for the gentleman? I need to take this"

"Umm o-ok"

Rio was interested as soon as he saw her, her soft spoken voice was barely above a whisper as she approached the counter top and clearly tried to avoid eye contact. Her hands were not that steady but she seemed to know what she was doing, rio thought that she was acting like this because she wasn't comfortable doing it in front of a crowd. As she was finishing up she finally looked up to him but only for a quick second as she bit the inside of her cheek to look back down.

"It's ummm 30$ s-sir"

Rio smiled at her shy demeanor it felt like a century had passed from the last time he had met somebody so timid, it was mesmerizing to him. He gave her the money and then passed the bouquet to Marcus who seemed super excited for this purchase and the creation he had made

"Excuse me miss, may I ask your name?"

"(Y-y/n)... Sir"

"Call me Rio, I'll see you around sweetheart"

-

After that Rio came to the flower shop every day to buy a single white Rose and every day (y/n) found one waiting on her cars windshield with a note that always said "you looked beautiful today. To say she was flattered was an understatement, one side of hers was thrilled that such a handsome man was showing interest in her, the other was surprised that a man as confident and as determined as he was had decided to take the time and pursue her in such romantic way. After two weeks of roses he had waited to give her the rose in person along with the proposal of a date.

That's when he found out she wasn't comfortable with anyone in general, it wasn't about his presence that made her shy, she was like that with everyone. After a while he felt the need to be the one to take care of her, protect her in any way, even if that was making an order for her at the restaurant while she scooted closer to him and held the him of his shirt to feel secure.

"I'm going to the bathroom"

"Ok mama"

Rio said as (y/n) left him at the bar, it was Rios birthday so they had gone to a bar to celebrate. She finally had a reason to wear the midi white satin dress Rio had bought her, she had to admit it looked beautiful and she slowly came to the realization that Rio had connected her with the color white. As she reached out her arm to open the bathroom door a man grabbed her arm to stop her

"Hello gorgeous"

She felt like somebody threw cold water at her, she froze on her spot while the man smiled at her in a way she could tell was not just friendly. (Y/n) immediately looked down as she took a step back to get some distance from the man.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry I just wanted to know who you are"

"I-i"

"She is taken"

Her head shot at the direction her boyfriends voice came. She didn't even realize that she was walking to him and then proceeded to stand behind him, hiding away from the man that had scared her. She grabbed his shirt and leaned in to him as she tried to stop her legs from shaking.

"I didn't know she was mute"

"She is not, she just talks to people that respect her personal space"

Rio thankfully had seen the scene go down and in a blink of an eye and out of pure instinct he had shot out of his chair and basically ran to (y/n). The man wasn't already laying at the ground for disrespecting her because he knew how upset (y/n) would get. She hated any type of fighting and even after dating for so long (y/n) didn't really know what Rio's occupation was, he didn't want her to be scared of him.

"I don't want no trouble man"

"Yet you tried to put your hands on a woman, see where I'm from that means you are asking for trouble"

Rio stood proudly in front of his woman as he could feel (y/n)s shaky breath on his neck. The man looked uncomfortable and a little bit scared, just how she felt before Rio stepped in. All Rio could think about was how this scene might have played if he wasn't there and that angered him even more. He might be a man of the night and balls deep into illegal things but he respected two rules "you don't touch women and you don't touch children" unless you trynna see God.

"(Y/n) go back to our spot please"

"I-"

"(Y/n)!.... I'm sorry, go and wait for me ok baby?"

He didn't mean to yell at her, he just wanted to shield her from seeing his ugly side. So he turned around and placed and gentle kiss on the top of her head before (y/n) walked away, as soon as her back was turned and she had made a few steps he pulled the guy into the man's bathroom and slammed his back against the wall.

"What's your name?"

"Jason Adams"

"Now you listen here, by an hour I will know every detail about you. If I find out you ain't keeping your hands to yourself again... You won't even hear the knock on the door. Got it?"

"Ok"

At that Rio let him go, the guy let out a huff and turned to the sink to splash some water on his face. As Rio turned to leave, (y/n) came to his mind, how scared she was and the sound of her breath as she hid behind him.

"On another thought"

Rio said and grabbed the guys head, with one swift powerful movement his forehead got smashed to the sink, the sound was deafening and after that the guy was unconscious, Rio knew he wasn't dead so he just fixed his collared shirt and walked out of the bathroom.

(Y/n) was sitting down looking at something on her phone, Rio knew she would pull out her phone went she was alone as a defense machenism to hide from the world. As he approached he gave her a big hug that she very much needed. She felt her muscles relax as she took in his cologne, she closed her eyes to fully let go of her worries and feel safe once again as her man was here. She looked up and smiled at him, feeling the warm sensation of serenity taking over her.

"Thank you"

"Don't ever thank me for protecting you, I am here for that"

She smiled even brighter as Rio leaned in to give her a gentle, intimate kiss on her painted lips. She was his source of purity in this love, this warm light that showed him what it feels like to surrender to love, to fully know that the person next you could never harm you or anyone else.

"You are my light"

[phantomnostalgist]

Ramblings about phandom

Wouldn’t it be awesome to have a Phandom con?

I know that in the late 80s or early 90s there were a couple of events which were mini phandom cons, as the Broadway theaters back then often had events raising money for Broadway Cares, so some early fans were able to organize an event or two with the theatre, with some cast member discussions, and auctions of props like signed ballet shoes. (I’m not at home, tomorrow I’ll try to find the paltry records I have of this happening.)

The Toronto production held a whole week of celebrations include backstage tours for its 5th anniversary, and had other anniversary events featuring Q&A sessions with leading cast. They didn’t have any specific events for the 7th anniversary, when I went, though they did have a lot of special merch, but a bunch of us from the internet met up there and got together, which was one of the most Phandom fun times ever. 

But imagine a Phandom con these days, small scale but full of panels on everything from aspects of Leroux and the history of Erik’s time (the Commune, the art and architecture, gothic literature, whether or not Erik was a Virgin Sex God), to best and worst versions of the story, to... idk what the fanfic related panels would be, but we’d also have a merch area full of phandom artists, full of original art on all manner of items. 

And as I fantasize about this, I recall the days of early 80s British sci-fi fandoms, which I never attended but have learned and researched about in depth, when the lead actors would auction off kisses for charity, and these weren’t chaste kisses, they were leaving their fans lying on the floor gasping and shaking kisses. And later in the evenings the actors would get drunk during the charity auctions, people would shout out “$50 for your shirt!” and the actors would strip their shirts off and go through the rest of the evening topless. (In case anyone is questioning this, Blake’s 7.) Errr... wait, what did I mean to be saying? I’m slightly full of whiskey.

I doubt we could get something like this together, including cast involvement, these days, and even if someone did I’m broke and cannot travel so would just look at you all from a distance and cry. 

....But more realistically, with modern technology, wouldn’t it be cool to have some discussion panels on aspects of Leroux, or really pretty much anything related to Phantom, and they could all be done by video (or audio, I’m just envisioning this as a youtube channel but personally I’d want to be audio only). I guess this is to do with my passion for wanting to preserve the history of phandom, from the memories to all the levels of deep research and thoughtful exploration people have put into Phantom over the years. Wouldn’t it be interesting to have a channel, or a channel with a playlists of other people’s uploads, documenting phandom, almost any area of it? Like, we could interview each other on our phandom origin stories, memories of early phandom and the casts we saw, why and how we related to whichever versions introduced us, and “panels” on any topic as people could gather three or four fans on zoom or whatever to discuss whatever aspect and upload it. (And people could use pseudonyms to be as anonymous as they want.)

Errr well anyway, I’m rather drunk and just feeling enthused about a kind of crowd-sourced Phandom history project, because the rest of the world is terrifying and dire. But really, if anyone wanted to run with this idea, I have a million ideas. And it’s not like it’d have to be one person’s channel or project, as people could submit and a main channel could make a playlist.

I will check the responses to this when sober to decide if it’s a good idea. But I do think it’d be fun to interview/chat with various fans to gather and preserve fan stories, especially from the oldbies. 

Oh god I’m still so obsessive inside.

[fairybond]

❛ wait, is that mistletoe? ❜ / lis ♡♡♡

winter themed asks // accepting

     The inter-guild winter party was in full swing. Hosted by Blue Pegasus, (of course) the large hall was lavishly decorated to celebrate the holiday season, and it was clear that plenty of effort had gone into the grand affair.

     Lisanna herself had been more than happy to be on the team of decorators setting the scene, even if it had taken a couple of days to arrange everything just so. There were many things to be considered when putting together such an event, after all. Lighting, space, ornaments, chairs and tables, food and drinks, music and so on.

     Most of her time had been spent on adorning the walls and festive trees with strings of light and ribbon, adding pretty baubles and glittering stars in carefully selected places too.

     The way the crowd of guests, and members of her own guild as well, had looked around in awe as they entered the hall, proved that the energy, time, and money spent had been well worth it. Even an hour or so into the party, she could still see the appreciative gazes admiring the atmosphere that had been created.

     She was sure a large part of the wonderful ambiance came from the special enchantment one of her guildmates had set up – it provided a soft snowfall, drifting down from the high ceiling but never resulting in so much as a single flake landing anywhere. Coupled with the lighting (the main sources of which were floating, snowflake shaped lacrima), the indoor snow conjured a sense of surreal magic, one that had Lisanna (and others) sighing wistfully.

     Surveying the vast room with delighted eyes, she didn’t even glance at Sting as he voiced his question.

      “Yes, it is!” she answered, without real thought but with a proud grin, “I added it all over the place, I thought it would be fun.”

     She did enjoy (perhaps a little too much) the chance for a bit of mischief and matchmaking. Just who would end up beneath her cheeky decorations? And who would follow through with the tradition?

     It was only then that she turned her gaze to Sting. His own gaze was fixed upwards, causing a sudden spike in the rhythm of her heart.

     “Oh.” It was hardly more than a breath that escaped her, as she stared up at the cheerful colours and all too familiar shape of mistletoe above them.

     Awareness of him was never too far from her senses, always teasing her with sensitivity to his very existence. Said awareness now crackled to the forefront of her mind and body, until she could see only him. The soft lighting around them seemed to caress his face, shifting and gently warming blond hair, and highlighting the flecks of colour within hazel eyes.

     Sting. So familiar to her now, so beautiful.

     With all her hopes of setting others up for fun with the mistletoe, she had never considered herself being caught under it. Certainly, she had not thought she might end up caught under it with Sting (although there was no denying, she felt a certain thrill about it now).

     Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, a strange lightness buzzing through her body as a faint flush crept up to her cheeks.

     The point of mistletoe was to initiate a kiss between a couple. Did she want to kiss Sting? Yes. Did he want to kiss her? Probably not.

     It would be best to cut him loose from the holiday tradition, she decided. Her dismissive words came out in a rush, “It’s just silly, though, isn’t it? Absolutely not necessary to follow through on, and I mean mistletoe can also be super unlucky for some. Like getting stuck under it with a total creep!”

     She scrunched her face at the thought of some pervert puckering up to her, but quickly noticed a potential interpretation of her words and hurried to reassure him.

     “But you’re not a creep! Not at all! Anyone would be lucky to be stuck under the mistletoe with you!”

     The words prompted the scenario to appear in her mind. Sting, under the mistletoe with someone else. Kissing someone else.

     Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought, and an echo of a growl reverberated in the depths of her soul, threatening to be verbalized. She squashed the impulse by pushing the mental image away, forcing her mind back to the clear issue of the fact it was her with him currently.

     And wasn’t she just making it awkward now? They were friends, it didn’t have to be weird, and there was nothing against a mistletoe kiss being but a simple peck on the cheek. Her friendship with Sting was not an unaffectionate one, and he had kissed her forehead before, so really…it would be weirder for them to do nothing in this moment, right?

     The decision brought both relief and a spark of nervousness. She let out a breath, a slightly sheepish smile shaping her lips as she said, “I hope no one tries to kill me for being the lucky one here.”

     Before she could talk herself out of it, she lifted a hand to rest upon his shoulder, steadying herself as she stretched up, intending to place a kiss upon his cheek. Somehow, her lips touched the corner of his mouth instead (and shock had her lingering there for a moment). Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, fluttering up to her chest as she lowered herself down again.

     She turned away, letting her hand fall from his shoulder as she tried desperately to refocus on the party. She could only hope her blush wasn’t noticeable, and that her voice sounded even, “Everything looks great here, doesn’t it? So beautiful.”

[baepsaesbae]

Eclipse

Pairing— Day Fairy!Hoseok x Night fairy!reader    

Genre— SMUT, fae au, angst, idiots to lovers

Warnings— Oral (F receiving), nipple play, explicit unprotected sex, hair pulling, both praise and slight derogatory dirty talk bc I can’t make up my mind, slight swearing

Word Count— 3.3k  

Summary— The summer solstice is here and it’s time to celebrate. Your favorite part of the solstice is that you get to see Hoseok, or rather, the love of your life. It’s too bad you haven’t told him how you really felt, even though it has been centuries. Maybe this year will be different. 

A/N— This fic is part of The Fabled Collab hosted by @joontopia, @kimtaehyunq, and @whipped-for-kpop-fics. Hoseok is my sunshine, so I just had to write about him! Thank you to @s0seo and @taegularities for giving me motivation to write. Lastly, huge shoutout to Eden from @thebiasrekkers​ for making this awesome banner for me! As always, let me know how you guys like the fic! My askbox is always open <3

Fae clans have many holidays and rituals, but solstices are by far the most celebrated. Solstices mark the pivotal event that shifts the seasonal responsibilities between the sun and moon clans. The summer and winter solstice are always the biggest events of the year, with about a week of festivities leading up to the final event. 

Sweat ran down your spine as the sun beat down on you. You’ve been holding up a stupid banner for what felt like an eternity.

“Okay wait, you’re gonna hate me but I think we should put it back to where we originally had it,” Sunghoon said with furrowed brows.

“That’s it. We’ve been doing this all morning. Figure this out yourself,” you angrily threw down the banner and stormed off before Sunghoon had the chance to yell at you.

You ignored the friendly calls from other fae that were setting up decor nearby. It was way past your bedtime. Cranky and drenched in sweat, you were definitely not a happy night fairy. Heading straight to the pond, you derobed and found comfort in the cool waters that  washed away your stress instantly. You gazed up at the blue sky while floating on your back. The day truly was beautiful, you couldn’t deny that. However, nighttime was better in your very much biased opinion. The dark sky littered with countless stars that glittered like diamonds was an unbeatable sight. 

“Hey there sunshine!” a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. You dipped back into the water and turned to the source of the sound.

“Hey there, perv. Care to join me?” you beckoned.

“I wish I could, but I need to go finalize some plans for the handoff ceremony--”

“It’s the same EVERY year. C’mon Hobi, you don’t need to go,” you whined.

“I’ll meet you back here at sunset, how does that sound?” he tried to appease you.

“Midnight. I’m already exhausted, I don’t wanna wake up early,” you blew raspberries into the pond.

“That’s fair. I’ll see you then okay?” Hoseok waved before flying off.

On top of parties filled with indulgences that would blow the mind of any feeble human, Hoseok was the added bonus that made you eager for each solstice. Admittedly, you two have had some sort of flirtationship going on for the past few centuries. Your friends always teased you about how madly head over heels you were for him. As much as you wanted to believe that he loved you in the same way, something always felt off.  

Hoseok always reciprocated your flirtatious advances, but it felt more like a game between friends rather than something substantial. You’ve even observed his interactions with other fairies, and it didn’t seem like he gave you any special treatment. He was simply a good friendly guy that everyone loved, but not the way that you loved him. 

You were dying to know how he truly felt about you. All these years of playful banter had been fun, but they had also been simultaneously eating away at you. There’s no way he doesn’t know that you love him. At the same time, what if he thinks you’re just a good friend? You needed to know for sure, and you intended to confront him about it at midnight.

“Good evening,” you greeted Hoseok shyly as you approached the pond’s bank. 

“Good day to you sunshine,” Hoseok called back as he kicked at the water.

“How’d the meeting go?” you asked.

“Boring as always. You’re right, it’s the same every year. But the elders still want to go over everything again to ensure that the ceremony is perfect,” Hoseok sighed.

“Thanks for coming to hangout with me even though you’re so busy,” you said, suddenly feeling guilty.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all day! You’re the perfect person to unwind with after a long day,” Hoseok smiled. There it was. The radiant smile you fell for the first time you ever met him. 

“You sure I’m the perfect person for that? What do you do when you’re back in your own land surrounded by other day fae?” you prodded, hoping to steer the conversation onto the ‘what are we’ topic. 

“I have my friends there for sure, and I appreciate them too. But it’s different with you. Maybe because I can only hangout with you twice a year. You’re like my super special friend, yaknow?” Hoseok tried to explain. 

“Uh yeah, for sure. Like a special playdate kind of thing huh?” you tried to hide your hurt feelings.

“Exactly! You get it. It’s like you’re my favorite dessert that I can only have twice a year,” Hoseok nodded.

“Right…” you whispered softly to yourself. You spent the rest of the night listening to the unfruitful discussions Hoseok had during his meetings. All the excitement over the festival had drained from you. Now, you just wanted it to be over so you can go sulk in peace. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Hoseok observed, “You haven’t interjected once about how stupid our traditions are or how you’re looking forward to having long nights again.”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m just tired. Sunghoon really worked me to the bone yesterday, that damn day fairy,” you faked a yawn.

“Hey, be nice! Wasn’t it you who volunteered to help us anyway?” Hoseok shook his head.

‘Yeah, because I thought I’d be able to work with you,’ you thought.

“It was a bizarre streak of altruism, that’s all,” you shrugged. 

“Nah, I know you’re a kind fairy deep down!” Hoseok playfully nudged your shoulder. Normally you would welcome this type of physical affection, but for right now it served as a painful reminder that you were merely seen as a buddy. 

You actively avoided Hoseok for the remainder of the week, counting down the hours to when it would finally all be over. You made up some lame excuse to not hangout with Hoseok every time he approached you. He must have caught on by the final day, either that or he was extremely busy. Afterall, he was the MC for the entire ordeal. 

Apparently, your abrasive reputation preceded you because no one wanted your help with anything. As soon as they saw you coming, they would randomly find themselves very preoccupied with something that made them too busy to talk to you. The only person who would put you to work was Sunghoon, who was one of Hoseok’s best friends. You wondered why he was always so nice to you even when you complained the entire time you helped him.

“That’s the last table! They all look great, thanks for helping with the set up,” Sunghoon gave you a thumbs up.

“You know it’s pointless setting up all these tables. Most of the fairies are just gonna be dancing or fucking all night long, no one is gonna be sitting down,” you said.

“Are you gonna be one of the fairies partying?” Sunghoon inquired.

“Definitely not,” you answered curtly.

“Then I’m happy at least one of these tables will be utilized,” Sunghoon nodded, “Try to enjoy yourself tonight okay?”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes.

The entire forest seemed to come alive that night. The trees swayed with the enchanting music while cheers of merriment erupted around the party scene. You sat alone at a mushroom table with your third (or was it fourth?) cup of berry wine. You glared at the fairies who had lost themselves to their pleasures, whether it be the wine or the toadstools, or perhaps even both. Fairies who had given into their more lustful urges could be seen on the outskirts of the dance floor, some in the innocent stages of kissing and others entangled full fledged fornication. Scoffing at the obscene orgy, you stumbled off to get another cup of wine. Even though you weren’t really participating, you had to admit that fairies knew how to throw a party. 

“Hey ___, I noticed you’ve been by yourself the whole evening. Want some company?” someone asked behind you as you filled up your mug to the brim. You turned to see two Sunghoons merge to become one hazy Sunghoon in the blink of an eye. 

“F-ffuck off Sunghoon,” you slurred.

“I wanted to thank you for all the hard work you did for this year’s summer solstice,” Sunghoon continued, unfazed by your harshness, “Wanna dance to celebrate?”

“Nope,” you answered as you pushed him aside.

“Yeah she seemed pretty pissed dude,” Sunghoon said while taking a large swig.

“At you or in general?” Hoseok inquired.

“Dunno man, she’s always been like that. However, she seemed more aggravated than usual, which is hard to imagine,” Sunghoon chuckled, “Did you do something to her?”

“No! I’ve been replaying everything we talked about at the pond but everything seemed fine! I even told her that she was my super special friend and---oh shit,” Hoseok’s face fell.

“Idiot,” Sunghoon tsked. 

Both fae clans had gathered by the main stage, intently listening to the same speeches that the clan leaders have spoken for centuries. You watched apathetically as the everlasting flame was being formally handed over. The crowd roared as the flame changed from a deep crimson red to an icy silver color with a blue hue, signifying that the solstice had come to pass. 

If the festival wasn’t wild before, it had only gotten more out of hand after the official ceremony. Seeing the other fairies go wild in every sense of the word made you nauseous. The noise level intensified as you watched your fairy brethren engage in rather promiscuous activities. Someone even beckoned for you to join in the fun, but you just walked away. The only person you wanted to have that kind of fun with was Hoseok. It infuriated you that your thoughts always drifted to him. You filled up your cup one last time and walked away from the ruckus, towards an empty grove. Hopefully you would be able to wallow in self pity in peace there. 

The stars twinkled above you, and dim moonlight speckled the ground around you as it shone through the trees. You could still hear the party, but it was much fainter now and served as nice background noise to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. With a deep exhale, you fought to hold back tears. You felt so foolish. Too many years have been wasted in vain for an unrequited love that you should have seen coming. It was so stupid of you to hold onto a sliver of hope that Hoseok would like you back. 

“The party is that way,” a familiar voice called out to you.

“Then why aren’t you there?” you didn’t try to mask the annoyance in your voice.

“I saw you walk away, I wanted to check up on you.”

“Why the fuck would you even care?” you sat up and hissed.

“Why are you being so hostile? You’re the one who has been avoiding me all week!” Hoseok raised his voice.

“I’m sure you didn’t have much time to spend with me anyway,” you huffed.

“That’s not true. I spent every moment of my free time looking for you, only for you to turn me away. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Hoseok calmed down.

“Fine. I’m in love with you, okay? How fucking embarrassing. It hurt when you said that I was your super best friend or whatever. Seeing you afterward just reminded me of how dumb I am,” you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Oh sunshine, I’m the idiot. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my special friend because I like you too. I wanted to spend every second with you this week. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that, I’m so sorry ____,” Hoseok got down on his knees and pulled you in for a hug. You were stunned.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner then!” you pushed him off.

“I thought it was obvious from the way we flirted!” he argued. 

“You’re nice to everyone, it was hard for me to tell,” you pouted.

“My apologies for not being a sourpuss like you,” Hoseok laughed.

“So...what now? It wasn’t really a romantic confession but I guess our feelings are out in the open now,” you whispered as you leaned against him.

Suddenly, Hoseok pushed you back to the ground, straddling your hips. His dark hair nearly covered his eyes as he looked down at you. He was beyond beautiful, his white iridescent wings glittered ethereally in the moonlight. 

“Remember when I said you’re like a dessert I can only have twice a year? I’d like to make that a reality,” Hobi smirked. He bent over to kiss you. It was soft at first, his plush lips pressing up against yours. He gently cupped your face with one hand while the other wandered to your chest, undoing your blouse. Lust overtook the both of you as the kiss deepened and Hoseok fondled your breasts. You let out a small gasp as he played with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.  

“Spread those legs for me, sunshine,” he demanded.

You complied, slowly exposing yourself to him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him while in such a compromising position. Hoseok gingerly kissed a trail along your inner thighs towards your core. His hot breath against your pussy made you squirm under him in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, “Let’s play a game. You have to make eye contact with me while I eat you out. Every time you look away, I stop.”

“You’re evil,” you huffed before reluctantly looking at the beautiful being perched between your legs. 

“That’s my girl,” he purred approvingly before spreading your folds with his fingers. His eyes darkened with lust as you watched him lick tantalizingly slow stripes. He could feel your need for more, so he moved up to focus on your clit, giving it special attention as his tongue swirled around it. 

You tangled your fingers into his hair, gripping him tighter as he licked your clit faster. All your composure was lost as you looked down at him with pleading eyes.

“What is it? Need more?” Hoseok teased as his fingers traced your entrance.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?” Hoseok feigned ignorance

“Please touch me,” you said softly.

“We need to work on your begging, but you’re so adorable I can’t say no,” Hobi dove back into stimulating your clit as he slipped a finger inside of you. He smirked at how easily he went in, and immediately added a second finger. The new feeling had you throwing your head back as he grazed your g-spot. Right as things began to feel good, he retracted everything.

“Hobi!” you cried out in frustration.

“You looked away. Remember the rules to our little game?” Hoseok chided. You glared down at him as he immediately picked up where he left off, not giving you time to readjust. Fighting back the urge to close your eyes, soft moans escaped from your lips.

“Ready to cum, my dear ___?” he asked sweetly as his fingers dipped to directly attack your g-spot.

There was no time to give a proper response. Your back arched and your toes curled up as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Drenched in your juices, Hoseok glistened under the moonlight.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Hoseok praised, “But I’m not finished with you yet,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

He unbuckled his trousers, releasing the monster that dangled between his legs. You willingly spread your legs for him, eager for more.

“So needy, you haven’t had enough yet?” Hoseok tsked as he rubbed the tip of his cock along your folds.

Finally, Hoseok began to bury himself into you. He took his time, relishing how your warm walls squeezed him. You closed your eyes in ecstasy, focusing on feeling every inch of him. Once he bottomed out, you wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. The dark lust that swam in his eyes broke for a second, replaced by the warm smile that made you fall in love with him in the first place. He bent down to kiss you, and you happily reciprocated. 

Hoseok moved his hips slowly as he fucked you at a deep yet gentle pace. Mouths still colliding, you shyly licked at his lips. Taking your hint, Hoseok’s tongue met yours. As the kisses deepened with more saliva being interchanged, Hoseok’s thrusts became harsher.    

“You’re so fucking sexy. Lemme see that ass baby,” Hoseok growled as he flipped you over.

He smacked your ass twice and watched it jiggle in awe before placing a firm grip on your hips. Almost animalistically, he bucked into you. Your body jolted forward with each thrust. You had never been fucked this hard before, and it was heavenly. Hoseok’s control over his body movement was insane. Your moans grew louder as his hips continuously rolled into you. 

One of Hoseok’s hands formed a tight grip on your hair, roughly bringing your head up off the ground. You couldn’t stop your wanton moans from filling the open air. 

“H-Hoseok,” you cried out.

“What is it? Is it too much for you?” Hoseok cooed in your ear as he brought your head back even closer to him.

“Mmm-no,” was all you could make out.

“I knew you could take it all, such a good slut,” Hoseok praised as he let go of your hair.

Unable to hold yourself up, you immediately fell back onto your chest. Your fingernails dug into the dirt as you could feel another orgasm swelling up inside of you. 

“I’m gonna cum again,” you wailed out.

“I’m almost there, wait for me baby,” Hoseok instructed.

With perfect timing, Hoseok let out a guttural moan as he spilled his seed inside of you. Sounds of pleasure bounced around the grove as you came in unison. Hoseok’s cum dripped down the sides of your inner thighs when he pulled out. 

“How did I do, sunshine?” Hoseok asked jovially as you laid on the ground before him.

“You knocked me out. I don’t think I can move for a while,” you weakly answered with a smile.

“Not a problem, we can just stay here for a while, sunshine,” Hoseok laid down beside you, beckoning for you to rest atop his chest. 

“I like when you call me that,” you yawned.

“Sunshine?” Hoseok asked.

“Yeah, that. It makes me feel special,” you nodded.

“Is that so? I’m glad it makes you feel special, because you are. You’ve always been the spunky night fairy that everyone knows but is too afraid to approach,” Hoseok laughed.

“What! I am totally friendly! Just not to those who piss me off,” you defended, “Which...I guess is a lot of people so I suppose I see your point. What made you want to be my friend if everyone thought I’m scary?”

“You treated me like everyone else. It always felt like people put on a fake facade around me since I’m the chief’s son. They’re nice to me to try and curry favor with my father, or maybe flirt with me to try and gain some special sort of status. I don’t know. I’m just me,” Hoseok shrugged. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re my sunshine,” you hugged him.

“That makes me feel great. I’ll do my best to see you more than twice a year, okay?” he kissed your forehead.

“I guess I can clear my schedule and come over to visit you too,” you giggled, “Or maybe we can run away and make a clan of our own.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, “Don’t tempt me. I’d love to go somewhere where no one knows my name or expects anything from me.”

“How about we go to where the day meets the night?” you offered.

“Like what? An eclipse?” Hoseok said as he gazed into the night sky.

“Precisely. We can make an eclipse clan. We only have to do festivals for eclipses, and those are kinda rare,” you giggled.

“Sounds like a good dream, sunshine. Let’s seriously discuss it in the morning when we’re both more sober,” Hoseok kissed your forehead.

“Goodnight, my sunshine,” you whispered into his chest.

Published July 23, 2021. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2021 Baepsaesbae.

[btxtreads]

Hero

CHAPTER TEN: SOMETHING ABOUT THAT SUNSHINE (PART A)

↳ Pairing: Kang Taehyun x Reader

↳ word count: 1.7k words

↳ rating: G

↳ genre: FLUFF

The air was tense—the tension so thick you could almost cut through it with a butcher’s knife. Both teens in the car shook with nervousness as they waited, the blonde in the driver’s seat even more so. Taehyun’s eyes flickered from the road to the rear mirror then back. Y/N fidgeted in her seat.

“Hey, turn the radio up.” Taehyun suddenly spoke.

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but immediately shut her mouth. This was papparazzi. She didn’t know papparazzi. Maybe there’s a reason why. The girl sighed, leaning forward and turning the dial, the sound of celebrity news blaring out from the speakers.

“Now,  a quick K-Pop scoop! Four out of five TXT members has been seen frolicking around with a mysterious girl at the beach today!” The cheery voice of the anchor reported. “We have yet to figure out where our favorite star Taehyun is, and who exactly the girl is—but sources say  they saw Taehyun’s car pull out of the beach along with Beomgyu’s. Better keep an eye out, ladies—our flower boys finally got a flower girl. Stay tuned for more updates.”

The corners of Taehyun’s lips tilted upwards as he leaned forward once more, pressing a button to turn the radio off. There was a moment of silence until his eyes flickered onto the girl.

“Well,” he started. “It worked. Gyuu’s plan.”

“So it did.”

Taehyun smiled again, easing down on the gas—turning his head over to the girl.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Beomgyu’s house.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Taehyun hummed.

“It is.”

Taehyun shook his head, pulling over to a curb. Once they were safe, he turned to the girl.

“Look, this is my first free day away from fame, papparazzi, TXT—and look, I love the boys, but sometimes we’re tired of being who we are.” Taehyun explained.

“I thought you liked being you, superstar.”

“I do.” Taehyun sighed. “Look, fame. It’s tricky. I love Solomons, and I love my fans—but fame can ruin a person. I just want to be a kid.”

“Well,” Y/N finally sighed, turning to face him with a confused face. “You’re not just a kid—you’re a superstar. One of the most famous in the country.”

“I want to be Taehyun.” Taehyun sighed. “Even just for today.”

“Then be Taehyun.” Y/N shrugged, tugging on the dashboard absentmindedly. “Be Taehyun today.”

Taehyun was silent, eyes following the cars flying past them in the highways. Y/N turned to him, raising an eyebrow at his silence.

“Well?”

“Have you been around Seoul during this trip?”

“Nope,” Y/N shooke her head. “Been busy following you around. Either I stalk you with Youra or hide you from the press.”

Taehyun furrowed his eyebrows, the name Youra foreign. He shook his head, turning back to the girl with a mischievous grin.

“So, you haven’t really been on a vacation, huh?”

“Nope, except maybe that time when I met Beomgyu in the cafe.” Y/N replied. “Then I met you and you slammed a door on me.”

Taehyun chuckled, stopping her hands from playing with the dashboard. There was mirth in his eyes as he grinned at her.

“How about I take you on a trip around Seoul today? Just you and me?”

“We told Gyuu we’re meeting them at his house.” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows.

Taehyun just smiles, pulling the dashboard open and taking two pairs of sunglasses out. He shoved the first pair on his face and handed the other one to the girl—a giddy smile on his face.

“We will—we’re just taking the long way.”

Y/N bit her lip, suppressing her smile as she took the sunglasses. Once she wore them on her face, she rolled the windows down and turned over to the boy with a defeated roll of the eyes.

“Make sure the tour’s worth my time, superstar.”

Taehyun giggled as the frolicked around—reaching the first stop of the tour.

“So this is Lotte World?”

“Well, we’re not going to the park.” Taehyun snorted. “We don’t have the time, we’re just here to buy something.”

Taehyun pulled Y/N over to one of the shops, a kind smile on his face as he greeted the merchants. Y/N blinked in confusion as Taehyun pulled out his wallet from his pocket—having changed to his extra clothes from Beomgyu’s car. The boy pulled out a sleek black card, swiping it fast onto the machine before signing a receipt.

“What are we doing?” Y/N asked, peeking over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Memories.” Taehyun smiled as he received a bag and immediately passed it over to her. “Take them for me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as Taehyun pulled her out of the shop. She reached into the bag and pulled out a camera.

“But—“

“I’ll have the box delivered to my house and everything, but I had them fix it up because we’re using it right now.” Taehyun explained as he gingerly took the camera and pointed it at the girl. “Smile.”

The girl awkwardly smiled, making the boy laugh.

“You’re cute.”

Immediately, she blushed as the boy glanced at the photo he took and positioned for one more.

“Okay, now a photo of the both of us.”

Y/N never thought that Taehyun would walk around with her on a busy, crowded street—but here she was, one hand in his, the other clutching a large cup of coffee he got for her. The camera—for memories, he said—sat snugly in a bag slung over her body.

As they walked through the busy streets of Myeondong, Taehyun kept pointing out shops and corners of the streets he used to frequent as a trainee.

“Oh, Beomgyu and I used to eat here all the time.” Taehyun gasped, pushing up the sunglasses falling off the tip of his nose.

His grip tight on her wrist, Taehyun practically bounced in excitement as he walked over to a small tteokbokki stand hidden in a corner.

“Grandma?”

Y/N watched as Taehyun walked up to the old lady packing the rice cakes. His wide eyes shone with hope as the woman turned to him with kind, confused eyes.

“Grandma? Do you remember me?” Taehyun tilted his head slightly. “It’s Tyun.”

“Of course, honey! Why would I forget my favorite costumer!” Answered the woman. “Oh, come here! Come here. Let me see you. Always so handsome.”

Taehyun laughed as the woman pinched his cheeks and observed him.

“You’re too thin.”

“I’m on a diet, grandma.”

The woman only clicked her tongue and began to pack some tteokbokki.

“Anyway, who is this? Girlfriend?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as Taehyun shook his head.

“No! No! Just uh—“

“Acquaintance.” Y/N supplied, making Taehyun nod his head—grabbing a barbecue stick from a nearby tray and taking a huge bite.

“Right,” the woman smiled cheekily as he watched the two teens blush and avoid gazes. “Of course.”

As the woman turned back, Y/N gaze flickered up. A small smile appeared on her face as she raised the camera.

“Taehyun!”

CLICK.

“What?”

The boy blinked in surprise as the girl giggled, setting down the camera. She gestured to her lip and cheek.

“You have a little something.”

“Huh?”

The boy only furrowed his brows, looking down at himself in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Y/N snorted, walking forward.

“Let me get it for you, superstar.”

She reached her hand out, taking a napkin from the table and wiping off some stray sauce on his cheek. Taehyun was silent, eyes following hers as she concentrated on removing the stain from his face. She then moved to wipe off the sauce from his lip, stopping when he reached up and grasped her wrist.

Y/N looked up, shocked when she locked gazes with him. Her breath caught short, a small stutter in her heart as Taehyun’s eyes fell down to her lips. She felt him pull her closer ever so gently, his breath falling on her lips until—

“Oh!”

The two teens jumped back, burning bright red as the woman placed a small bag on the table with a knowing smile.

“Acquaintances, huh?”

Taehyun diverted his gaze, a small smile on his lips as Y/N took the bag.

“I’ll meet you in the car.”

“No way.”

“Come on, it doesn’t mean anything!”

“Couples do it! We’re not a couple!” Y/N crossed her arms, heat taking over her face as she tried to avoid Taehyun’s gaze.

Still, the blonde boy moved, pushing himself to her line of sight.

“Please?” He pleaded.

Y/N groaned, looking back at the boy who dangled a large blue lock on her face.

“Come on, it’ll be cute!” Taehyun smiled as the girl relented.

“You have a weird concept of fun, superstar.” Y/N rolled her eyes, making the boy grin.

“Yeah, well,” Taehyun shrugged. “I love the mundane tasks.”

He stuck his tongue out, scribbling on the lock as Y/N took a photo of him. Taehyun smiled, throwing a quick thumbs up as he presented his handiwork. The giant blue lock was now open, small letters on the lock.

Y/N and Taehyun’s Seoul Tour.

Thank you for letting me be me today.  -Tae.

“Come on, help me seal this in.”

Y/N grinned, taking one last photo of the boy before walking over and helping his close the lock. Taehyun turned over with a smile, presenting a small silver key and handing it over to the girl.

“Here you go.”

“Hm?” Y/N tilted her head, taking the key.

“What’s this?”

“The key to the lock.” Taehyun shrugged. “Thank you, really, for today. We went to so many places, I—I loved it. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”

“Glad you liked it, superstar.”

Taehyun laughed, taking a seat on the bench. He glanced around for anyone present. Seeing nobody, he pulled off the sunglasses and smiled.

“No, I’m serious though.” Taehyun smiled. “You showed me that I don’t always have to pretend. That there’s more to me than being the popstar everyone’s so crazy about.”

“Then I guess I should thank you too.” Y/N said, grinning as she sat next to him.

“What for?”

“Well, you showed me that the world isn’t so black and white—maybe there’s more to it.” Y/N said, looking up at the sky. “I mean people look at you like gods, follow your every move waiting for one small mistake to make you fall—maybe I don’t understand. Thank you for telling me that I don’t.”

Taehyun’s lips cracked a small smile as he tugged on her wrist. Y/N lowered her head, facing him with an inquisitive smile. She took a sharp breath as Taehyun leaned in, crashing his lips on hers. She froze in her spot as he reached up, gently running his hand through her hair and cupping her cheek.

Her eyes closed, leaning in to deepen the kiss. Before she could respond, Taehyun pulled away with a small smile—his forehead against hers.

“Come on,” Taehyun softly mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We promised the boys we’d meet them.”

Y/N smiled in response.

“Okay.”

[epitomees]

Farewell to October’s Frights

The call of attack was set. As several other users joined to provide their own assistance, Pyro feebly attempted a getaway. The cold shock combined with a soaking chill made it more difficult for flight. Even relighting his flame proved a complicated challenge. Halloween had just begun, hadn’t it? Despite his mischievous behavior throughout the autumn equinox, Jack learned many customs by simply observing the goings of human life. Specific celebrations, the tradition of dressing in costumes, and not to mention...the tricks! 

Humans were a fascinating bunch, as thought by one whom used to walk among them. Living in the Sea for so long made Jack forget the joys of people’s company. Good, friendly, intoxicating, all these feelings long-been buried since the time of Jack’s own demise....

“Pleeeease, hee hee! Let me have a little more fun before I go, hee ho heeho!!!” His pleas begged forgiveness, yet the rushing onslaught all but buried Jack’s cries. Left and right, punches and kicks from every side, enough to weaken the creature’s own strength. At this rate, the cognitive sea would draw him back all on its own. No say from Jack, no comeback or rebuttal, just a forced acceptance back into the world he came from...

That’s until....

“Let me go, hee ho!! Let me GO!” Jack recognized this surge. Something powerful all coming together, concentrated and endless as it coursed through the undead veins of the pyro’s own form. Although pinpointing its source wasn’t too strong at the moment, a silent gratitude passed onward to whomever answer Jack’s tearful invocations. “A dozen against one isn’t much of a fair fight, now is it hee hee! Isn’t it MORE FUN when you level the playing field, hee ho hee ho!” 

Pyro Jack’s DEF, ATK, and AGI are raised! 

Lantern in hand, flame burning in a mix of orange and red, the pyromaniac was set for a counterattack. He flew above the crowd of Persona users with flaring red eyes, blazing with hot embers. “If you all want so badly to be rid of me, you’ll have to do it when I’m TOP NOTCH AS WELL, HEE HEE HEE!!” The advantage of possessing his own abilities outside of the other world came particularly in handy for such a situation. With his lantern light, the Magician casted a fiery ball of concentrated embers held carefully in his gloved hand. A bottle of jack would have amped up the damage, though he planned on saving some bottles upon his return. Either way, if it was a fight for survival, or simply to enjoy his last evening walking the mortal realm, Jack wouldn’t back down. 

Don’t take him yet. Not yet! 

There’s still pranks to be had! There’s candy to take! There’s...

‘Your time is up, as midnight strikes’ ‘All Hallow’s Eve has come and pass, along with its frights’ ‘Back to the sea, for that is where you must reside’ ‘Until yet again, when my power can open the gates once more...’ 

The voice returned, once again, just as ominous and far-off as the first day Jack passed through the Sea’s open gates. Despite his ample strength and unwavering conviction to keep himself in the living world, time was his real enemy. An opponent too tough to beat, and one too ever-present to counter as well. If he were to keep himself until the morning light, an unknown consequence may befall him. At this time, Jack listened to the voice and without a word ceased the build-up of fire. Every Persona user present was spared a fiery inferno, and instead witnessed the disappearance of Pyro Jack. 

“...fine then. If I must go back, hee ho, then I’ll return. But don’t you forget old Pyro Jack’s legacy, hee ho!!” Still as cheeky as always, even when his incorporeal body slowly disintegrated. “I’ll be back next year with MORE FUN in mind, hee hee ho!!” With his last goodbye, including a very enthusiastic hand wave, Pyro Jack was gone. 

The Sea took him back with open arms, and surely...some of his skeletal friends would enjoy the leftover alcohol he brought along. 

Pyro Jack has been....defeated? His Soul has returned into humanity’s cognition, along with other Personas released into the mortal world. 

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

more thoughts about the homecoming au, the au where maedhros and maglor get brought back to tirion after the war of wrath to be prettied-up trinkets on finarfin’s shelf, with painted-over scars and muffled screams. it is dark, it’s full of all kinds of emotional and caretaker abuse, and the brothers weren’t exactly in a good state of mind before any of this happened. @sunflowersupremes wrote the initial au that wasn’t even meant as horror, @outofangband - this au is as much theirs as mine, several of the concepts here were originally theirs, and a lot of this originally came out in dms with them. part 1 is here. this part contains gaslighting, loss of autonomy right at the end, more suicide mentions (thanks mae) and just general abuse from people who care more about their own comfort than the people they’re supposed to be caring for. it’s worse than the first part, honestly

most of the stuff the fëanorians had on them when they surrendered got taken away pretty fast. which is honestly understandable; some of it was cursed, a lot of it was weaponry, all of it stank to the high vault of the stars

but they both managed to hold onto some personal effects, or get them back before they went in the incinerator. a broken locket, a torn-up book, nothing fancy, nothing large, but things that still mean a lot to them

the valinoreans aren’t entirely comfortable with this. they find a lot of the brothers’ comfort items mildly disturbing, stained with darkness and (occasionally literal) blood as they are. maedhros had this dessicated finger he refuses to explain anything about that got disposed of very quickly

maglor has a few strands of brightly coloured thread, spun around each other somewhat inexpertly. he tends to pull it out when he’s feeling depressed, working it between his fingers until he feels like he can face the world again

one day, one of his minders who gets along better with him asks where he got it. from the twins, maglor admits. it’s part of some embroidery elrond abandoned when they left -

and it’s snatched out of his hands. his minder looks down at him compassionately. ‘i know you miss them, but you caused those boys a lot of pain, you know? you shouldn’t romanticise your relationship with them’

which - maglor’s relationship with the twins was complicated, and while it wasn’t nearly as hellish as elwing fears, it wasn’t entirely healthy. maglor was dependent emotionally on the kids a lot more than any adult should be to children, and vice versa

because the twins were the last people he had left. when maedhros executed celegorm’s servants with no warning at all, this rift began to grow between the sons of fëanor and their followers. they’d always been terrifying, but they’d also been comradely and inspiring, the white-hot stars around which their people orbited. but when they turned their fangs on their own host, all that started to fall away, leaving only the fear behind

it got worse after sirion. by the time vingilot rose in the sky, maglor’s only real remaining relationships were with maedhros, who he hated as much as he loved, and the twins. watching over them, talking to them, not hurting them - it kept him grounded in reality, kept him sane

he knows, he knows, he knows, they’re better off without him. but his time with them is the only happiness in his memories that still feels real

but the valinoreans can’t accept that. the exile was an awful time with nothing in it worth keeping, and the sooner he can recognise that the faster he’ll be back to his old self

besides. their caretakers don’t like being reminded of their more... unpleasant deeds

(elwing sidebar: elwing and eärendil are having an easier time, because the teleri have experience dealing with trauma and are also just more accepting of the right to have your own take on your own experiences. still, though, elwing occasionally hears that a proper telerin mother would have stayed with her children, even if she had to give up the treasure her people died for to the monsters of her childhood nightmares)

(elwing was a young adult in a horrendous situation with no obvious way out, elwing is dealing with her own damage as best she can, elwing is valid, we stan elwing. she’s also one of the few direct-ish sources the noldor have for beleriand and what the fëanorians did there, and her (perfectly reasonable!) perspective colours a lot of their treatment)

in general the valinorean noldor are quite sure they know what beleriand was like and how it felt to be there, and aren’t particularly interested in being proven wrong

it was miserable, it was harrowing, it was nothing anyone should want to think about. it was a long nightmare maedhros and maglor are so fortunate to have finally woken up from

and you can kind of see why they think like that? the ones who have seen the hither shores saw them when ash rained from a void-black sky and almost everything was dead, and the survivors told stories of a long hopeless defeat and cruelties beyond imagining

but that deep black image blots out the genuine joy they felt in those five hundred years, the chance to prove their own greatness, the knowledge they were doing something good, nights when music echoed across the gap, warm hands in a cold fortress. there were things in beleriand worth remembering, aspects of the people they became there legitimately worth keeping

and even if there wasn’t - five hundred years. the scars on their bodies make it plain to see, every little piece of who they are was shaped by beleriand, for worse and for better. they just can’t leave it behind

their valinorean caretakers find this horrifying

maedhros likes to exercise. it keeps him calm, gives him something to do. it’s not something nelyafinwë was super into - he was more the peripatetic type - but it’s a feasible hobby for a noldorin prince to have, so he’s allowed to do it

sometimes, though, he’ll unconsciously shift into the old combat forms, precisely timed drills ingrained into his bodies. the first few times he does this, his minders are bemused more than anything, but then one day he happens to have a stick in hand to use as a mock-sword

then every time he starts to slip away into that meditative trance, hands reach out to stop him and hold him in place. ‘there’s no need to fight here, maitimo,’ an elf he knew before the unchaining tells him ever so gently. ‘you’re safe now’

... they say that, but maedhros’ nightmares keep getting worse

it’s like that with everything that makes the valinoreans uncomfortable. whenever they try to speak of their time in beleriand, no matter what they say, they’re told that oh, they know it was hard, but it’s all over now and they don’t have to dwell on it

but even after they’ve spent years in paradise, maedhros and maglor still won’t let go and allow themselves to heal

they just can’t come to terms with the truth of their ordeal

the narrative the valinoreans have constructed erases all of the bright spots, but it also bleaches out the true darkness

certainly they did horrible things, but did they really have a choice? in such a harsh world, they always had to be on guard, lest they themselves be killed. these poor boys never meant to harm anyone, but their father’s cruel madness and the painful chains of their oath and the vileness of beleriand forced them into atrocities they never wanted to commit

(surely the monsters the sindar spoke of wouldn’t cry. they wouldn’t lose themselves in waking nightmares or curl up shivering in well-hidden closets, they wouldn’t jump away from a casual touch or watch every new person like they might be a threat. they wouldn’t convince themselves the children they stole were happy, or talk to the shade of a dead kinsman they abandoned. surely they wouldn’t. surely)

(because if they are, and they’ve let a couple of orcs loose into the royal palace...)

(maglor and maedhros’ movements are pretty restricted. this is mostly for their own protection, but it’s partially - well, just in case. just in case)

this rankles at maedhros, though he tries not to show it. terrible they might have been, but his choices were his own

he was a warlord, he was a king. he expected to be hated for the things he had done. he didn’t expect to be pitied. he didn’t expect to be dismissed

sometimes, when he’s surrounded by people earnestly telling him that he’s not a bad person, he never was, it was all pressure from his father and the oath, he wants to scream that he chose to attack sirion because he was so, so tired of diplomatically dancing around problems he knew he could solve with his blade

but he stops himself, always. he knows how much what little freedom they do have is based on them not being a threat

and he will not wash this peaceful, innocent land in blood. he’ll kill himself first

maglor has lost all such scruples

it’s not often, but when they’re behaving themselves and no one who’s likely to take offense is in town, the brothers get taken out to court events

they paint makeup over their scars (which still won’t heal, everyone is concerned by the implications of this) dress them up in finery, string them with jewels, and show off how well they’re doing

(even if maedhros rarely says anything, and they never leave each other’s side)

tonight, it’s a feast. a minor celebration, nothing too crowded, nothing too loud. there’s revels and merrymaking and all kinds of fun

and after the food has been cleared away, there’s music

would his nephew like to play something, finarfin asks. it’s hard to tell if it’s a request or a politely phrased order

maglor decides he doesn’t have the patience to be taken aside and tell how much everyone wanted to hear his music, and accepts

finarfin smiles kindly. he’s thinking about how maglor’s minders have been talking about how he’s finally stopped trying to sing depressing or horrifying songs and how his voice grows more melodious by the day

maglor is thinking about how they won’t even let him sing about his wife. he wrote no odes to her beauty or her skill in the forge, but he sang ballads about the swiftness of her spear and her laughter after a battle

none of which the valinoreans want to hear. they want to pretend that love never existed, that there could be any joy found in darkness, that she’s at all worth remembering -

he gets up to play, and launches into the most vicious, most hopeless, most painful part of the noldolantë

they try to stop him, but he’s the greatest warsinger the world has ever seen, he’s sung with blood in his lungs over the roaring of dragons, there’s little they can do to block out everything they’re trying to ignore. he wails defeat and death and grief and death and despair and death

when they finally manage to knock him out, their whole petty festival in tatters, shock on their faces, tears streaming from their eyes, all he can think is that if they understand now, even a little, it’ll have been worth it

for the first time, but not the last, he wakes up in a cell

finarfin comes to visit, and starts giving a very disappointed lecture maglor is in no mood to hear. instead he just snarls that nothing they’ve been doing is helping him at all, and he’s so sick of false sympathy and no one listening to what his actual problems are

finarfin shuts his eyes, says ‘i’m sorry to hear you feel that way’ and leaves

a few days later he wakes up with a collar around his neck

it’s demeaning, but he gets released that morning, so he rolls with it. he gets told to never do that ever again, first by his minders and then by maedhros

his minders he nods at until they leave him alone. maedhros he snarks back at that it’s not like he’s doing anything to improve their condition

only he can’t

the words don’t just freeze in his throat, they can’t even form in his mind. what’s happening, he can’t say. what did you do to me, he can’t say. he can’t even scream

as maglor is clutching at his neck (he can’t get it off he can’t get it off) and all the colour is draining out of maedhros’ face, the minder in the room smiles

‘see? this way you’ll stop making yourself and everyone around you miserable. you can still talk about happy things -’

‘they did this in angband!’ maedhros roars, a statement that provokes his first actual fight with their minders. he’s harder to pin down than maglor. bigger

but their caretakers are becoming annoyed with the brothers’ obstinate refusal to let themselves get better. they may be content to wallow in the misery of their past, but inflicting it on others is a step too far

they clearly aren’t going to move any further down the road to recovery on their own volition, so it’s become clear they need a gentle push. is it a little distasteful? yes, but such things are sometimes necessary in medicine

the bright cheerful princes they will be again will thank them for it

oh god how did this end up so long. the last one should be shorter, it’s mostly clearing up some loose ends. why did i write this